Forget About Midnight (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #9)

On impulse, I threw my arms around him and pressed my face to his neck, inhaling the scent of his subtle cologne. “Yes,” I finally managed to say. “I never wanted this for us, Kale.”


We held tight to one another, seeking closure that even forgiveness would not bring. When it became apparent to me that closure wouldn’t be part of our twisted relationship, I sought escape instead.

I kissed Kale, and though it was not our first kiss that evening, it felt like it was. Without the rush of stolen blood and the blissful power high to warp my train of thought, the kiss wasn’t fueled by my dark side. It was all me, seeking comfort.

His lips were hesitant on mine. There was a stiffness to his posture that betrayed his unease. However, the desire that flavored his aura was real. Natural, without influence, it made me want him more.

Trying to deepen our connection, I slipped my tongue into his mouth. When he ran a hand through my hair, I pressed closer. My passion soared as his kiss grew hungry. I was ready to climb into his lap.

And then he pulled away. “I can’t do this,” he whispered. “Trust me, I want to. I just… I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“This isn’t some teen make-out session. I’m not a fragile virgin, Kale. I can make this decision.” I stared at him, wondering where this was coming from. The sexual tension between us had been thick enough to walk on, and he was refusing me now?

“I’m sorry, Alexa, but I don’t think you can.” He held up a hand when I opened my mouth to protest. “Hear me out. You’re new. Your emotions are on overdrive. I can’t begin to tell you how badly I want to take you right here, right now. But I’ve fucked up enough when it comes to you. And after,” he faltered, guilt taking over his face, “after what I did to you, I just can’t.”

I didn’t want to think about that. Those memories lived in a place I’d locked away inside me. “If I’ve been able to move past that, why haven’t you?”

Kale sat back against the couch. I was sad that he’d withdrawn from me. He seemed to be regressing into himself. “There is no excuse for what went on in the FPA basement that night,” he said, his voice hollow. “I will never forgive myself for that.”

I shook my head, unable to bear the self-loathing in his eyes. “They tortured you, Kale. They drove you crazy. That place gets inside your head. I know, it spoke to me too.”

“But did it make you try to harm the person you most love? I was weak. I gave in because I wanted to stop fighting, and it felt so good. I hurt you because I wanted to. Don’t make excuses for that.”

His words struck me like a stake in the chest. I already knew this of course. Hearing him say it caused a sharp pang of absolute hurt to seize my undead heart.

“Fine. But that’s over. This moment is the one we have now. So why waste it? Why not be with me the way you always wanted to? The way I always wanted to?”

Sadness enveloped me. I felt sorry for myself, and it sucked. Forcing Kale into an intimate encounter wasn’t what I wanted. So I rose from the couch and headed for the stairs.

I paused at the top. He remained where I’d left him, in the center of the couch with his head back, staring imploringly at the ceiling.

“You’re a good man, Kale. Deep down inside, you really are. Don’t doubt that.”

There was nothing else I could offer him. My forgiveness for what Kale had done wasn’t enough. He had to forgive himself.

I was right back inside the nightmare that always awaited me in slumber. Although I wasn’t sure that nightmare was the right term since it happened during the day. Either way, it was a form of dream hell, and I hated it.

The FPA building loomed large beside me. It stood against the dark sky, menacing and beastly, holding horrid secrets within its walls. The night I died lurked in my subconscious, calling me back every time I closed my eyes, and here I was again.

For the most part, everything was the same as that night. Falon came through for me again, lopping off Shya’s head with a clean swipe of his angelic sword. And then there was Arys. This time he didn’t cower away from me as he had in reality. This time he turned on me, eyes flashing with hunger and fangs bared.

I backed away, hands up. Like every other time I’d had the dream, I begged Arys to spare my life. Pleading with him not to kill me, I fell on my knees in the dry grass and begged for mercy. I changed my mind. I didn’t want to do this anymore.

Arys dragged me close, fighting to bare my neck as I struggled against him. My cries went unheard as he overpowered me. He leaned in close, and I could feel his breath on my neck seconds before the sharp touch of fangs followed.

I didn’t want to die, didn’t want to have it end this way. Desperation had me screaming and then praying. Arys was violent and vicious, hurting me as he held me restrained. Tears streamed down my face. I knew what was coming. The dream always ended the same way.