Todos los capítulos de BLOOD & RHYTHM: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

The confession changed something between us.For days afterward, Alexander was different—softer, more present, more *there* than he'd ever been before. He touched me constantly now. Small things: a hand on my shoulder as I played, fingers brushing my hair back from my face, his arm around my waist as we walked through the manor's endless corridors.But he never kissed me again.Not since that night against the wall. Not since the words had spilled from both of us like blood from a wound. He held me, yes. Touched me. But his lips never met mine, and I could feel him pulling back every time we got too close.I understood. I did. He was afraid—afraid of losing control, afraid of hurting me, afraid of becoming the monster he'd spent centuries taming.But understanding didn't make it easier.Tonight, I'd had enough.We were in the music room, as always. I'd played for hours—Bach, Chopin, even some modern pieces I'd learned in secret, saving them for nights like this when I needed to say so

I woke to warmth.Not the warmth of the fire—that had died to embers sometime in the night. Not the warmth of sunlight—the windows were still dark, curtains drawn tight against the world.Warmth from inside. From *him*.Alexander lay beside me on the sofa, his arms wrapped around me, his cold body somehow comforting rather than chilling. I could feel the bond between us pulsing gently, a constant hum beneath my consciousness, like music I'd been hearing my whole life without realizing it.Then I tried to move, and the world tilted."Whoa." I grabbed for him, and his arms tightened immediately, steadying me."Easy." His voice was rough with sleep—or whatever passed for sleep in creatures like him. "You lost a lot of blood last night. Move slowly."I blinked, waiting for the dizziness to pass. "How much is a lot?""More than I intended. Less than I wanted." His eyes met mine, and I saw guilt there. "I should have stopped sooner. Should have been more careful. But you tasted—" He shook h

We left the hospital as dawn approached, though the sky remained hidden behind heavy clouds. Alexander drove us back to the manor in silence, his face drawn, his energy through the bond muted and distant.My mother was stable. Better than stable—she was *well*. The doctors had run tests for hours, muttering about impossible results, about blood counts that didn't make sense, about remissions that couldn't happen. In the end, they'd admitted her for observation and sent me home with promises of updates.Home.The word felt wrong now. My apartment was just a place I slept. The manor—this ancient, shadowed building with its impossible occupant—felt more like home than anywhere else.Alexander led me inside, through the grand foyer, up the sweeping staircase to a part of the manor I'd never seen. His private chambers, I realized. His sanctuary.The room was beautiful—masculine and dark, with a massive four-poster bed, a fireplace already crackling, windows covered in heavy velvet. But wha

The first day without him was the hardest.I woke in my tiny apartment, alone, and reached for him before I remembered. My hand touched empty sheets, cold and bare. The bond pulsed somewhere in the back of my mind—distant, muted, like a heartbeat heard through walls.He was hurting. I could feel it. And I was the cause.*Good*, I told myself fiercely. *Let him hurt. He told me to leave.*But the thought brought no comfort.I went through the motions that day. Visited my mother—she asked about Alexander, and I changed the subject. Went to work—my other job, at a coffee shop, the one I'd kept even after Alexander's money made it unnecessary. Came home. Ate food I couldn't taste. Stared at the ceiling until dawn.The second day was worse.My body ached. Literally ached, like I'd run a marathon and forgotten to stop. Every muscle felt tight, every joint stiff. I told myself it was stress, was grief, was anything except what I knew it really was.Withdrawal.I was addicted to him. To his p

The morning after our reconciliation, Alexander woke me with soft kisses and an unusual intensity in his gray eyes. "Come with me," he said. "There's something I need to show you." I followed him through corridors I'd never seen, deeper into the manor than I'd ever ventured. The walls here were older—stone instead of plaster, torches instead of electric lights. The air grew cooler, heavier, as if we were descending into the earth itself. "Where are we going?" I asked. "My past." His voice