“His chin rested on top of my head as he stroked my hair. "It's alright," he murmured. "I'll keep you safe.""She okay?"Ayden jerked away, dropping his hands. And me.”

“You stayed,” he murmured... Her softly whispered answer sifted into his hair where her lips rested against the top of his head. “You didn’t let go.”

“He absently stroked my hair, winding it around his fingers, smoothing it against my back. I relaxed into him, and he laid his cheek on top of my head. It felt good. Better than good. Normal. Safe. Clean and right and whole... and not at all what I expected when I decided to come to hell.”

“Fang’s hand gently smoothed my hair off my neck. My breath froze in my chest, and every sense seemed hyperalert. His hand stroked my hair again, so softly, and then trailed across my neck and shoulder and down my back, making me shiver.I looked up. 'What the heck are you doing?''Helping you change your mind,' he whispered, and then he leaned over, tilted my chin up, and kissed me.”

“We danced about a mile apart the whole time, until during “Auld Lang Syne” he suddenly rested his chin on the top of my head as if he were very tired.”

“We're alright, you know?" he says quietly. "You and me, okay?" My chest aches and I nod. "Nothing else is alright." His breath tickles my cheek. "But we are.”