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The door is open. I step inside and close it behind me.

The blackout curtains block the streetlight, leaving the room in perfect darkness. I don’t turn on the lamp.

I lie down on Kain’s bed, on top of the covers, the way I did in my own room. The mattress gives more beneath me, broken in. The pillow holds his pheromones. His scent is in the sheets, the pillowcase, the air.

I stare at the ceiling. As my vision adjusts, the same swirls and ridges emerge, different room, same plaster.

Footsteps pad down the hall. They pause in front of the door, and my heart races.

If he comes in here now, my resolve will shatter. Surrounded by his scent, in the bed where we’ve slept every night together, I won’t have the will to leave again.

The footsteps move on, and I release a shaky sigh as Kain returns to the couch for one more night.

19

Aclink from the kitchen stirs me from sleep, and I roll over in bed, burying my face in Kain’s pillow. His pheromones fill my lungs, and a small whine catches in my throat as my hips wiggle, and I burrow deeper.

As I drift off again, the rush of water through the pipes rips me from sleep, and I bolt upright, the blanket falling from my shoulders.

I stare at it.

I went to sleep on top of the covers.

Confused, I scan the dark room before spotting the rim of light peeking around the blackout curtains.

My pulse jumps. Where’s my phone?

A quick pat around the bed finds nothing.

I set an alarm. I know I set an alarm.

But my phone is in my room.

Because I went to bed there last night, and I didn’t grab it when I switched.

I scramble off the bed, my legs tangling in the blanket, and stumble, catching my balance before I fall.

Then I’m through the door, bare feet slapping across the hardwood as I race toward the kitchen.

As I near, my nose twitches at the scent of hot oil, butter, and eggs. I stop in the doorway, the cold floor biting through my soles.

Kain stands at the stove, spatula in hand.

The clock on the microwave reads seven forty-seven.

The schedule dictates breakfast at seven thirty.

Kain turns at the sound of my footsteps, his dark hair still sleep-mussed and the bruise on his jaw turning green at the outer edges. “Morning, Bunny.”

I take in the pan, where steam rises off the eggs in thick white curls. “You’re not supposed to be up.”

He flips the spatula with a flick of his wrist. “My seventy-two-hour restriction expired forty minutes ago.” His gaze settles on me. “You did good, bunny. Really good. You took care of everything I needed.”

Warmth spreads through my chest.

Kain smiles. “I’m proud of you.”

The warmth turns gooey, spreading into my stomach and up my throat. I did it right. I took care of him, and Kain is proud of me.