Crimson Bound (Blood Oath #7)

15. Gabriel

15

GAbrIEL

A fter spending my night tossing and turning, getting a little more than a few hours of restless sleep, I give up trying to fall back to sleep shortly after five.

The shower melts away some of the grogginess, but I still can’t shake an odd sensation—rushes of bloodlust one moment, and severe exhaustion to the marrow of my bones the next. I’m struggling to connect it to a source. Sure, work has been high stress with several out-of-state members of government paying a visit, but I’m used to that. If anything, my job among the humans has kept me grounded.

Having Calla here has been a welcome distraction also, though she does have a way of igniting the bloodlust at times. Every once in a while I get a whiff of her in passing and I have to focus on the years of training to stay in control of the beast that would otherwise tear into her throat and drain her blood.

Once I’m dressed, I find my way to the kitchen to make a coffee. Atlas is already awake and working in his office if the soft typing on his laptop is any indication, so I make him a cup as well, bringing it upstairs.

He glances up when I knock softly and slip into his office, leaving the door open as I approach the desk and set the mug down with a quiet, “Morning.”

“You were up earlier than usual,” he comments, reaching for the coffee. “Thanks.”

I nod. “Just one of those nights.”

Atlas takes a sip before returning the mug to his desk. “Anything you want to discuss?”

My brows inch closer as I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m not sure.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I see. Well, you know where I am when you figure it out.”

I smile. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

Leaving Atlas to his work, I return to the kitchen to scroll the news as I drink coffee from one mug and blood from another. Nourishing the primal part of me settles the urges for the most part, but there’s still a nagging sense of something hanging on my shoulders as I glance out the back wall of windows to see the sun rising. I can’t put my finger on it, and that in itself threatens to drive me mad.

I haven’t felt this sense of control slipping through my fingers in many years, and the idea of it rearing its head now, especially with a human living under our roof, is concerning. All I can do is keep tabs on how I’m feeling and ensure I don’t neglect my blood consumption, as much as it often leaves me feeling nauseous.

I don’t want to harm anyone or anything to survive. I spent far too long when I became a vampire taking pleasure in doing just that—it’s not who I am anymore.

Doing my best to bury those memories and the feelings they drag up, I open the fridge and pull out everything to make breakfast. I also slip into the main floor bathroom and grab the bottle of ibuprofen, figuring Calla will be feeling a little worse for wear after last night. I pair it with a glass of orange juice before turning to the stove to start cooking bacon and eggs.

Not long after, Calla shuffles into the kitchen, going right to the juice and painkillers.

“Morning,” I say in a soft voice, looking at her over my shoulder as I flip the bacon in the pan.

She merely waves, appearing disheveled and definitely not awake enough for conversation as she goes to the coffee machine. Mug in hand, she sits at the table in the dining room and looks out at the pool.

“How did you sleep?” I ask after a few minutes of silence while she drinks her Americano.

“Dead to the world,” she says. “Where are the others?”

“Kade and Lex are still asleep, and Atlas is out for a run.” At least that’s where I figure he went shortly before Calla came into the kitchen. He was on the phone with his family’s assistant as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and left through the front door.

“Has he been gone long?”

“About an hour.” I transfer the bacon from the pan to a plate and set it in front of her. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

She takes another drink. “I’m all set.”

“Coffee is not food, angel,” I offer dryly.

Her lips form a pout. “Let me live my life.”

I push the plate closer to her, taking a firmer tone when I tell her, “Don’t make me tell you again.”

She doesn’t protest further as she picks up a piece and eats it with a smile. “Thanks, Gabriel. You’re always looking out for me.” Her gaze drops to her lap. “I’m assuming you changed my clothes last night?”

When she looks at me again, I nod. “You can keep my shirt. I like the way it looks on you.” Getting it on her last night while she was completely out of it was a bit of a challenge but worth it to see her wearing it.

Her smile deepens. “Good. I was going to keep it anyway. It’s super comfy.”

My lips curve into a grin, and I take a piece of bacon off the plate, tearing it in half with my teeth. “You like your eggs poached, right?”

She nods. “You don’t need to cook for me, though. I can make, well, not much, but still.”

I finish off the piece of bacon, then say, “I enjoy taking care of you.”

Evidently, she wasn’t expecting that. She doesn’t respond right away, instead taking another sip of her Americano before she finally says, “I can’t imagine when the four of you made that deal with my ancestors that you did so expecting to put me to bed and cook me breakfast.”

Fair enough. I rub my jaw, making a mental note to shave the stubble growing there. “Perhaps not,” I offer. “Regardless, I’m happy to do it.”

“I won’t complain,” she comments mildly. “Especially when your cooking is far better than anything I could ever make.”

“Stick with me, and I’ll teach you my ways.” My tone is light, but I realize my mistake too late. She’s stuck with me whether she likes it or not—and it’s no secret that she doesn’t.

I expect her to balk at my words, but she merely smiles, sipping her drink as I turn back to the stove to finish cooking breakfast for the two of us. Kade and Lex can feed themselves whenever they decide to get out of bed, and Atlas will end up making a protein drink of some kind when he gets back from his run.

Sitting across from Calla in the dining room as we eat feels oddly normal. As if we’ve been doing it for years. I suppose that comes from knowing her long before she came here—before we brought her here, I should say.

She arches a brow at me. “Is something wrong?” grabbing her napkin, she asks, “Do I have egg on my face or?—”

“No, no,” I interject. “You’re perfect. I’m just enjoying your company.”

Her cheeks go pink. “Oh. Um, thanks. You too.”

I smile, pointing at her plate with my fork. “You’re not eating much.”

She takes a sip of her orange juice. “Yeah, I’m still not really hungry. I think I’m going to head to the gym for a bit.”

“Of course.”

Calla stands, carrying her plate to the kitchen and setting it in the fridge. “Thanks again for breakfast.”

“Anytime, angel.”

Once I’m alone again, I exhale a slow breath, put off by the unfamiliar tingling sensation along the back of my neck. I roll my shoulders, trying to work it out of my muscles, and pick up my tablet to sift through work emails while I finish my breakfast.

The pressure in my temples gets progressively worse, and I rub my eyes, glancing toward the coffee machine. I don’t typically have more than one in the morning, but today feels like one of those days where coffee is just as vital for survival as blood.