Page 108 of For Dear Life

I’m not my father. I’m worse.

“Grayson.” I say against his skin. “I’m sorry.”

Through all the mingled pleasure and shock filling my body and mind, other parts of us drift in. The time we pressed together in the closet, where I inhaled the same warmth as now. I’ve touched and been close enough to Grayson to connect with him in the way I’ve secretly wanted. To share affection, not blood.

But in the end, this is all we are to each other.

I don’t want authorities to walk into this warehouse and find me over Grayson’s almost-dead body. Not because I already need to explain away Viggo crushed beneath Sawyer’s stock, or the dead witch, or even whatever’s happening around me as the distant sirens approach. No. Because I don’t want anybody to see what I hide from the world and promised would stay locked away.

I pointlessly lash out as someone hooks me under the arms and pulls me away from the dying vampire. My father hauls me to my feet and spins me around. He seizes my cheeks and jerks my head from side to side, then turns over my hands to examine my wrists.

“His blood?” he asks tersely.

“What?” I blink away the remaining red mist.

“On your hands. Face. Everywhere.” I nod mutely. “Did he take yours?”

No. But would I have given Grayson my blood if the guilt had continued to eat at and consume me? Did I want to know if Grayson taking from me felt as euphoric as taking from him?

“No, he didn’t.”

“Good.”

I retch, wiping at my lips and rubbing my tongue against a rough coat sleeve. “I’m a monster,” I say hoarsely as I meet Dorian’s glacial eyes. “Look at him. I did that to someone I care about.”

He loosens his grip on my arm and cups my jaw with a broad hand. Tell me I’m not a monster. Tell me. “Don’t worry, sweetest girl. I’ll fix everything that happened tonight.”

Even Grayson, who I don’t dare look down at?

My awareness snaps from the small space I’m lost in and to where Rowan walks around the corner, jacket still torn, shadows gone. He strides over and halts, not because Dorian stands close to me, but as he spots Grayson on the ground.

“Violet. What—?”

I half-throw myself into Rowan’s arms, wanting him to hold onto and remind me that I can care for someone, however strange and rough that affection is. Remind myself that I helped people tonight—Kai, Dale… Death still stalked me here, but never took over. As my grip on him grows, Rowan struggles for breath, but he embraces me as tightly.

“What have I done?” I choke into his blood-soaked shirt.

“Everything will be okay,” he whispers, but his fear is palpable.

Nearby, other voices and movement pull me further back to the scene. Is this over? Or about to get worse? Dorian can get into that witch’s head. He can certainly extract the truth from Adam one painful way or another, but was the witch truthful when he spoke of the trigger in Oz’s mind that’ll implicate me?

Rowan smooths my hair and struggles to hide his alarm—I’d little blood on my face when I walked away from him, now I have a lot and it’s obvious whose. Grayson’s hardly breathing. Subconsciously with guilt, I touch my lips and dip my head as Rowan moves to kiss me. I’m not kissing Rowan with Grayson’s blood on my face.

Grayson’s blood on my face.

One of the detectives approaches and the smugness I expected isn’t evident, his face clammy and pale. His attention immediately drops to Grayson before he beckons to me. “Come along, Ms. Blackwood. Let’s see if we can find the truth this time.”

I slide a look to Dorian, who nods curtly. Don’t worry, sweetest girl. I’ll fix everything that happened tonight. “Dorian. Please help Grayson. I know he’s a Petrescu, but he doesn’t deserve this.”

A storm passes over Dorian’s blue eyes before clearing to the brightest blue sky, and he smiles. “Of course. I’ll ensure he’s taken care of, Violet.”

If only I knew which part of Dorian that smile and words came from, and exactly how he’ll take care of the guy I can never touch again.

I grip onto Rowan’s hand and numbly walk as he leads me away.

37

GRAYSON

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