Page 105 of Bloodlust

One last time.

"You're a bad influence," I say, linking my fingers through his as he lifts me to my feet. "I'm trying to be logical here."

"Logic can wait, Camilla." He gives me a spine-tingling smile, so warm that the seasons could change. "Tonight, let's be reckless."

Reckless. That's all I've ever been.

What's one more time?

"Fine," I say as he dwarfs my hand with his and we stroll down the park in silence toward the final frontier. As we're about to exit the park, a familiar old woman hobbles past. I turn my head and she's staring at us, grinning. She smiles at me and then looks up at the sky, chanting under her breath before turning away. I blink. "Weird."

"What?" Hayden asks, craning his head toward the old woman. He frowns. "Is that..."

"Just keep walking," I mutter as we get to the crosswalk. A cold breeze flows through my wet hair, and I sneeze. Should've used the damn umbrella. "Shit."

"We're close," Hayden says, leading me to his apartment building. "You need to change otherwise you'll actually get sick."

"I don't get sick," I shoot back, playfully glaring at him. "My immune system is fantastic."

"I'd rather not risk it." Hayden rolls his eyes, fishing keys out of his pocket as we stop at a five-story walk-up. He opens the door, holding it for me. "After you."

His hand never lets go of mine as we walk inside, as we ride up the elevator, and as we enter this apartment.

He holds on.

"I'll get you a towel," he says, dropping his keys on the counter and flicking on dim lights. I place my purse and umbrella on the counter before awkwardly stepping foot into his living room. My gaze darts to the stereo system and the select few vinyls stacked on top of a record player. Gliding my fingers along the plastic wrap, I pick up the top album.Sweet Baby James."Do you like James Taylor?"

I spin around, mouth drying as Hayden slips on a dry shirt, a towel in his hand. "No," I breathe out as he walks toward me. "Never heard of him."

"Here." He exchanges the towel for the record, flipping open the player and loading the disc. As the pin drops in the middle of the vinyl, acoustic guitar and a pleasant voice flows through the speaker. "This is my favorite song."

"It's..." I swallow, my heart battering in my chest. This is too reckless. "It's good."

"Dance with me?" he asks as the lyrics rattle all the doubt swirling around in my head. Wordlessly, I nod andhe pulls me into his arms, resting his cheek against my temple. "Relax, Camilla. We're just dancing."

Just dancing.

"Mhmm.”

I cling to his shirt and close my eyes as he sways us to the music. The lyrics to “Fire and Rain”prick at my goddamn soul, and I break. I break over and over again.

His once dry shirt is damp with my tears as we continue to dance. As we continue to dig a hole from which I fear I may never escape.

Fucking James Taylor.

I haven't justseenfire and rain. I'm holding it. It's in my goddamn hands.

He burns the parts of me that are so fucking cold, so frigid, almost frozen.

And in the same breath, he puts out the flames that threaten to kill me.

He suffocates the fire I've kept kindling just so I could feel something.

But with him... I feel it all.

Every fucking emotion.

And it's devastating.