Chapter 68: To Kill Or To Love (ii)

Chapter 68: To Kill Or To Love (ii) Clare POV: Okay, so after Reed came in with the heating pad — thank God for that — he just... stood there. Not saying a word. Just staring. And not like the casual "checking if you’re okay" kind of stare. No. This was a full-on, "I think you’ve grown a second head" type of situation. Eyes flicking between me and something invisible, shifting from one leg to the other like he had no idea what to do with his own limbs. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. Who would’ve thought this was the same guy who once had me pinned to a wall, claws out, rage boiling behind those shifting eyes? Speaking of eyes — they were doing that weird thing again. Flickering from a soft brown to an almost-glowing yellow, back and forth like some kind of broken traffic light. It was subtle, but yeah, I noticed. I notice everything when I’m stuck on a couch with cramps and my entire body screaming mutiny. Then, without saying a word, he turned and disappeared into the kitchen. I blinked. Was he leaving? Freaking out? Coming back with claws? Honestly, your guess was as good as mine. But then he returned — with a glass of water. I stared at it. He stared at me. His eyes were flickering again, that weird yellow-brown dance that always looked like he was seconds away from shifting into his furry death form. He thrust the glass in my direction like it burned his hands, muttered something I couldn’t catch — definitely a curse — He pinched the bridge of his nose like I was giving him a migraine by just existing and then, without warning, and then stormed out of the apartment like it personally offended him that I was still breathing. Straight out the door. Okay... what the hell was that? Was he mad? Frustrated? Regretting his sudden burst of not-being-a-jerk? Or maybe this was just Reed’s brand of bedside manner: brood, fidget, vanish. Classic. But honestly? I didn’t care. He had brought me the essentials. That was more than enough to earn a temporary ceasefire. I reached for the pills, popped the painkillers into my mouth, and gulped them down with the glass of water. The heating pad hummed softly on my stomach, finally offering that sweet, sweet relief. Everything else — the confusing boys, the chaos, the bruised pride — could wait. Sleep came easy this time. And I let it take me. I don’t know how long I slept after Reed left. Long enough, apparently, for the painkillers to kick in and the heating pad to lose its warmth. Everything was dim, the room coated in that soft kind of night where shadows blur into each other — peaceful, almost. Until it wasn’t. Something... shifted. That strange, gut-chilling sensation of being watched clawed up my spine, dragging me from the haze of sleep. I blinked. And that’s when I saw them. Red. Glowing. Watching. Two crimson eyes pierced the darkness across from me, just hovering above the floor like a goddamn horror movie. Closer than they had any right to be. Then the fangs caught the low glint of streetlight through the window. Sharp. White. Bared. I screamed. Loud. Instinctual. The kind of scream that comes from your soul because every cell in your body suddenly realizes this is the end. My heart nearly exploded. And then— "Blaze?" I gasped, breath ragged, hand gripping the couch cushion like it could save me. He didn’t speak. Just stood there. Looming. Motionless. Furious. His pupils were narrow slits within that infernal red, and his jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle ticking beneath it. His entire body radiated rage and hunger. No smug smirk. No snide remark. Just death. Waiting. I froze. My whole body locked up, except for the trembling. "What the fuck, Blaze?" Still, silence. He wasn’t looking at me like a person. He wasn’t even looking at me like food. He was looking at me like... a mistake. A threat. Or worse — a weakness. "Look, if you’re here to kill me, can you at least wait until I’m not bleeding out from natural causes?" I snapped, trying to summon a bit of courage, even if my voice wavered like hell. But the way his shoulders shifted — like a beast barely holding back the lunge — made my skin crawl. I swallowed hard. "Or, I dunno... say something? Staring at me like you want to rip my throat out isn’t exactly helping your case here, Prince of Darkness." Still nothing. Just that fury, flickering in his eyes like the aftermath of a fire that refused to die. I didn’t know what I’d done to trigger him — again — but my gut said this wasn’t the usual vampire moodiness. Something snapped in him. Something dark. Something dangerous. And I was caught in the middle of it like a deer on black ice. The tension was suffocating. And for the first time in days... I wasn’t sure if sass could save me. ******** Okay, look — I know I was walking on thin ice here. Like razor-thin, might-snap-at-any-second kind of ice. But come on. You try waking up from the dead of sleep — period pain still clawing at your insides — only to find yourself face-to-freaking-face