Page 73 of Lair

Adrian’s jaw hangs. The effort to understand on his face is so cute it’s unbearable. “Aurora, what—”

“I could never fix the abusive men in my life, because you can’t fix that kind of wrong. But I can fix your kind, Adrian.”

He waits, very still now, alabaster brow furrowed. “What are you saying?”

I stand over him, chin lifted and cleaver flashing, and he stiffens. “You said you can’t change back to a man unless the vampire who turned you is killed?”

He nods, slowly, eyeing his nervous reflection in the mirror-bright cleaver blade.

“Well.” I brush his hair back with a mother’s care, letting a devious smirk curl my lips. “Then we’re gonna find that bloodsucking bastard”—I lightly menace the air with the cleaver—“and chop his fucking head off.”

He stares at me, taking it in. The audacity of it. “But that head is the head of our coven. No one even knows where he is—”

I grip the scruff of his neck and pull his head back, stop his words with a kiss I’ve never given any man. A kiss that screams possession. A kiss that burns.

When I pull back, his eyes are wide, amused, and marveling.

“We’ll find him,” I promise. “If we have to pick off every last vampire, one by one, to draw him out, we’ll find him. And we’ll make damn sure they never harm anyone again.” I let the cleaver fall—thunk—point-down and quivering into the floor so I can hold his face with both hands, my forehead to his. “Because you’re mine, Adrian. And I’m not going to lose you. You gonna help me?”

The import of it hits him now. The plan. What I’m saying. Us. It’s as if centuries-old shackles fall away. His face changes, and that light comes out of him again, those dazzling smile lines spreading wide, filling the whole world to express one huge, emphatic word:

Okay.