Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
“I think it’s best you get some shut-eye,” he says to me, gesturing to the couch while reaching for a cigarette.
“I don’t need to sleep,” I tell him. It helps us reset, it makes us feel better, but vampires can go indefinitely without it.
“Sure you do,” he says, his voice becoming gentler. He looks me over as he lights his cigarette, the flame igniting his eyes, making him look otherworldly for a moment. In that same moment I feel an inkling of fear, a creeping sensation at the base of my skull. The way he looks at me sometimes…
“Or don’t,” he says with a frown. “You alright?”
I give my head a small shake. No. Obviously not. One minute I’m listening to Callahan talk about his dead wife and war trauma, the next I’m afraid I might kiss him, and in the next I’m inexplicably afraid of him.
Maybe I do need sleep.
He takes a few steps over to me and stares down. Reaches for my chin and places his fingers under it, lifting my face up to meet his. A second stretches into infinity, the rough feel of his fingertips against my ageless skin seems to ignite something deep inside me, mixing together fear and lust into something potent.
I swallow uneasily but I keep his gaze.
His brows knit together, as if I’m some sort of puzzle placed in front of him. “You’re really something, you know that, dollface?”
“So I’ve been told,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper.
“I bet you have.”
Then he lets go and takes a step back, puffing on his cigarette. “So if you don’t want to sleep, then what do you want?”
There’s heat in his voice, something rough underneath the smooth exterior. A bit of his Chicago accent coming through.
“Something I can’t have.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Funny. You’re the type to get everything she wants.”
“Not quite.”
His eyes burn into mine, a muscle ticking along his jaw, as if he’s trying to compose himself, to hold himself back. Then he exhales, a cloud of smoke blurring his features, breaking the spell.
“Get some sleep,” he says again. “I’ll be up, working on the case. You’re safe here, Lena.” He pauses. “I promise you that.”
The protectiveness in his voice catches me off guard. There’s something endearing about his concern, even if I know I’m far more capable of defending myself than he realizes.
“You need your sleep, too,” I remind him. If he’s having blackouts due to stress, it seems like sleeping is one way to cure it.
“I know. Maybe I’ll join you.”
Then he strides over to the door, turning off the main light, leaving the room bathed in the warm glow of his desk lamp. He grabs a blanket that was hanging over the armchair and holds it out above me, motioning with a jerk of his chin for me to lie down.
I hesitate, feeling so damn vulnerable. Then I lie back along the couch as he drapes the blanket over me. My eyes fall closed. I let it happen, wanting to revel in the feeling of being taken care of, something I haven’t felt since I came to this city.
Before I can open them again, I drift off.
A pounding on the outer office door jerks me awake. Sometime during the night, Callahan must have sat at the end of the couch by my feet and slumped over into sleep, his head on my thigh, one arm above and draped over my waist. For a moment, I’m disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings and the comforting weight and heat of his hard, strong body against mine, as if he’s holding me in place as he slept.
Possessive.
The pounding continues, followed by a voice I recognize with a sinking heart.
“Callahan! Open the goddamn door. I know she’s in there.”
Marco.
Callahan is already alert, sitting up and reaching for his jacket, which contains his gun, I assume. “Stay here,” he says quietly.
“No,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. “Let me handle this.”
“Like hell.” His voice is low but firm. “That man is dangerous, Lena.”
“I’ve dealt with him before,” I reply, meeting his gaze steadily. “Let me try to defuse this.”
Something in my expression must convince him—or maybe I’m finally able to compel him—because after a moment he nods, though he still moves to position himself between me and the door as we enter the reception area.
Marco’s silhouette is visible through the frosted glass of the office door, broad-shouldered and menacing, although Callahan’s form matches his. Even though it would be horrible, for a wicked moment I envision a boxing match between the two of them, wanting to see Callahan at his most rough and dangerous.
Callahan unlocks the door and opens it just enough to reveal himself while keeping me partially shielded behind him.
“Russo,” he says coolly. “It’s not even seven a.m. Whatever business you have can wait for business hours.”