with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp fangs hovering in the dark like a damn horror movie jump scare. My body reacted before my brain even booted up. Of course I screamed. Loud. High-pitched. Definitely startled-my-own-damn-soul kind of scream. It took me a second to realize it was Blaze. Freaking Blaze. He was crouched low, eyes burning like twin embers, fangs out and breathing like he’d just run a marathon. His face was twisted in something between fury and... restraint? I couldn’t tell if he wanted to murder me or throw himself into the sun. And you know what? I didn’t care. Because period mood. Because blinding cramps. Because this stupid vampire and his hot/cold personality were not on my list of things I could deal with right now. "You ever hear of knocking?!" I snapped, clutching the now-lukewarm heating pad to my stomach like it was a shield. "Or is dramatic entrances just part of your whole undead aesthetic?" He didn’t move. Just stared. Unblinking. Silent. Terrifying. And kind of... broken? Which made me even more pissed off, because I didn’t have time to unpack that. I was bleeding, I was tired, and this wasn’t how I imagined dying — in an oversized T-shirt, holding a water bottle to my gut, with messy couch hair. "Look, if you’re here to kill me, get in line. My uterus is already trying," I muttered, voice sharp as a dagger. "But if you’re here to just stand there and stare, you better bring snacks." Still nothing. God. I hated vampires. Especially emotionally constipated, dangerously gorgeous, broody prince types who acted like your very existence was both a curse and an addiction. "Blink once if you’re gonna kill me," I added dryly. "Blink twice if you’re here to audition for the next Twilight remake." His lip twitched. Victory. Tiny, petty, but I’d take it. Was I scared? Hell yes. He looked like a nightmare. But I was also hormonal, exhausted, and too done with this entire supernatural circus to cower. I tucked myself deeper into the couch, pretending like his very presence wasn’t making every instinct in my body scream danger danger danger. But I didn’t show it. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Because even if I was one scream away from pissing myself, I’d rather die sassy than scared. ******* After a while — seconds? minutes? centuries? — he finally moved. Stepped out of that shadowy corner like some nightmare given flesh and purpose , and started walking toward me. Smooth. Slow. Controlled. Every footstep felt like a countdown. And I... yeah, I think I ran my mouth a little too much. "Sit up," he said. No yelling. No threat. Just two simple words, laced with something too calm to be comforting. And guess what? I didn’t need to be told twice. Nope. Not me. Miss "sass-till-death" got her butt upright real quick. If Blaze, the Dracula offspring of emotional whiplash, tells you to sit up — you sit up. I barely had time to breathe before he slid into the empty space beside me and, with that annoying, unnatural grace, pulled me back — right onto his lap. His lap. One second, I was sitting on my own. The next? I was cradled against his body, my head resting on his thigh like we were filming some gothic romance scene — except, I was 95% sure this one would end in blood loss. My heart started doing the full Jumanji stampede. He could probably hear it. Hell, I could feel it trying to climb up my throat and make a run for it. I leaned back slowly, stiff as a corpse and praying to every deity that he wasn’t about to snap my spine in two for fun. But then... then he did the weirdest thing. He chuckled. A deep, low sound that rumbled through his chest, vibrating where my shoulder touched him. And then — he started combing his fingers through my hair. Gently. So gently, it made something in me stutter. Like my brain wasn’t sure whether to scream or melt. "What to do with you, little pet?" he murmured. It wasn’t a question meant for me. More like something you say while deciding whether to roast, fry, or sauté the chicken in your freezer. His voice was thoughtful — too thoughtful — and I didn’t know whether to laugh or bolt. The pet thing? Yeah, not cute. Not romantic. More like Bond villain meets overgrown vampire with attachment issues. But here’s the messed-up part: his fingers felt nice in my hair. Soothing. And yeah, I was still a little emotionally traumatized from waking up to fangs and a vampire crouched like he’d found dessert — but something about that moment made my heart calm just a bit. Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t about to eat me. Yet. I didn’t dare speak. Didn’t move. Just laid there, caught in the weirdest paradox of comfort and fear, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as he touched me like I was fragile glass. If this was a dream, my subconscious needed therapy. If it was real? I needed a holy water shower, an exorcist, and a restraining order... all while curled up on his lap like a confused, cramp-ridden kitten. This was my life now. Apparently.