“You’re not invited in. So not sorry.” I move to close the door, but his hand flashes out and hits the door, stopping it from moving.

Which is surprising enough—I’ve always been under the impression that no part of a vampire could enter a room they’re not permitted into, but that’s obviously not true.

The fact that he’s gotten the better of me makes me even more annoyed, and I shove against the door even though I know I’m not going to be able to budge him.

Except he does retreat a little, even as he makes an odd hissing sound in the back of his throat. “Stop,” he says hoarsely.

“What’s wr—” I break off as I glance at his hand and realize that welts are burning through his skin and flesh.

For one second, panic holds me immobile, and then I realize what’s happening. “Come in,” I tell him in a voice several notes higher than my regular tone. “Come in, come in, come in.”

The burning must stop instantly, because he breathes a sigh of relief as he lets the door go and steps over the threshold.

“What’s wrong with you?” I demand, even as I grab him by the forearm so I can get a better look at his hand and wrist—both of which look like he just thrust them into a raging fire. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“By setting yourself on fire?” I gasp, dragging him over to my bed. “Let me at least bandage you up.”

“It’s nothing,” he tells me. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s obviously something,” I shoot back, because even though the burns have healed somewhat—the subcutaneous tissue is no longer exposed—they still look like they’re at least second-degree. “It won’t take long. I have a first aid kit in my backpack.”

He smiles softly. “I know.”

“How do you know?” I ask, but then I realize. “Another thing from when we were trapped together?”

“‘Trapped’ is such a harsh word,” he answers, and his little smile has become more of a wicked grin. One that makes my stomach do a flip or two…hundred, not that I’m counting.

“Yeah, well, I’m feeling pretty harsh right now,” I mutter, even though it’s not quite the truth. And also, not quite not the truth, either. “I can’t believe you did this to yourself.”

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I as I put some antibiotic salve—I don’t know if it works on vampires, but I figure it can’t hurt—over what remains of the burns. And then, because I can’t stand the idea of Hudson in pain because of me, I close my eyes and focus on sending healing energy into his burns, one by one. I’m careful to monitor my breathing so he doesn’t realize that healing is in any way draining my energy, and it’s really not. At least not much.

I’m on the last one when he clears his throat and says, “I didn’t like getting kicked out of your room last night. I thought we’d just decided to try to make this work, almost even”—he looks away for a second, and I blush—“you know. And then you just tossed me out like one of the guys.”

It’s the last thing I expect him to say, and I fumble the antibiotic cream as I go to put it back in my kit. “I …” I trail off as I realize I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say to that.

“I know, it’s silly. Obviously you have every right to kick me out anytime you want. I just got used to…” It’s his turn to trail off.

“Being in my head all the time?” I ask him with a raised brow. Because I get it. I do.

I thought I’d be thrilled to be separated from Hudson and, for the most part, I am. But there are times when I go to share something with him, only to remember he’s not there.

There are times I wish he was there, times it almost feels lonely without him.

And that was only after a couple of weeks—that I remember. How much harder must it be for him when he remembers us being together for four months? I can’t even imagine.

“Maybe I miss it a little,” he finally agrees. His reluctance only makes me feel worse, as does the way he refuses to look me in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I glide my fingers along his smooth and healed skin. “I wasn’t really kicking you out. I just couldn’t handle being surrounded by all that vampire testosterone mansplaining to me for much longer. It was a lot.”

“You make a fair point.” His wicked little grin is back, which makes me smile, too.

“If it makes you feel better, the grilled cheese was delicious.”

“Really?” He looks skeptical but also, maybe, just a bit hopeful.

“Absolutely.” I smile. “So, so good.”

His shoulders seem to relax. “I’m glad. I’ll make you another one sometime.”

I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to say to that, so I just smile and nod. This mate thing—even if we’re just friends—is surprisingly hard work. But, also, not.

37

Charmed, I’m Shore

“Have a good day, Grace.”

The voice of my art teacher, Dr. MacCleary, startles me out of the stupor I’ve been in all day, and I glance around only to realize that I’m the last person in the room. Everyone else has already packed up and left.

“Sorry.” I shoot her an apologetic smile, then gather my things as quickly as I can. At least I have lunch next, so I don’t have to worry about being late anywhere.

Because I do have an hour before my next class, I decide to skip the tunnels and take the long way back to the castle. It’s a beautiful day, and I want to spend a few minutes in the sun if I can.

A frigid wind slaps me in the face the second I step outside the cottage, but I ignore it. This is Alaska, after all, and it’s still cold out. But it’s an okay kind of cold, the hoodie and scarf kind rather than the kind where I need a full abominable snowman outfit.

A storm is supposed to blow in tomorrow, though, so I might as well take advantage of the weather while I can. Instead of heading straight back to the castle, I wind my way around the art cottages to the path that takes me by the lake.

It’s been frozen ever since I got here, but as I head down the path, I realize that the ice has finally melted. The lake is actually a lake again.

I stop for a minute and take a quick selfie or two with the water and the bright-blue sky in the background. Then I fire them off to Heather, along with the caption: Beach weather, Alaska style.

It only takes a few seconds before she texts back with a picture of herself in shorts and a T-shirt on the boardwalk at Mission Beach.

Heather: Beach weather, beach style

I shoot her back the eye roll emoji.

Heather: Bitter much?

She follows it with the laughing/crying emoji.

Me: So, so, sooooooo bitter

She sends me another pic, this one of her standing in line for the old wooden roller coaster we used to ride every time we went to Malibu Beach.

Heather: Wish you were here

Me: Me too

Heather: I’ll be there soon enough

And fuck. I totally forgot about her coming to visit for graduation.

Angry tears burn in my eyes, because this is one more thing Cyrus has ruined for me. Heather had originally planned to come for Spring Break, but I’d pushed her off until graduation, But now I can’t let Heather come then either—not when Cyrus and Delilah are going to be on campus. And not when I know they’re gunning for me.

Cyrus would have no compunction about using a human girl to hurt me, and I can’t stand the idea of something happening to Heather. My parents already died because of me—if Cyrus does something to Heather, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.

So, despite the fact that it kills me, I fire off a quick text that I know is going to piss her off.

Me: You can’t come to graduation

Heather: Why not?

Me: We’re not allowed visitors

It’s a terrible excuse, but I don’t know what else to say. Telling her I’ve got a homicidal vampire on my ass sounds like a very bad idea.

Heather: If you don’t want me to come, all you have to do is say so

Heather: You don’t have to lie

Me: I’m sorry. It’s not a good time.

I wait for her to text back, but she doesn’t, and I know it means she’s pissed. Which she absolutely has a right to be, even though I’m just trying to save her life. I think about texting some more, but right now there really is nothing else to say. So I shove my phone back into the pocket of my hoodie and start the long trek to the castle. But I’ve only taken a few steps before I see a flash of black and purple in the gazebo across the lake.

I almost ignore it—it could be any one of the students at Katmere, after all—but when the hair stands up on the back of my neck, I change my mind and take a closer look. Only to find Jaxon staring straight at me from his perch on the gazebo railing.

I haven’t talked to him since I kicked him out of my room Saturday night, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. So I smile and raise a hand in a wave as I wait to see whether he’s going to ignore me or wave back.

In the end, he does neither. Instead, he hops off the railing.

But seconds later, he’s made it all the way around the lake.

“Hey, you,” I say as he comes to a stop inches away from me.