Page 19 of Vampire Visions

His earnest look was pulling at my heartstrings, and I sighed at his confession. “It’s going to take me a little longer than this to trust you again, York. I’m not mad anymore, but I am still hurt.”

“I know.” He reached over and held my hand tightly as he gazed up at the stars.

“I forgot how easy it is to talk to you,” I admitted in a whisper with a small smile on my lips.

“I forgot how much you talk when you have a good buzz.” He turned and grinned at me.

I laid my head on his left shoulder as I looked out at the twilight sky. The stars sparkled like fine glitter sprinkled through the cloudless night. We’d spent so many nights sitting in this exact spot while we stargazed. We’d had countless debates about everything from flowers to aliens to the universe in general, and now all of that seemed so far out of reach. The simpler times had passed us by. They were just fleeting moments like this one that we’d have to grasp onto when they blew by, or risk losing the moment fully.

“I’m sorry for punching you,” I quietly admitted after a few minutes of silence. A genuine smile pulled my lips up against my will.

He chuckled at me. “No, you're not.”

“Fine. You’re right,” I sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry if it hurt, though.”

“It didn’t hurt as bad as you ignoring me.” The weighty feel of his words crawled across my skin.

We sat in the hush of the early morning hours. The only sounds to break up the quietness between us were crickets chirping and owls hooting in the distance. The trees swayed in the warming spring wind, letting us know that summer was only a few days away. It felt good to finally have everything off my chest. I mean, everything between York and me. A little bit of that stress I’d been carrying around lifted off my shoulders. The issue was small compared to many of my current problems, but the weight was tremendous.

I kept stealing glances at him. He’d been free from his captors for all of two days, but he was so much healthier. His eyes weren’t sunk in his face anymore, and they’d lost a tiny bit of that haunted look. Those teal and grassy green irises looked more like the gorgeous islands that I was used to. His cheeks had filled out, and his body had beefed up, like he’d spent the last four months working out religiously. I knew it was from all the time he was spending in the greenhouse, but the comparison was accurate. His cream colored t-shirt was stretched across his broad shoulders and chest. When he leaned back on his elbows, I could count his abs as they flexed.

He was nearly back to the appearance he had before he was taken. That thought made my mind bounce back to the battle with Kelvin and his minions. It was a slaughter, but I didn’t feel bad about it. Look at what they did to my mate! To countless other people... I should have finished that job years ago instead of letting them capture me. If I had, though, I may not have met York. Or I may have met him while trying to kill him. That would have been awkward.

There was one fact that I just couldn’t dispel from my thoughts. If York hadn’t asked the Fae King to lock away my memories, would this mystery drug even be a problem? A part of me wanted to say yes, but the more stubborn part of me still said no. If I would have killed the leaders in that camp when I was supposed to, then that could have been the stopping factor. If I would have just stayed on task, instead of deviating from my plan, then thousands of infected supes might be alive today and not suffering.

This only made me question myself more. Did York’s meddling hurt the outcome I was trying to achieve? Yes. Was it his fault? No. It was mine. That was a part of what Jack was trying to tell me earlier. I had a habit of making plans and then ditching them, always in favor of the “wingin’ it” method. Sometimes it worked better, and sometimes it had the potential to fuck the whole world up.

York

Wednesday Early Morning

Eventually, Sloane and I both agreed that we’d drank too much to be hanging over the edge of the roof. We scooted back, leaving several empty bottles behind, and sprawled across the grassy section of the rooftop patio. She had her face turned to the stars, admiring her favorite view, while I took the time to memorize her profile again. The thin bridge of her nose led to the perfect Cupid’s bow. Her lush lips slightly parted before twisting into a grin as she pointed at the night sky, calling out yet another constellation. Long lashes brushed the tops of her high cheekbones with every slow blink.

We talked the night away, just like we used to when we were madly in love and blind to the world around us. The fond memories we shared were heartwarming and gut wrenching. I hadn’t understood how much I missed her until we started reminiscing. The way her eyes lit up when she giggled at me, the way she molded against my side with her head resting on my chest, or the way she casually placed her leg on top of mine so she could find a comfortable position… I’d missed all of her hidden sweet side.

