Chapter 19
Elena's POV
Pain split my skull.
I opened my eyes. Wrong ceiling. Wrong room.
The headache pulsed behind my eyes like a hammer. My mouth tasted like death.
Where the hell was I?
Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the Saint-Helier skyline. Clean lines. Expensive everything.
Caleb's place. I was at Caleb's estate.
Oh God.
Memories crashed back. The bar. The dancing. Caleb pulling me away. Me touching him. Me—
My face burned. I'd nuzzled his throat. Like a wolf scenting her mate.
And then I threw up on him.
I wanted to die.
My phone was in my pocket. I pulled it out. Dead battery. Of course.
I found an outlet, plugged it in. The screen lit up.
Eleven missed calls from Damon. Thirteen texts.
I deleted them without reading. Didn't care anymore.
There were also messages from Lila. Damn, I'd left her there.
The phone buzzed. Lila.
"Oh my God, Elena! You finally answered." Her voice sounded relieved.
"Sorry, I'm fine."
"Where did you go last night? I saw you go into the dance floor and then you disappeared."
"Sorry... I wasn't feeling well, so I went home early." I lied. I couldn't let her know I'd spent the night in Caleb's bed.
"Really?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't explain Caleb. Couldn't explain any of this.
"Talk later," I hung up quickly, not giving her a chance to ask more questions.
I stood up slowly. My head spun. I needed water. Coffee. A new brain.
The bedroom door was closed. I opened it carefully, peeked into the hallway.
Caleb leaned against the opposite wall. Arms crossed. Hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it all night. Dark circles under his eyes.
But those amber eyes were sharp. Alert. Fixed on me.
"You're awake." His voice was flat. "Good. I was starting to wonder if you'd sleep through the entire day."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
I caught my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. My hair was a mess—tangled, wild. The white sweater clung to my skin in all the wrong places, stained with dried whiskey and God knows what else. I looked like I'd been dragged through a storm.
No. I looked like I'd spent the night throwing myself at someone and then throwing up on them.
"I'm sorry." The words came out rough, my throat raw. "I... I ruined your bed."
Caleb's voice was flat, but there was something underneath it. Something strained. "It's fine. Someone will take care of it." He shifted his weight, not quite looking at me. "You should shower. Bathroom's through there."
He gestured toward a door on the left. His movements were careful. Controlled. Like he was holding himself back from something.
I nodded, started to turn—then saw it.
Red marks on his throat. Faint, but unmistakable. Right where I'd... where my face had been last night.
Oh God.
My scent would be all over his skin.
The shame hit me so hard I couldn't breathe.
I fled into the bathroom.
---
The moment I closed the door, hot water started running automatically. Smart sensors. Of course his place had those.
But it was the scent that stopped me cold.
Cedar. Ice. A hint of tobacco smoke. Clean and sharp and him.
I leaned against the sink, breathing it in. Letting it calm the chaos in my head.
"This is insane," I whispered to my reflection. "You barely know him."
But that wasn't true, was it? I'd known him since we were kids. I'd just never really seen him.
Until now.
I peeled off the ruined sweater, stepped into the shower. The water was perfect—not too hot, not too cold. Like someone had programmed it specifically for me.
When I got out, I saw them.
Clothes. Laid out on the counter like they'd been waiting.
A soft gray sweater. Fitted but comfortable.
My hands shook as I picked up the sweater. Held it to my face.
"I... I really like this scent," I murmured, barely aware I'd spoken aloud.
---
I got dressed. Walked out of the bathroom.
My phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Ten times in rapid succession.
Damon.
I stared at the screen, watching his name flash over and over. Part of me wanted to throw the phone out the window. The other part made me answer.
"Where the hell were you last night?" His voice was too loud. Too sharp.
"I was... at a friend's place." The lie came easily now.
"Which friend? Male or female?"
I blinked. "Does it matter?"
"Yes, it fucking matters, Elena. You went radio silent all night. You—"
"Pancakes or pie?"
I jumped at Caleb's voice. He'd walked into the room, casual as anything. But his eyes were on me. Watching. Waiting.
"What?" I managed.
"Breakfast. Pancakes or meat pie?"
The line went dead silent.
Then: "Elena Cross, who the fuck is that?"
My stomach dropped. "Damon—"
"You're with a man? You spent the night with some random guy?"
I hung up. Didn't let him continue.
"Meat pie," I said quietly, looking up at Caleb.
His expression was unreadable. "Good choice."
---
The dining room was ridiculous. Floor-to-ceiling windows showing the Saint-Helier skyline, a table that could seat twelve, and enough food for twice that many people.
Sandwiches. Scrambled eggs. Meat pies—three different kinds. Milk. Orange juice. A bowl of cut fruit. Honey water with lemon.
"You didn't have to—"
"Sit." He pulled out a chair. Not asking. Telling.
I sat.
He took the seat across from me. Close enough to reach, far enough to breathe.
We ate in silence. Or he ate. I picked at a sandwich, trying to find the right words to apologize for that morning's harsh words.
Finally, I put down my fork. "I need to apologize."
His jaw tightened. "Elena—"
"Please. Let me finish." I took a breath. "I know I already texted you, but I wanted to apologize in person for what I said the other morning..."
I watched my hands twist together in my lap. "I was angry because of conflicts with my family. At everything. At everyone. And you were just... there. And I took it out on you."
Silence.