“You’re not invited in. So not sorry.” I move to close the door, but his hand flashes out and hits the door, stopping it from moving.
Which is surprising enough—I’ve always been under the impression that no part of a vampire could enter a room they’re not permitted into, but that’s obviously not true. The fact that he’s gotten the better of me makes me even more annoyed, and I shove against the door even though I know I’m not going to be able to budge him. Except he does retreat a little, even as he makes an odd hissing sound in the back of his throat. “Stop,” he says hoarsely. “What’s wr—” I break off as I glance at his hand and realize that welts are burning through his skin and flesh. For one second, panic holds me immobile, and then I realize what’s happening. “Come in,” I tell him in a voice several notes higher than my regular tone. “Come in, come in, come in.” The burning must stop instantly, because he breathes a sigh of relief as he lets the door go and steps over the threshold. “What’s wrong with you?” I demand, even as I grab him by the forearm so I can get a better look at his hand and wrist—both of which look like he just thrust them into a raging fire. “Why would you do that?” “I wanted to apologize.” “By setting yourself on fire?” I gasp, dragging him over to my bed. “Let me at least bandage you up.” “It’s nothing,” he tells me. “Don’t worry about it.” “It’s obviously something,” I shoot back, because even though the burns have healed somewhat—the subcutaneous tissue is no longer exposed—they still look like they’re at least second-degree. “It won’t take long. I have a first aid kit in my backpack.” He smiles softly. “I know.” “How do you know?” I ask, but then I realize. “Another thing from when we were trapped together?” “‘Trapped’ is such a harsh word,” he answers, and his little smile has become more of a wicked grin. One that makes my stomach do a flip or two…hundred, not that I’m counting. “Yeah, well, I’m feeling pretty harsh right now,” I mutter, even though it’s not quite the truth. And also, not quite not the truth, either. “I can’t believe you did this to yourself.” He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I as I put some antibiotic salve—I don’t know if it works on vampires, but I figure it can’t hurt—over what remains of the burns. And then, because I can’t stand the idea of Hudson in pain because of me, I close my eyes and focus on sending healing energy into his burns, one by one. I’m careful to monitor my breathing so he doesn’t realize that healing is in any way draining my energy, and it’s really not. At least not much. I’m on the last one when he clears his throat and says, “I didn’t like getting kicked out of your room last night. I thought we’d just decided to try to make this work, almost even”—he looks away for a second, and I blush—“you know. And then you just tossed me out like one of the guys.” It’s the last thing I expect him to say, and I fumble the antibiotic cream as I go to put it back in my kit. “I …” I trail off as I realize I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say to that. “I know, it’s silly. Obviously you have every right to kick me out anytime you want. I just got used to…” It’s his turn to trail off. “Being in my head all the time?” I ask him with a raised brow. Because I get it. I do. I thought I’d be thrilled to be separated from Hudson and, for the most part, I am. But there are times when I go to share something with him, only to remember he’s not there. There are times I wish he was there, times it almost feels lonely without him. And that was only after a couple of weeks—that I remember. How much harder must it be for him when he remembers us being together for four months? I can’t even imagine. “Maybe I miss it a little,” he finally agrees. His reluctance only makes me feel worse, as does the way he refuses to look me in the eye. “I’m sorry,” I whisper as I glide my fingers along his smooth and healed skin. “I wasn’t really kicking you out. I just couldn’t handle being surrounded by all that vampire testosterone mansplaining to me for much longer. It was a lot.” “You make a fair point.” His wicked little grin is back, which makes me smile, too. “If it makes you feel better, the grilled cheese was delicious.” “Really?” He looks skeptical but also, maybe, just a bit hopeful. “Absolutely.” I smile. “So, so good.” His shoulders seem to relax. “I’m glad. I’ll make you another one sometime.” I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say to that, so I just smile and nod. This mate thing—even if we’re just friends—is surprisingly hard work. But, also, not. 37