Page 80 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

He stepped closer again, slower this time, giving me space to move if I wanted to.

I didn’t move.

“You don’t need to unpack it,” he murmured. “But you need rest. You’re not stepping into that warehouse half-drained.”

“I’m not drained,” I argued.

“You are,” he said quietly. “I know the difference between stubborn and stable.”

“Con—”

“You can fight me,” he said, “or you can sit down for an hour, drink some blood, and let your body recover before we break into a fortified illegal smuggling hub.”

I opened my mouth to retort, then closed it.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And because the ground under my feet still felt a little too soft for me to pretend strength didn’t have a cost.

He watched the realization shift across my face.

“Sit,” he said gently.

My jaw clenched.

He waited.

I exhaled slowly, then let myself drop onto the edge of the bed. Not defeated. Simply choosing not to make everything a battle.

Con didn’t gloat.

He sat beside me, leaving an inch between us.

Enough to give me room.

Not enough to feel alone.

After a long quiet moment, he said, “You don’t have to be a fledgling for someone to worry about you.”

I stared at my hands. “I don’t know how to let someone worry without feeling weak.”

He turned his head slightly. “Then let me teach you.”

My heart thudded once, hard.

I didn’t answer.

Not yet.

But I didn’t pull away when he reached for my hand again.

The silence between us changed.

It wasn’t heavy now. It wasn’t full of all the ways we hurt each other with half-truths and stubborn pride. It felt… suspended. Like the space between heartbeats right before something important happened.

Con’s hand was still wrapped around mine.

He didn’t squeeze, didn’t tug, didn’t try to pull me closer. He just held on—warm, steady, present. I could feel the roughness of his skin against my knuckles, the contrast between his cool body and my still-too-warm pulse.