Chapter 95
Elena's POV
I stood awkwardly in the living room while Caleb shrugged off his coat.
"I should shower," I said. "Can I borrow something to wear?"
"Why not ask Lila?"
"Your shirts are..." I hesitated. "More practical. Looser."
Liar. I wanted to wear his clothes. Wanted his scent around me like a shield.
Caleb studied me for a moment, then headed to his room. He returned with a set of home clothes—soft gray sweats and a white T-shirt.
"Take the pants too. Don't want you catching cold."
I clutched the bundle to my chest. "Thanks."
The shower was blissfully hot. I let it wash away the day's tension. When I tried to pull on the sweatpants afterward, though, they immediately slid down my hips. The drawstring helped, but barely.
The shirt hung to mid-thigh, at least. Long enough to be decent.
I stared at my reflection, at the oversized clothes and damp hair, and made an executive decision. The pants were a lost cause.
Caleb was in the kitchen when I emerged, and I shuffled over to hand him the sweats. "These don't really... stay up."
His eyes dropped to my bare legs for a fraction of a second. His throat worked as he swallowed, gaze snapping back up.
"Right." His voice came out rougher than usual. "Bedroom. I'll get the medicine."
"I can just go to the guest room—"
"Your ankle needs treatment. Main bedroom. Now."
I recognized that tone. No point arguing. I padded after him, hyperaware of how much skin I was showing, how his shoulders had gone rigid.
In his room, I perched on the edge of the bed while he retrieved ointment from the nightstand drawer. The scent of menthol and herbs filled the air as he poured some into his palm.
"Do you ever get tired of this?" I asked quietly. "Taking care of me every day?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he rubbed his hands together until they were warm, then carefully took my injured foot in his grip. His touch was firm but gentle, fingers working over the swollen area with practiced ease.
I watched his face—the slight furrow of concentration, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. My pulse kicked up again, that now-familiar flutter in my chest whenever he was this close.
His hands were so warm. Warmer than they should be, that constant heat that seemed to radiate from him. It felt incredible against my sore ankle.
"Lila mentioned housing in her neighborhood is cheap," I started, needing to fill the silence. "Once my foot's better, I thought I'd check it out. Find a job, get my own space—"
Caleb's hands kept moving, his focus apparently entirely on my ankle.
"Caleb?"
"Mm?"
"Did you hear me?"
"Yeah."
But clearly he hadn't actually listened. I waited, watching him work the ointment in with slow, methodical circles. When he finished, he stood without a word and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands.
He came back with a thin blanket, which he draped over my legs before I could protest.
"I'm not cold—"
"You're dressed like that, and I can't focus." His eyes met mine, direct and unflinching. "So unless you want to talk about something else entirely..."
The implication in his voice made my stomach drop and flip simultaneously. "I—I wasn't trying to—"
"I know." His mouth curved slightly. "But I'm only human. Mostly."
Before I could formulate a response to that, he moved. One moment I was sitting on the edge of the bed, the next his hands were on my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto his lap so I was facing him.
"Caleb—"
"Shh." His thumb brushed my lower lip. "You've been talking all evening. My turn."
Then he was kissing me, and every coherent thought scattered like smoke.
"Caleb..." His name slipped from my lips, soft and pleading, though I didn't know what I was begging for.
He made a low sound against my throat, something between a growl and a groan. I felt his teeth graze my skin—sharp. Dangerous.
My eyes flew open.
His fangs had extended. Just barely, the tips pressing against the side of my neck where my pulse hammered wildly. The instant I stiffened, he froze completely.
Then he jerked back so fast I nearly tumbled sideways.
"Fuck." He caught me before I could fall, steadying me, but his face had gone carefully blank. His chest heaved. "I'm sorry—"
"It's okay—"
"No, it's not." He set me beside him on the bed, then stood abruptly. He ran a hand through his hair, his back to me. "I should have known better. I've been waiting too long. Going slow... is difficult."
I pulled the blanket higher. My heart was still racing, my lips swollen from his kisses. "You didn't do it."
"Not yet." His voice came out rough, strained. He turned halfway, not quite meeting my eyes. "But if I don't stop now, I might mark you."
That honest admission made something in my chest tighten. He was always so controlled, so restrained. Seeing him on this edge—it should have frightened me. Instead, it made me feel powerful. Wanted.
"Do you..." He cleared his throat, finally looking at me. "Do you want to sleep here? With me?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications neither of us was brave enough to voice. I thought about staying, about letting this momentum carry us somewhere irreversible.
Then I thought about the sharp press of his fangs against my throat, the way his hands had trembled with the effort of holding back.
I shook my head.
Something flickered across his face—relief, maybe, or disappointment. Probably both. He nodded once, then held out his hand to help me up.
The walk to the guest room felt impossibly long. At the door, he paused, then leaned down and brushed the softest kiss against my forehead. Just that. Nothing more.
"Goodnight, Elena."
"Goodnight."
I closed the door and pressed my back against it, willing my heartbeat to slow. Through the wood, I heard his footsteps retreat, then the sliding glass door to the balcony opening.
It was well below freezing outside. But Caleb stood out there for a long time—I could sense it.
I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. My mind was still buzzing, my body still humming with the memory of his touch. I'd meant to talk to him about finding my own place, about not becoming dependent on his generosity. Now that conversation felt impossibly distant, buried under the weight of what had just happened between us.
I told myself firmly. Don't let it distract you from your plans.
But even as I thought it, I was smiling into the pillow like an idiot.