Kelley Armstrong - Bitten

"And what did you want to say to me?" I asked.

He stepped forward, putting one hand on my elbow and moving so close I could feel his heart beating through his shirt. It was pounding, but that might have just been from the exertion of the impromptu trip.

"I love you. Yes, you've heard that before, heard it a million times, but I don't know what else to say." He lifted a hand to my face and touched my cheek. "I need you. This last year, when you were gone, it was hell. I made up my mind that when you came back, I'd do whatever it took to get you back. No more tricks. No more tantrums. I know I didn't do a great job. Hell, you probably never even noticed the difference. But I was trying. I'll keep trying. Come back home with me. Please."

I looked up into his eyes. "Why did you go back up to the apartment?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"The day you were attacked. You saw Daniel and LeBlanc go up to the apartment, didn't you?"

"Right…"

"You knew I wasn't up there. You'd just spoken to me on the phone."

"Right…"

"So you knew the only person in the apartment was Philip. Yet you went up there and tried to protect him. Why?"

Clay hesitated, then said, "Because I knew it was what you'd want me to do." He stroked his thumb across my cheek. "I know that's not the answer you want to hear. You want me to say I had a sudden flash of conscience and went up there to save Philip. But I can't lie. I can't feel the things you want me to feel. I didn't care whether Philip lived or died. I saved him because I knew you'd want me to, because I knew if anything happened to him, you'd be hurt."

"Thank you," I said, kissing him.

"That was a good answer?" A hint of his old grin slipped into his voice and his eyes.

"The best I can hope for. I know that now."

"So you'll stay?"

I smiled up at him. "I never planned to leave, which you'd know if you'd bothered to read my note before charging all the way here to stop me."

"You-" He stopped, threw back his head, and laughed, then caught me up in a bone-jarring kiss and hug. "I guess I deserved that."

"That and more." I grinned and kissed him, then pulled back and watched him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"When you were gone, I was thinking this story wouldn't have a happily ever after ending. Maybe I was wrong."

"Happily ever after?" He grinned. "As in 'forever after'?"

"Well, maybe not 'forever after.' Maybe 'happily ever after for a little while.'"

"I could live with that."

"Happily ever after for a day or two, at least."

"A day or two?" He made a face. "I was thinking of a bit longer. Not forever, of course. Just eight, maybe nine decades."

"Don't push your luck."

He laughed and lifted me up in another hug. "We'll work on it."

"Yes," I said, smiling down at him. "I'm ready to work on it."

This being a first novel, I have a lot of acknowledging to do, not just for help with this book, but for help with every short story, poem, and literary rambling that came before it. Thanks to my family, friends, instructors, fellow writers, everyone who ever offered a word of praise or criticism. Special thanks to my old writing group (Anonymous Writers of London). This novel was born at that group and, without their encouragement, it would have died there.

Now, for those who helped this book from concept to publication. To Brian Henry, writing instructor, who saw the promise in the story and recommended it to my amazing agent. To Helen Heller, aforesaid "amazing agent," who worked nothing short of miracles. To Sarah Manges and Carol DeSanti at Viking for their enthusiasm and dead-on editorial suggestions. Finally, to my husband, Jeff, for knowing that a closed study door meant it was his turn to make dinner, and to my daughter Julia, who grew up knowing that a closed study door meant she could help herself to all the snacks she could eat.