Jasper pulled himself up the stairs to the attic room.
Crimson was still in bed, though he was sitting up, one of Jasper’s books open in front of him. His deep brown eyes turned towards him as he came up the short flight of stairs. A small smile curled at his lips and just as quickly was gone. “What’s wrong, love? You look pale.”
“I’m not feeling very well,” Jasper admitted. He knew he should tell Crimson what had happened. Together they could come up with a solution.
The words failed to come to him, and instead he went over to the bed, dropping the bag of smokes on the floor beside it before crawling in beside Crimson. The werespider pulled the comforter over his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to the nape of his neck. “Do you need anything?”
Jasper closed his eyes, shutting away his tears. “This. Just this.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
—
Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing
Jasper wanted to believe his meeting with Charlie was nothing more than a bad dream, but even as his eyes opened that evening, he knew it wasn’t. Crimson was awake before him for the first time in a while, smiling almost cautiously at him, his head propped up in his palm. “Good morning,” he said, placing his hand on his chest, rubbing slow circles on it.
“Hey,” Jasper said. He cursed himself for wasting so much time asleep. Almost a day gone, all that time lost for good. He hoped Crimson didn’t notice the way the panic seized his heart.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Yeah.” Jasper took Crimson’s hand in his own and moved it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his palm. Truthfully, he didn’t feel better at all, but he didn’t know what he should say, so he said nothing. He could barely even think about it. Turning on his side facing Crimson, he kissed him again, this time on his lips. They were deliciously soft, moving in response to his own in a way they hadn’t in days. “How about you? Feeling better?”
“Yeah, I think so. A bit.” He paused. “Sorry I’ve been so… y’know. I don’t want you feeling like it’s on account of you or anything like that.” Crimson misread the situation. He didn’t know if he should be disappointed or relieved.
“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.” It would have been easier if he had. “Do you wanna go out later? We could go dancing.”
Crimson brightened a little at that, showing him a brief flash of his trademark movie-star smile. It dug deep down into Jasper’s heart and ripped a gash in its walls. “I love dancing.”
“I know, that’s why I suggested it.”
“But you hate dancing.”
“Only with everyone but you,” replied Jasper, surprising himself. Crimson raised an eyebrow, and Jasper grinned. “Alright, you’re right. I hate it no matter what. But it’s growing on me. Slowly.”
When they arrived at The Crystal Ballroom, they found it packed almost to capacity. It really was a horribly tacky and trashy bar, but standing in it now, Jasper found that he would miss it and its graffitied, mirrored walls and the way the bartenders always knew what he wanted to drink even when he didn’t.
They ran into Alan over near the bar.
“He-ey! I saw you on the news.” The werewolf laughed when he spotted them. Jasper’s arm was around Crimson’s and they were standing close together, but either Alan did not notice or did not care because he grabbed Crimson’s free hand, drawing in close. “My famous boyfriend.”
If Crimson hadn’t been there to stop him, he probably would have broken the werewolf’s nose, but Crimson tightened his arm around Jasper’s, holding him subtly back, and pulled his hand out of Alan’s of his own accord. “Sorry, man. I’m involved.”
Alan must have actually been that oblivious (and not just intentionally rude) because he followed the werespider’s gesture down to their linked arms, then grinned, and then positively beamed back at Crimson like he had just realized the greatest thing in the whole wide world. “You owe me ten bucks.”
Jasper shot a glare up at Crimson, who smiled nervously. “Don’t look at me like that. It was months ago.”
“A bet’s a bet,” chirruped Alan happily. He held out his hand and made a gimme gesture. “C’mon. Pay up.”
Crimson shrugged. “I don’t carry money on me. You know that.”
Jasper sighed. “Here.” He dug out his wallet, removed a ten-dollar bill, and placed it in Alan’s hand.
“Thanks, Jazzy,” said Alan. He took a step closer, this time in Jasper’s direction. “You know, if you’ve got a few more of those in there, I’d love to give the happy couple a discount. Maybe we could—”
Crimson pushed him towards the dance floor, not aggressively, but not exactly in a friendly way either. “Beat it.”
“Yessir.” Alan gave one of his patented werewolf barks of laughter at their combined scowls. “Alright, alright.” He tugged the rumpled mesh of his shirt straight, still smiling. “I know when I’m not wanted. You crazy kids have fun.” He started away but turned, walking backwards and pointing towards Crimson as he disappeared into the crowd. “Hit me up after he ages himself to death, yeah?”
Crimson didn’t respond, pretending very convincingly not to have heard. “Thanks,” he said to Jasper. Alan was already gone anyway. Jasper wondered jealously if Crimson would be right back with him the moment he returned to the Hunting Agency. Then he felt bad for even thinking that the werespider should think twice about doing so. If they couldn’t be together, Jasper couldn’t expect him to be alone. He was already lonely enough without Jasper wishing it on him.
God, he hated this.
Crimson nudged him. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Then, thinking that if it worked for Alan, it would probably work for him too, he added in a half-teasing way, “Sir?”