More than that, though, I’d missed listening to her tell me the stories behind the stars and their names, talking about her work, and telling me about the newest books she’d read. It was the simple stuff that had turned me into an addict. I would never get enough of her, and I’d known that as soon as I’d really gotten to know her. Years had flown by, but my addiction hadn’t diminished. It had grown.

The distance between us had been an itch that I couldn’t scratch. It was an ache I’d had no way to ease. I thought about all of that and so much more as I drew lazy circles across her back with my fingertips. She snuggled closer to me, and the silence of Mother Nature wrapped her arms around us both. I wondered if she’d drifted off to sleep, or rest, or whatever she called it on any given day. She had a habit of getting actual sleep after drinking as much as she had tonight. Not as much as the rest of us would, but three hours was more than normal for her.

After a few minutes, Sloane lifted up her head, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at my face. Her half-lidded eyes were the exact same bedroom eyes I’d gotten the night before I’d left. Almost absentmindedly, she ran her fingers over the short-cropped hair on the side of my head, her gaze never leaving my face. Her irises were like a rainbow all on their own, deep green and striking yellow setting of the bright red against her pupils. I watched them flicker from my lips to my eyes and back again before she made her move.

Her mouth descended on mine, steady and thought out, giving me every chance to say no. She started hesitantly, waiting for me to stop her. I didn’t understand what she was thinking, but I couldn’t keep myself from kissing her back with a little more certainty. She let go of the last reservations she’d been holding onto, slipping her tongue into my mouth with a throaty moan.

She tasted like sugar and tequila. It was the sweetest cocktail I’d ever tasted. I craved everything she gave me, needed it like my next fix. Between her taste and her scent, I was intoxicated. My buzzed brain kept telling me to slow down, that this was too fast, that she’d regret it in a couple hours. My body was determined that the consequences would be worth the push. I wouldn’t push her, though. I’d let her move at her own pace. If this was what she really wanted to do, then I wouldn’t object, but I needed to know. When she sucked my lower lip between her teeth, nibbling gently, I knew I had to say something now, or I’d say fuck it all and hate myself tomorrow when she was mad at me again.

“Sloane,” I whispered, pulling my face away to look into her eyes. “As badly as I want to keep going, I want you to make this decision sober. I don’t want you to regret it later.”

Disappointment flared between us for a split second before she nodded with a small smile. “You’re right,” she admitted. “We should stop.” But she leaned in to continue kissing me. The feather light touch of her lips made me groan. She trailed her lips down my jaw and neck, leaving a slightly damp path. She never did play fair. I didn’t know why I expected her to be any different now.

“Sweetheart.” I gently pushed her up so I could see her better. “You’re drunk. I have a bit of a buzz. I don’t want to take advantage of the situation any more than I already have.” I gave her an apologetic shrug.

She rolled her eyes at me. “I’m not inebriated beyond rational thought. I know what I’m doing. I know I’ll probably think it was too soon tomorrow, but right now?” She raised her brows, looking sexy and smug and… sober. The glossy look she had in her eyes an hour ago was long gone. “All I can think about is how much I missed this easy, relaxed magnetism that we’ve always had, and” — she pointed to my hands on her thighs — “I want to feel your hands roam across my body like you used to do. Like you were worshipping me. I want to feel you slide inside me so slowly that it’s pure torture and I beg for just a little more.”

She watched my expression as she spoke. Desire rolled so thickly through our bond that I couldn’t tell whose was stronger. I picked my head up and dropped it back to the grassy roof with a thud. “Tell me I didn’t pass out up here. Am I having a horribly, wonderful wet dream right now?”

“No.” She giggled. “But I’ll stop if you really think I should.” She was such a liar. She had no intention of stopping. Leaning down, she kissed her way from my throat to the top of my chest, where she jerked, stretching the collar of my t-shirt to reach more skin.

I snaked my arm around her back and rolled to flip us over. “Are you sure?” I asked her, concern tinting my usually smooth voice. My eyes bounced between hers as I tried to gauge her feelings. When her hand wrapped around the back of my neck, she tugged me and I made no more effort to resist. She was the worst kind of addiction. Unpredictable and consuming.