He balanced on one hand, tearing at the left side of his chest with the other.
Was his heart beating?
“Mate,” he gasped, fangs elongating another fraction of an inch. “Mate.”
Before she could respond, Jonas threw himself off the bed and landed on his feet. His fists clenched at his sides for a heavy moment, as if he was considering lunging at her, pinning her, but in the space of a second, he’d gone out the window instead, leaving her alone and wheezing on the bed.
Mate?
Ginny was so confused by what had happened, it took her almost an hour of staring into space and replaying the scene to realize…she still had her memories.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ginny had the dream again that night.
She was edging along the outskirts of the luminous fair, drawn by her very bones to the darkness. Drawn to the tree where the man stood in his hat and suspenders, watching her as though he’d been waiting for her. As if he’d been watching her for a while and memorized the way she moved. Which made no sense since she was positive she’d never seen him before. She would have remembered being magnetized, hot and shivery just being in his presence.
Having no choice but to get closer, she stepped out of the light and watched him push off the tree and go rigid. “Don’t,” he said, though his voice didn’t reach her. His lips spelled out the words. “Please, don’t.”
For some reason, with those words from the stranger, she expected the moment to dissolve. For the night to fade and fade like a pencil sketch submerged in water. It didn’t, though. Another presence tugged her attention to the left, away from where it truly wanted to be—on the stranger beneath the tree. Someone else was there with them, though.
Static crawled up her Ginny’s arm. Her head turned toward the other presence lethargically, but there was only an outline of a dark figure surrounded by the yonder lights of the fair.
A figure in a crimson hood.
Ginny bolted upright in bed, a sob caught in her throat.
Her fingers tore at the bed sheets, twisting them in her grip to keep her grounded in the present. In wakefulness, too. Last time she’d had the dream, she’d woken up in the middle lane of the parkway. Not this time, thank the Lord. She was in her bedroom, even if she couldn’t shake the gravity of the dream. Part of her even wished she was still asleep, so she would know what happened. What was the stranger beneath the tree distressed about?
And how could every second of it feel so vivid, right down to the gravel and grass crunching under her feet to the smell of roasted chestnuts?
The lingering haze of the dream drifted away and last night’s events came hurtling back in. Automatically, Ginny’s fingers went to her neck, to the spot where Jonas’s teeth had accidentally nicked her and drawn blood. There was no cut, no pain, nothing to prove it had ever happened.
A lead weight sank in her stomach.
Mate.
What had he meant by that?
Mate.
“Any fresh bodies for me to see today?”
A delighted shock ran through Ginny and she scrambled to the edge of the bed to find Roksana lying casually on the floor.
“You’re back,” Ginny breathed, moisture rushing to her eyes. Before she could stop herself, she rolled off the bed and landed beside the slayer, promptly throwing a leg across her body and pulling her into a bear hug. “Where did you go?”
“I don’t appreciate this display of emotion,” Roksana said, contradictory laughter in her voice. “It makes me feel lumpy.”
“Lumpy?”
“That’s what I said. Get off, you crazy animal.”
“Okay, fine.” Ginny let go of Roksana and scooted back, fairly vibrating with excitement over having her friend back. Since the slayer had left, she’d mostly been worried about staying alive, but seeing Roksana in person now made Ginny realize she’d desperately needed her friend. “You didn’t answer me. Where did you go?”
“Upstate. Downstate.” Roksana studied her finger nails. “Here and there.”
“What made you come back?”
“The prince.” She snorted. “Who else?”
Ginny’s brow knit. “I don’t understand. He took care of the threat last night. I’m no longer in danger.”
“Hmmm.” Was it her imagination or did Roksana’s attention slip to her neck. “Perhaps that is true. Perhaps he thought you shouldn’t be alone on your birthday.”
When she should have experienced warmth or pleasure over Jonas’s thoughtfulness, there was only a scalding, syrupy sense of foreboding. “He isn’t coming back, is he?”
Roksana evaded her gaze. “This vampire drama does not concern me. I am only here to party.”
“Roksana, please,” she whispered. “Something happened last night—”
“Hold that thought,” the slayer said quickly, rolling under the bed. “We have company.”
No sooner was Roksana out of sight than Larissa stumbled into the room with a bottle of NyQuil clutched to her chest and a wadded up tissue protruding from one nostril. “What the hell are you doing on the floor?”