Page 42 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

Something neither of us was ready to surrender to.

The silence after our last words didn’t feel empty.

It felt loaded.

Every inch between us pulsed with the pressure of everything we had thrown at each other—fear, frustration, desire neither of us bothered hiding anymore. My room felt too small for both of us, too warm, too charged with all the things that could ignite if either of us made one wrong move.

Con didn’t step back.

I didn’t either.

I could hear the ticking of the old wall clock. It counted seconds like each one carried its own threat.

Con dragged a hand through his hair, pacing one step away before spinning back around. His eyes glowed gold, not with anger now, but something fierce and wounded.

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice low. “I’m not afraid of your magic. I’m afraid of watching you burn through it until there’s nothing left of you.”

I crossed my arms to keep my hands from trembling. “I’m capable of knowing my limits.”

“You pushed them tonight,” he countered. “And you’ll push them again tomorrow. And the next day. And one day, Cass… you won’t come back.”

I swallowed, throat tightening. “You don’t get to tell me how to fight.”

“No,” he said. “But I have every right to tell you what I can’t survive.”

His voice cracked. Just enough to reveal the truth beneath it.

“I can’t lose you.”

The words hit harder than any blow. They punched straight through the armor I lived behind—the death dealer discipline, the Shadow Phantom grit, the instinct to keep everyone at arm’s length.

I hated how it made me falter.

“How can you say that,” I whispered, “and still keep your distance?”

Con stepped toward me again, slower this time. Each movement deliberate, as if he were approaching something volatile.

“You think distance protects you from me,” he said. “But it’s me protecting you from me.”

I blinked. “What does that even mean?”

He exhaled, a rough, shaky breath. “My blood, Cass. You know what happens if you take it.”

My stomach clenched.

“If you ever tasted mine, if you needed my strength and I gave it, you might end up bound to me for the rest of your existence. And I would never…” His voice trailed off, then steadied. “I would never take your will from you.”

The weight of that truth settled between us like iron.

“I know what your blood does,” I murmured. “I know I can’t bite you.”

Con nodded once. “Then you know why I hold back.”

“I never asked you for your blood.”

“No,” he said, stepping even closer, “you asked me for you. For us. And I don’t get to have that if the only way I can keep you alive is by chaining you to me.”

His voice dipped. Softer. Broken.