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“Sunshine. Sunshine, awaken; it is only a nightmare.”
I don’t know how that flat voice is able to convey concern. My vampire sounds positively worried.
His hand ghosts across my shoulder, and that whisper of a touch jolts me awake as my body abruptly registers vampire-in-the-room — my vampire-in-the-room. My poor heart isn’t going to take many more of these all-too-frequent spurts of overdrive. The fragile thing can’t decide what to panic about most at first, but my dream’s terror presses heavier on me than my instinctual fear. So I reach out for his chest. It seems to be in one piece, but I have to be sure. Without thinking, I hastily unbutton his shirt enough to place my hand on the scar across his chest. I’m trembling, and the thin sheen of cold sweat that’s coating me is not helping at all.
“Sunshine.” He calmly waits until I raise my eyes to his before adding, “I am well. I am whole.”
“But…you were bleeding. Again. So much blood.” I shudder.
“It is done. Bo is gone.” The tonelessness of his voice belies the intensity of his gaze. I can neither look away nor respond. As the moments roll by, the look between us deepens and I realize that my hands are still resting on his bare chest. I let them fall to my lap, my lap that currently feels the need to draw my eyes down, too.
Alright, come on, Sunshine, get your damn act together. We're at the part of the conversation where you have to speak now if you don't want the awkward silence to swell. Swallowing uneasily, my eyes flick back up to his. “But why are you here? Don’t I have to call you or something?”
“Yes.”
So I don’t even need to be awake to call him. Well isn’t that just the dandiest Carthaginian thing? Having a nightmare about…that night, or any number of unsettling nights? Never fear! Your vampire in glittering darkness is here! At the beck and call of even your subconscious voice.
“Oh.” At least my voice doesn’t sound quite as shaky as the rest of me feels.
“What do you need, Sunshine?” I am definitely spending too much time with this vampire; how does his expressionless voice sound so low and urgent? And then he repeats his words from—was it just a week ago? “I am yours to command.”
Without thinking (again), I whisper, “Kiss me.”
Stunned that the words have slipped out past my lips, I just sit like a lump of dough and stare at him with eyes as wide as my doe’s.
He does his whole surprised stiller-than-still thing.
“Please, Constantine.” My whisper barely escapes with my exhaled breath.
But he, of course, hears it. He lets out a nearly imperceptible sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl, cradles my face in those large hands of his, and brings his mouth to mine quicker than blinking. But he pauses just short of my mouth. (No doubt giving me time to rescind my request should I want to. You know, like how any truly sane human would.) But finally, he presses his lips, ever so cautiously and gently, against mine. Those gloriously soft lips ignite a deep, desperate desire in me. It’s as if I’m unraveling and Con is my anchor, the only thing keeping me from flying off into oblivion. Whimpering, I clutch his thick hair and pull myself onto his lap. He stills for a fraction of a second before kissing me back with an intensity that isn’t diminished by its controlled restraint.
Of course, I have to start crying. No melodramatic sobs or anything; I just start to leak. I don’t even realize it until he pulls back a bit and licks his lips. Then he bends his face back to mine, his lips and the tip of his tongue rubbing up my tear tracks like an eraser, a languorous, sexy eraser. He reaches my eyes, which obligingly close so he can kiss their lids and dart his tongue out to my tear ducts. Then he just hovers over my face, his strong, elegant fingers curled around my head as his thumbs brush comforting, slow circles on my cheeks. My hands have slid back down to his chest. I leave one to trace his scar while I lay the other over one of his hands. You know, just in case the fragments of my shattered sanity decide to mutiny and attempt to desert me completely. At least he can sort of hold me together. I mean, let’s be honest here, he’s kind of been doing that for a while now.
Oh, wonderful, my eyes are leaking even more now, in steady, mournful streams that race down my face like a set of parallel rain drops racing down a car window.
It’s suddenly all too much. Violent sobs tear through me. I find myself choking out “I can’t…I can’t…”
“Shh…” Ever so carefully, he eases me back until we are lying down facing each other. Then he gently enfolds me in his arms, lightly kissing my forehead, nose, and mouth before resting his forehead against mine. I curl as closely to his chest as possible, pulling one of his hands between our chests before I fall asleep with his face nuzzling into my hair.
The next morning, I wake up to a note that reads:
“My Sunshine, I am here whenever you should need me. I give you my word.
Constantine.”