It had to be Fox.
Lying on his back, he continued to run through a mental checklist, but he was still coming up with nothing. There were no appointments or events he needed to remember. No burning items on his to-do list.
But this feeling of something missing continued to press on his brain.
With a huff, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. He quickly pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a T-shirt before stepping into the hall. He poked his head into Fox’s room, but it was empty. Not that he was surprised. It was nearly seven in the evening. He had probably been up for several hours.
Silently, he padded down the stairs to find the TV on with the sound turned almost to nothing. Fox was on the couch, asleep. He was curled up in a ball with the blanket from his bed wrapped around him. His fiery red hair stuck up in every direction against a throw pillow, and his features were relaxed in his sleep.
He looked so damn young like this, as if subtle lines of tension had been wiped away. When he was awake and grinning at Winter, he couldn’t help noticing fine lines around his green eyes, as if there were some secret fear humming through him. Was he expecting Winter to attack him all while putting on a brave façade? Was all the flirting and teasing a way to mask his uncertainty or just ingratiate himself with Winter so the vampire wouldn’t kill him?
Disappointment sat heavy in his stomach. It had been nice to think that Fox might be attracted to him. But it made more sense that Fox was flirting to simply protect himself. Winter knew he wasn’t exactly friendly and kind like Bel. Definitely not sexy and carefree like Rafe. Winter bit back a sigh. It was for the best if Fox wasn’t really interested in him.
Barely resisting the urge to reach down and run his fingers through Fox’s hair, he turned toward the kitchen. He needed blood. Just a little nip to get him moving. He shouldn’t need to hunt and feed for at least another week. Preferably Fox would be gone before that happened. For now, he wanted to keep the witch where he could see him, and he was not taking him along for a hunting expedition.
And there were too many reasons why Fox would never be a donor.
Though, now that the thought was dancing through his head, what little noises would he make if Winter were to sink his fangs into his neck?
Stifling a groan, Winter grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and snagged a bag of blood from the fridge. He had no type preference. He couldn’t taste any difference between them. His brother Rafe claimed O positive was the best, but Rafe was also full of shit.
He stood in the kitchen and quickly chugged his breakfast, staring out into the living room. Apparently, he’d made enough noise that Fox was stirring. His companion sat up and stretched one arm into the air while scratching his head with the other. The yawn he released was big enough to practically crack his jaw.
And for some bizarre reason, Winter’s first thought was that he was adorable.
He was losing his mind. It had to be the quiet of his place. His loft was never this quiet.
The thought stopped him cold.
His home was never this quiet. There were always ghosts lingering about, passing through and moaning about something. Or simply confused about their current state or why they couldn’t find their goddamn keys. Whatever. The point was…ghosts were always around him.
But they weren’t now.
They hadn’t been since…
Cara. He’d talked to the ghost called Cara in Damon’s home. He’d seen them as he escaped Damon’s mansion with Fox.
But the second he left the dead world…nothing. No ghosts.
He placed the glass on the center island with a loud clink, causing Fox to jump. He twisted on the couch and graced Winter with a sleepy smile.
“Hey,” he called in a husky voice. But Winter couldn’t answer. His mind was full of questions, hopes, and other complicated emotions that he wasn’t ready to look too closely at just yet. But there was one question repeating over and over in his head.
Was this Fox’s doing?
Winter stood frozen in the kitchen, trying to remember any ghosts he saw in the world of the living prior to meeting Fox. There hadn’t been many at the hotel he’d chosen, but there were a few. One had lingered in the lobby, bitching about how the real flowers had been replaced with shitty silk fakes.
But when he walked through with Fox in tow later that night, he hadn’t noticed a damn one. There hadn’t been a single one on the drive to the hotel. Not in the hotel. And now, not one was in his home.