Chapter 37

                                    

                                              
Author's Note: I'm posting this new chapter, however I am aware that many of you were unable to read chapter 36 due to a Wattpad glitch last weekend. I'm still working on how to rectify this, however some readers have told me they were able to access it via the web, rather than the app, so it might be worth trying that way if you can. For those who still can't see it, I'm so sorry and I hope it won't deter you from reading chapter 37. I'll be happy to discuss what happened in chapter 36 in the comments of this chapter if anyone would like to know! 

                          
Something was touching my face. 
                          
It was a soft caress so feather-light that it left a path of tingling skin in its wake, enough to rouse me from the darkness in which I dwelt, but not enough to wake me completely. It was like those first few moments when slumber fades and consciousness calls to you, when you're lost in some marvellous dream-like world and haven't quite yet stumbled back to reality. Bad things are forgotten. Pain and grief dismissed as nothing but nightmares. And just for a few seconds, you remain there, in some suspended animation of bliss and warm cocooned happiness. 

                          
And then you wake up. And remember. And see. 
                          
When I woke up, the first thing I saw was the deep hazel eyes of my husband, so close that I could clearly see the little flecks of amber sparkling in his irises like glitter. I think that had I seen those eyes as a human, I might have thought them beautiful, but now I could only see them for what they were: venom hidden behind the mask of the man I had once loved. Brandon was just mere inches away, studying my face intently as he ran his fingertips very gently down my cheek, tracing the outline of my lips, the contour of my jaw-line. I wasn't sure how long he'd been conducting one of his unsettling little experiments on just how much he could bear touching his vampire wife but I pushed that instinctual bubble of fear deep down inside my gut and resisted the urge to flinch. I wanted to though. I wanted to twist my head away from his grasp, but I wasn't about to show him my fear, nor antagonise him in any way by showing him my disgust. 
                          
The second thing I saw was that we were home - our old home - and I don't know why but that unsettled me more than being imprisoned in some godforsaken hellhole, like the catacombs under the old Varúlfur compound or the dank beast-filled barn where I'd watched them torture Harper. We were in the dining area of the kitchen and it was unusually dark, lit only by a few of the under-the-cupboard lights which illuminated the worktops now blanketed in a layer of dust. The large glass patio doors were covered by a blind that hadn't been here before. The dining table was gone and all that was left were the chairs, one of which I happened to be tied to. I had no idea why he'd brought me, why he'd even consider it, but it hurt to be here, it hurt to look around and see nothing but dust and ghosts. 
                          
Very slowly, he sat back in the chair he'd placed right in front of mine and folded his arms across his chest, a small proud smile adorning his achingly handsome features. He looked better than the last two times I had seen him but there was a sense that he'd gone to a lot of effort. Underneath his Varúlfur stench, which always overpowered everything else, I could detect the musky hints of the vanilla shower gel that he always liked to use and the strong scent of his cologne - in fact, I could tell he was wearing far more than usual and couldn't help but wonder if that had been intentional, in an effort to hide his natural odour. His hair looked slightly damp and brushed back off his forehead as if he'd recently washed it. His clothes were a vast improvement on the last time I had seen him too, skinny fit black Armani jeans, those expensive black leather boots from the brand I could never remember the name of – something which always used to bother him, because brands had always been his thing – and, I duly noted, the crisp white Abercrombie tee that I'd always been very vocal about admiring him in. 
                          
I blinked, trying to shake off the haze that was engulfing my head, fuelled by the hammering throb at the back of my skull where I'd been hit. A few more seconds crept by and the momentary shock of being here, in this place, was soon overtaken by the knowledge that something felt wrong. Very wrong. I closed my eyes, almost unwilling to close them to the very real threat that sat just in front of me - which in itself seemed like a foolish defensive error - and tried to connect with the power that had been nestled under the surface for so long and found nothing. Actually, nothing was probably the wrong word. It wasn't as if there was nothing there to find, I could sense the Angel within, but it was as if it was numb ... asleep ... dormant. My breath hitched in my throat when the realisation dawned on me and Brandon's eyes flickered into life, no doubt seeing the panic that suddenly flooded my own.