Page 63 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

But I knew one thing⁠—

Tomorrow, the world would expect me to be a weapon again.

CHAPTER 11

Iwoke to weight and quiet.

For a few disorienting seconds, I couldn’t place either. The weight pressed lightly over my midsection. The quiet was wrong, no club music, no clash of training, no voices in the hall. Just the soft tick of the wall clock and the distant hum of the mansion.

And breathing.

Someone else’s. Slow. Measured.

I blinked my eyes open.

My room was dim, curtains drawn enough to keep out the worst of the day, but a thin blade of light slipped through the crack and cut across the floorboards in a pale line. Dust motes floated lazily in its path, drifting in the stillness.

Constantine lay beside me on my bed, his warmth lending me strength. One arm rested over me, his fingers anchored around my waist as if he’d held on all night and never quite let go, comforting and possessive. His head rested on the pillow next to me, eyes closed, jaw rough with a hint of stubble.

He looked tired.

I lay still, watching him.

The last hours came back in fragments, the fight in the cemetery, Raven bleeding, the poison crawling under her skin, the way my magic had burned as I caged and dissolved it. The fever that followed. The room tilting. Con’s hands on my clothes, cool cloth on my forehead. His voice, low and frayed, telling me I’d scared him.

I tested my own body.

The inferno under my skin had retreated to embers. My limbs ached, but none of the dizzy, overheated panic remained. The bond with Raven hummed low, sore but intact. Her energy felt steadier now, anchored to Rene’s in a way that told me they were both, for the moment at least, still here.

I exhaled slowly.

Con’s fingers tightened around me.

His eyes opened.

They focused on my face, first with alertness, then with a loosening I would almost call relief. The gold in his irises glowed in the dim light, but there was no red edging it. No battle rage. Just exhaustion and something quieter.

“How long have you been looming?” I asked, voice rough with sleep.

He huffed a soft sound. “I’d call it watching, not looming.”

He didn’t move his hold on me.

“How long?” I repeated.

He glanced at the clock, then back at me. “You’ve been out for about six hours. Maybe a bit more.”

“Only six?” I tried to push myself up. Muscles protested. The room stayed steady, at least. “Feels like longer.”

He sat up in one fluid motion, as his free hand came up, bracing lightly against my shoulder. “Easy.”

“I’m fine,” I said. Then reconsidered. “Mostly fine.”

“Mostly is better than you were,” he said quietly.

He didn’t let go until I got myself propped up against the headboard. Pillows rustled behind my back. At some point, he’d apparently thought to arrange them so I wouldn’t wake with a snapped neck. This was new and alarming.

Con’s hand slid off my waist at last, retreating to his lap, as he leaned back. His fingers flexed once, as if reluctant to let go.