The look on Crimson’s face was truly priceless. Jasper wished he could have saved it in a snapshot.
“Are you not into that?” asked Jasper, dropping the round off his vowels to imitate Crimson’s voice. “I really ought to know these things, y’know?”
“You’re a riot,” said Crimson. He put his hand on the back of Jasper’s neck, drawing him as close as he could, and spoke into his ear. “You can call me whatever you like, but when you beg me to fuck you, I want you to use my name.”
The club around them seemed to momentarily fall away, Jasper’s blood pulsing with the idea. He squeezed Crimson’s shoulders, wishing he still had his jacket, then drew away with a shy laugh. “I’m not gonna beg.”
“Mm-hm,” teased Crimson. “We’ll see.”
“Shut up,” said Jasper lightly. “Let’s dance.”
They made their way out into the sea of bodies. Dancing really wouldn’t be so bad, thought Jasper, if it weren’t for all the other people. “I don’t know why you’re so freaked out!” called Crimson over the music. “You’re doing fine!”
“That’s what people say when someone’s doing really bad!” Jasper yelled back, and Crimson laughed.
“Here, I gotta idea.” Crimson’s arm suddenly tightened around his waist, and he pulled him through the crowd, to the smoking patio. Though it wasn’t exactly cold, it was cool enough to keep people from lingering longer than it took to smoke a cigarette. The music could still be heard here, muffled by the door.
Crimson didn’t stop on the patio, but dragged him on, through the side gate and around the building.
“Where are we going?” Jasper laughed, but even as he spoke, they drew to a halt. Crimson lifted him suddenly from the ground.
“Hang on.” The werespider took five running steps, and Jasper realized what he was doing just in time to throw his arms around his neck. Crimson caught the sill of a window on the second story and then jumped the rest of the way up to the third, putting them on the flat top of the roof. The music thrummed underneath their feet, the light-stained night sky overhead, buildings towering all around them like a forest of concrete, metal, and glass.
“Is this better?” asked Crimson. He set him down
, but they were still standing together, swaying slightly, not quite to the beat of the music below.
“Yes,” said Jasper, resting his head on the inside of Crimson’s shoulder and closing his eyes.
He didn’t know how long they were up on the roof, only that it was not long enough.
#
When they climbed down and walked back around the building, on their way home, they found Abby standing alone on the sidewalk just outside the entrance, watching the cars as they passed by. Jasper tried to walk on past, but Crimson slowed. “Whatcha doin’ out here, Abs?” He glanced around, expecting to see Alan, but the other werewolf was obviously still inside. “You okay?” he added when she didn’t answer.
Abby’s big empty eyes moved slowly, first to Crimson, then to Jasper, then back to Crimson.
Crimson felt a slow, sinking sensation. The werewolves weren’t his responsibility by a long shot, but they hung in or around his territory so often that he sometimes felt like they were. He stooped down to get a better look at her and spoke a little more slowly. “Did you get lost?”
“No,” answered Abby. Her gaze finally stopped tick-tocking, focusing now directly on his. “I came to say I’m sorry.”
Beside him, Jasper stiffened slightly. Crimson, one ear turned ever in the direction of his heart, heard it quicken.
“Sorry for what?”
She dreamily reached for his face, pressing two fingers lightly to his brow and trailing them down his cheek to his chin. “Don’t cry, Crimson.” He felt a chill, not on his skin, but underneath it. “It will be okay.”
“Abby, stop being so weird,” huffed Jasper. He took hold of her wrist and pushed it gently back to her side.
Abby let him stop her, but she did not look away or even acknowledge him. She was staring at Crimson, fixed as a cat staring at a mouse. “It will be okay,” she repeated. “Just remember that you…” But what she wanted him to remember, they would never know. Her gaze lost its focus. Just like that, she was looking at neither of them, looking at nothing. She craned her gaze around, moving in slow motion, as if she had been suspended in water, then turned and wafted back into the bar without another word.
Frowning, Crimson straightened up. “That little pup gives me the creeps,” he told Jasper. Half the time she seemed barely present, but every once in a while, he felt like she saw through him like he was made of glass. She made his skin crawl, and for a guy like Crimson, that was quite a feat indeed.
“She’s really weird,” agreed Jasper. His voice sounded strange. Bitter. “Let’s go back to the house.”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” said Crimson, and meant it. It was finally all starting to come together and, despite the reservations both his battle-scarred heart and his common sense told him to hold, he was optimistic. He loved this stage of a relationship—actually, he loved all the stages of a relationship, the way they were all different, the way they were all the same, the way love could sprout and bloom and grow.
He knew it would end in heartbreak; it always did with the mortals.
But Jasper was young, his life only just beginning to unfold, and though death would take him eventually, as it always did, it wouldn’t do so for some time. He was excited to be along for the ride. Excited to make the minutes count. Excited to be in love.
Crimson slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Race ya,” he said and then shot ahead of Jasper before he had time to understand what had been spoken. Jasper came sprinting in pursuit, yelling that he was a cheater through laughing breaths. He was smiling, his eyes misted with the barest veil of white light, and for a moment Crimson imagined he could almost see the glowing aura the others were always talking about—shining, faceted, like a diamond.
