“If Walt is not blood related, that will have to be good enough for me,” she said, checking all the corners and cracks in the closet. As expected, she came up dry.
Devon didn’t say anything as she passed in front of him, and she was glad for it.
Her old room was as she’d left it. The twin bed was made, the desktop was bare, and the rickety dresser drawers were empty, as was the closet. She’d taken everything worth having, and had thrown the rest away.
“At least that dick hasn’t been loitering in my room. That’s something,” she said. Her space was still her own, even now. Her corner of the world remained untouched. A small weight lifted from her shoulders.
“The smell in here…” Devon’s nose wrinkled near the bed. His brow creased next to the curtains. “It’s…” He shook his head. “It’s too faint to be certain, but…” His voice drifted away. She didn’t have to be told what he was thinking.
“The person who visited Walt…” Charity hadn’t missed that little nugget. No doubt the secret visitor was the one who’d convinced him that she wasn’t his child. She had been large for a preemie—nearly eight pounds. It was why she hadn’t ended up in the NICU. Or so her mother had always said.
Who would have come here uninvited to look into her heritage?
“Vlad. It was Vlad, wasn’t it?”
His name tasted spicy-sweet on her tongue, which was strange, given the distaste she felt for her would-be kidnapper. But then, vampires were hunters of humans—they wielded seduction as a weapon.
Devon didn’t comment. He didn’t have to.
“What’s he been doing for the last couple weeks, I wonder, besides mucking around in my life?” She took a deep, calming breath to still the sudden flush of anger.
Don’t lose your shit, Charity. Gotta stay calm. Keep the magic locked inside.
Her heart sped up as she stepped into her closet. If her mother had snuck in to leave her a message, she would have hidden it in here, in their special hiding place. Those who didn’t know about the little hideaway would never find it.
Charity had checked it often throughout her childhood, finding little notes or silly drawings, and just as often after her mom had left.
It had always been empty, then.
She felt above the dusty shelf and reached into the bottom right corner. Her finger traced the little grove and she pushed the flap open. A small package waited inside, wrapped with care. Charity should know—she was the one who had wrapped it.
Tears filled her eyes as a hollow feeling carved out her heart.
She tried to focus on the job at hand. She tried to remind herself that she could fall to pieces later. She tried, but the weight of her suffering dragged down her head. Tears tracked down her face. The fight went out of her.
“What is it?” Devon asked.
Charity shrugged, pocketing the package. “Just some pictures. Of me. When I was a baby. And some other stuff I thought she might want. It was hers. She stashed it in there for safekeeping. In her note, she told me she was leaving it for me. I just thought…” A sob lodged in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. “I’d hoped she’d come back. I’d ho-hoped she’d miss me, and come back.” She shrugged, overwhelmed by feelings of inadequacy. “I thought maybe she’d check the little cubby to see if I’d left her my address. I knew she wouldn’t want to stay here with Walt, but I thought ma-maybe she would check in on me.”
Devon was there in an instant, wrapping her in his arms.
“Why would a mother leave her only daughter?” she begged, her hands limp at her sides, wanting the earth to open up and swallow her whole. The agony pulled at her, dragging her down. “What d-did I do so wrong that she wouldn’t want to take me with her? That she would leave me in this hellhole—”
“Shhh,” Devon cooed, rocking her back and forth. “It wasn’t you, Charity, please.” His words were filled with pain and rage. “It wasn’t you. She wasn’t strong enough for this life, and she knew you were. She was probably so broken by the end, like you said, that she couldn’t feel at all. Please.”
It was the pain in that please that snapped all her focus to him. That reeled her in from the pit of raw pain. Because while everyone else might’ve left, he never had. Even when he hadn’t thought much of her, he’d walked into battle right at her side. He’d laid down his life, multiple times, to protect her. Hell, right now he was enduring all this for her.
She’d had crappy luck with people throughout her life, but it had all been worth it to find him.
Without warning, they were tearing at each other’s clothes. She grabbed his basketball-style sweats, easy to rip off if he needed to shift, and yanked. Buttons broke free and the fabric came away. He already had her jeans over her hips, reaching between her thighs and kneading her just right. She moaned against his lips, wrapping her fingers around his velvety shaft, desperate to have him inside of her.