Page 60 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

The young vampire hesitated, flicking a glance between us—two warriors still standing in a ring that buzzed with leftover magic—and then wisely retreated. The door closed behind him, leaving only the low hum of the overhead lights.

Con turned back to me. “We’ll need to leave soon.”

“Yeah,” I said, retracting my spear in a smooth motion. “I have a few things I need to pack.”

That was a lie, of course. The last thing I needed was more time to shove clothes into a bag; what I needed was distance—to think, to breathe, to process what he’d said. You’re my bride. The words had been circling my thoughts since he’d spoken them, settling deep under my skin where I couldn’t shake them loose.

He didn’t call me out on the lie, though his gaze lingered on mine a heartbeat too long. Then he gave a short nod. “Don’t be late.”

I left before I could say something salty or stupid. The corridor outside felt colder than before, the stone walls leeching warmth from my skin. My boots clicked against the polished floor as I walked, the echo chasing me all the way back to my suite.

Inside, the room was still except for the low murmur of the fireplace. I dropped my spear on the side table; the metallic clatter rang briefly in the quiet. My hands felt restless, searching for something to do, so I crossed to the wardrobe and hauled it open.

Clothes. That was safe. Neutral. Practical.

I grabbed a few shirts, a jacket, and my worn pair of black boots—things I could pretend I was eager to have at Shadow Bone—and stuffed them into my pack. The mechanical motion steadied me for all of five seconds before my thoughts caught up again.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror across the room—eyes shadowed, jaw rigid, expression caught somewhere between fury and disbelief.

“How did I let it get this far?” I muttered.

One night. One mistake—or maybe not a mistake at all, but something far more dangerous—a choice I couldn’t take back. I’d fought werewolves, witches, entire armies of the dead, but this—this thing between Con and me—felt like the one fight I’d never trained for.

The knock at my door came exactly thirty minutes later.

“Cass,” Con’s voice called, calm but with that familiar authority that made defiance feel pointless.

I zipped my pack, swung it over my shoulder, and opened the door. He stood there already dressed for travel—black coat, gloves, sword belted at his hip. The professional facade was back, unbreakable. Only his eyes hinted at anything else.

“You ready?” he asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” I said.

We left the mansion together.

The drive to the airport was quiet. The engine’s growl filled the space between us, the city lights sliding by in blurred streaks through the windows. Con didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask him to. My thoughts were too loud anyway, tumbling over one another in a loop of doubt and disbelief. Every so often, I caught him watching me from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t push.

The plane waited on the private tarmac, its sleek frame glinting under the floodlights. Once aboard, we settled into leather seats opposite one another. The engines built to a low roar, and within minutes, the ground dropped away beneath us.

Still, the silence held.

I stared out the window, watching the black expanse of night stretch endlessly below. My reflection in the glass looked unfamiliar—haunted. I didn’t realize Con was studying me until he spoke.

“Are you still mad at me?”

The question startled me, though his tone was calm, almost tentative.

“No,” I said after a long pause. “I’m still… processing.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Did you think I waited this long for you simply to take you to bed?”

I sighed and turned from the window to face him. “I hate these questions.”

His mouth twitched, just slightly. “Answer it anyway.”

I met his eyes—that steady gold that always saw too much. “No,” I admitted. “I’m pretty confident you could’ve gotten me into bed a long time ago if that was all you wanted.”

“As am I,” he replied, utterly matter-of-fact. Then, softer, “But you weren’t ready for anything that lasted. Most fledglings aren’t.”