Charm (Crave #5)

by Tracy Wolff

“Seriously? As black and empty as the terror growing inside you?” a sarcastic voice with a very proper British accent asks from deep in my head. “Melodramatic much?”

“Looks like the devil really does wear Gucci.” He snorts. “I already told you I’m a vampire, not a devil—though I suppose you could be forgiven for confusing the two, since you know my wayward little brother. Also, to be clear, this is Armani.”

“To be fair, what’s the point of being a small arsehole?”

The way Grace is running straight toward the giant, flame-shooting plonker of a beast currently tearing through the sky directly at her tells me the anti-Hudson propaganda machine has obviously been hard at work in the time I’ve been gone.

Forget the queen. God save girls who believe everything they hear. And leap before they look.

Fuck. Just fuck. She might have brought this on herself, but I can’t ignore her fear, no matter how much she bloody well deserves it.

“My apologies. Next time I’ll let you burn.”

Hudson Vega wears boxer briefs. And not just any boxer briefs. Versace boxer briefs in red and green and blue and peach and gold,

And finally, there’s another string I can’t pull my gaze from in this tangle of connections. It’s a bright, electric blue, and it’s gossamer thin, but it is very definitely there. And it’s glowing ever so slightly. And somehow I know, even before I reach out a fingertip to touch it, that it connects to me.

And why the fuck am I noticing the color of her eyes anyway? And what she does with her hair? Neither of those things matters in the least, so why am I suddenly thinking about them?

But the fact that she said all that shit to me and I didn’t do a damn thing about it should qualify me for something. Sainthood, maybe. Or at least a 99 Flake—and you know I don’t do dairy.

As I hold her, I note several things. One, she fits surprisingly well in my arms. Two, she smells really good—like vanilla and cinnamon. And three, I kind of like holding her.

Because the thin string I instinctively know connects me to Grace has quadrupled in size since yesterday…and it’s now glowing the most brilliant blue I have ever seen.

If Tiola has a case of Grace hero worship, who am I to stand in the way of that?

But I also like it because it lights her up. Makes her glow. Not that I give a shit if she glows or not. I’m just saying she looks good when she does.

The fact that I’m not sure I can deal with the answer isn’t on her. It’s on me.

Emotional maturity>>>>

Just fooking stop, will ya?”

“I absolutely will not be juggling anything.” A man has his pride, after all. But when Grace giggles next to me, I know I’d juggle kittens if she asked me to. I am so fucked.

Hudson is playing a One Direction song. For me.

Bollocks. I just walked onto a stage, in front of hundreds of strangers…willingly. And then, because the embarrassment factor needed to be at some monster fucking level, I didn’t just sing any song. I picked a love song. Grace’s favorite love song, in fact. And then I sang it to her. Like an absolute tosser.

A romantic tosser*

“Just because I’m a vampire doesn’t mean I’m dead,” I call back.

Which is when it hits me that no matter how hard I try, I’m never going to recover from this girl.

Hudson just makes sure that I have the space and security to do what I want when I want to do it. It makes me like him even more.

The dragon’s almost here and fuck. Just fuck. And can I just say, this is what happens when you let yourself fucking care about someone. You end up using yourself as unarmed bait for a bloody fucking dragon.

If humans can ride bulls one-handed for eight seconds, surely I can do the same with this dragon.

Besides, the idea of being surrounded by books for a few hours each day sounds like heaven.

It’s amazing how much free time you have to read when there’s no Netflix—and the guy you’re living with would rather read about the Shadow Realm than kiss you.

I get to spend every day with my best friend, someone who loves spending time with me right back. How amazing is that?

As much as I know in my heart that what I had with Jaxon was special, I have been sure for a long time now that it pales in comparison to what I feel for Hudson.

She’s my mate, the love of my life, the most beautiful on the inside—and the outside—girl I could find in any realm.

I look at Grace, who is the love of my life. She’s also my mate, the person who was made just for me. I wouldn’t have to know she didn’t exist to miss her.

“Grace is my mate because she chose me. I still can’t believe whatever miracle made me the luckiest guy in the world, but before her, I was lost. I was alone and in pain and I can’t ever go back to a time when I do not remember what it feels like to love her with my very soul. And I know if I somehow survive alone…no world will be safe. If I allow the pain of her death to destroy the love in my soul for her—”

“That’s exactly what I want,” I say, and honestly, it is. “I want Grace to know that I will always love her—and I want my soul to remember it.”

I’d rather be locked in a crypt for another two hundred years than face a life without you in it.”

“Hey, how many guys get to say their woman fell head over heels in love with them twice? It’s not so bad to be me.”

Love isn’t always easy. And it isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s messy and painful and completely fucked up. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe love doesn’t have to be perfect. Maybe it just has to be real.