He didn’t think he had ever seen anything so beautiful.
Not in this life.
Nor in any of the others that came before.
Chapter Thirty
—
The Collector’s Daughter
Time passed too quickly. Jasper tried to make every moment count, proposing dates and activities he thought Crimson would enjoy, trying to keep the dark clouds of the future at bay. There would be time to be sad later. Crimson deserved happiness.
They went to movies and museums, bars and bookshops. Jasper couldn’t help but notice how much bigger his world was with Crimson in it. He had lived in New York City for almost three years before meeting him and had nothing but blood and vampire dust to show for it.
One night, after they returned home and were curled up together on the couch watching a movie, a musical, Jasper commented on how he had never seen one in person, had never been to an actual theater. Crimson announced that this was “unacceptable.” The next day they went to a fancy clothing boutique and spent what felt like hours picking out suits. Jasper did not complain about trying on a dozen jackets that all looked the same to him, nor about spending Alcander’s money. The spark in Crimson’s eyes as he picked out a deep wine-purple tie for him, the easy way he joked and teased, the honey-sweet kisses he gave Jasper were too rewarding.
Alcander got them tickets to a show on Broadway for that night. Jasper was surprised the vampire was able to secure them such good seats on such short notice. They were just a few rows back from the front, dead center. The lights dimmed, and Jasper grinned at Crimson, who grinned right back and placed his hand on Jasper’s thigh. Music grew in the darkness, and the half-blood laced their fingers together, eyes on the stage.
#
They left the playhouse, spirits high. Jasper had drank more champagne than was strictly necessary. It was the evening of the fourth day, and tomorrow he would be back at St. James. He still hadn’t told Crimson. It never felt like the right time.
With clasped hands, they walked down the street towards the subway entrance that would bring them back to Gravesend. Crimson was chattering on about the musical they had just seen. It was new, just out this year, so neither of them had seen it before, but still Crimson had a lot to say about the actors and the setting and the music. Jasper hung on his every word. He looked beautiful in the streetlights, dressed in dark finery, his hair slicked smartly back. He looked at Jasper, with sparkling eyes and smile, and Jasper felt like his heart was breaking.
“What?” He realized Crimson had asked him a question he hadn’t heard.
“I asked what your favorite part was.”
“Honestly? This part.” They were passing by a narrow street, much less popular than the one they were currently on, which was congested with their fellow theatergoers and other people out on the town. Jasper tugged Crimson down it, the werespider following easily behind him until everyone else was a mere rumble behind them. He looked behind them, checking that they weren’t being followed. Crimson let Jasper push his back against the dark window of a closed storefront, eagerly accepting the kiss he gave him. To hell with the Hunters—if they were watching, then let them watch.
“Has anyone ever told you how hot you look in a suit?” Jasper asked, feeling bold on champagne and lack of time.
“A few times,” admitted Crimson, his hands pushing through Jasper’s curls, knocking the knitted hat off his head, “but I’d love to hear it from you.”
“I cannot remember one single part of that play,” he said, pressing their bodies together.
Crimson wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him even closer.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you in that suit and gettin’ you home and gettin’ you out of it.”
They shared a kiss, open and hungry. Jasper forgot about the street around them, nearly forgot about the fact that he was leaving. Crimson broke the kiss first, just barely. Jasper could feel his smile, felt his lips move as he spoke in a whisper against his mouth. “Very nice, Jazz. You’re getting pretty respectable at flirting.”
“It’s the champagne,” he assured him. He couldn’t imagine being so brave otherwise. Bringing their mouths back together, Jasper kissed him until he was dizzy. It was their last nig
ht together, and Jasper wanted it to count. He wanted to say the words that had been growing in his chest, wanted to finally take that final step and be with him.
He just didn’t really want to do it in the street.
“Let’s go home,” he said. “Please, Crimson, take me home.”
Crimson’s eyes were that beautiful shade of burgundy that Jasper liked so much. He took Jasper’s hand and began to lead him back the way they’d come.
They both stopped at the same time, sensing the danger in their different ways. Jasper’s stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with champagne. Crimson’s attention had already snapped towards the rooftops, nostrils flaring. In the seconds it took Jasper to pinpoint the location of the demon, the werespider swept him behind his back, standing between him and what was on the roof.
From over Crimson’s shoulder he saw a dark shape untouched by the streetlights. He made out the outline of a long coat, of tall heeled boots, and the glimmer of coiled gold. Jasper drew a silver knife from under his jacket. Crimson already had a gun in his hand. “Could you maybe just… not… do whatever you’re about to do?” Crimson said. “We’re sorta on a date.”
“I believe you ’ave something of mine,” the demon replied. The voice was female and accented. French, Jasper thought. She stepped forward, off the roof, and landed with feline ease on a small patio on the second floor. Jasper now saw her blue eyes, slit like a cat’s, and the way her hand turned, snapping the golden whip to the side. Fear coursed through him. “I ’ave come to retrieve it.”
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