BLOOD & RHYTHM

Chapter 17: Resentment

The first day without him was the hardest.

I woke in my tiny apartment, alone, and reached for him before I remembered. My hand touched empty sheets, cold and bare. The bond pulsed somewhere in the back of my mind—distant, muted, like a heartbeat heard through walls.

He was hurting. I could feel it. And I was the cause.

*Good*, I told myself fiercely. *Let him hurt. He told me to leave.*

But the thought brought no comfort.

I went through the motions that day. Visited my mother—she asked about Alexander, and I changed the subject. Went to work—my other job, at a coffee shop, the one I'd kept even after Alexander's money made it unnecessary. Came home. Ate food I couldn't taste. Stared at the ceiling until dawn.

The second day was worse.

My body ached. Literally ached, like I'd run a marathon and forgotten to stop. Every muscle felt tight, every joint stiff. I told myself it was stress, was grief, was anything except what I knew it really was.

Withdrawal.

I was addicted to him. To his presence, his touch, his *existence*. The bond wasn't just emotional—it was physical. Biological. Part of me now in ways I couldn't undo.

I considered going back. Considered it a hundred times. But pride—stupid, stubborn pride—kept me in my apartment, staring at walls, counting hours.

The third day, I stopped counting.

---

Alexander spent the week in darkness.

He didn't leave the manor. Didn't feed. Didn't sleep—not that he needed sleep, but he'd grown accustomed to lying beside her, feeling her warmth, listening to her breathe. Now the bed was empty, and the silence was unbearable.

He could feel her through the bond. Her pain, her confusion, her stubborn refusal to come back. It matched his own.

*Let her go*, he told himself. *She's safer away from you. Dorian was right—you'll destroy her eventually. Better now than later.*

But the thought brought no comfort.

He prowled the manor at night, a ghost in his own home. He stood in the music room, staring at the chair where she'd played, hearing echoes of music that no longer existed. He touched her cello—the Stradivarius, still waiting for her return—and felt his chest tighten with something that might have been a heartbeat, if he still had one.

*Come back*, he thought, sending it through the bond. *Please. Come back.*

But the bond returned only silence.

---

The fifth day, I broke.

I was at the coffee shop, handing a latte to a customer, when my vision went gray. The cup slipped from my fingers, shattering on the floor. Someone was asking if I was okay. Someone else was cleaning up the mess.

I couldn't hear them. Couldn't see them. All I could feel was the bond, screaming at me, telling me he was starving himself. Telling me he was in pain.

Telling me he needed me.

I walked out. Didn't explain, didn't apologize, just walked. My manager yelled after me. I kept walking.

The streets blurred past. I didn't know where I was going until I got there.

The manor.

I stood outside its gates, rain beginning to fall, and realized I'd walked miles without noticing. My clothes were soaked. My teeth were chattering. But I couldn't move.

*Go inside*, a voice whispered. *He's waiting.*

*He told me to leave*, another voice argued. *He doesn't want me.*

But the bond told a different story. The bond told me he was dying inside. Dying without me.

The gate swung open on its own.

I walked through.

---

Alexander felt her the moment she entered.

His head snapped up, eyes going wide. Through the bond, he felt her—cold, wet, exhausted, but *there*. Coming closer with every step.

He was moving before he decided to, racing through corridors, not caring how it looked, not caring about anything except reaching her.

They met in the grand foyer.

She stood in the doorway, rain streaming from her hair, her clothes plastered to her body. She looked terrible—pale, shaking, dark circles under her eyes. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Luna." Her name was a prayer.

"Alexander." Her voice cracked. "I tried. I tried to stay away. I tried to—" A sob escaped her. "But I can't. I can't be without you. It hurts too much."

He crossed to her in three strides, pulling her into his arms, holding her so tight he was afraid he might break her. She clung to him, shaking, crying, her face pressed to his cold chest.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—I didn't mean—"

"Shh." He kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. "It's okay. You're here now. That's all that matters."

"I was so scared. Of what we are. Of what you are. Of what this means." She looked up at him, eyes red and swollen. "But I'm more scared of being without you. That's worse. That's so much worse."

"Luna." He cupped her face in his hands. "I love you. Not your blood. Not your music. *You*. All of you. Every stubborn, scared, brave, beautiful inch of you."

"I know." A watery smile. "I know that now. I was just too stupid to see it."

"You're not stupid. You're human. You're allowed to be scared."

"So are you." She reached up, touching his face. "You're allowed to be scared too."

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. "I was. I am. Every moment, I'm terrified of losing you."

"You won't." Her voice was fierce. "I'm not going anywhere. Not ever again. I don't care what Dorian says. I don't care what anyone says. You're mine, and I'm yours, and that's all that matters."

He kissed her then—desperate and hungry and full of a week's worth of longing. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her cold hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.

"Never again," he whispered. "Promise me. No more running."

"No more running," she agreed. "Promise."

They stood in the foyer, rain still falling outside, and held each other like they'd never let go.

Because this time, they wouldn't.