Unwanted Blood (Harper) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Harper’s POV

Night, 2:17 a.m.

I stared at the ceiling. The glow from my phone screen lit up my face in the dark.

Ryder’s words from earlier kept replaying in my head. “I see who you are now.”

I rolled onto my side. The pillow felt too warm. I flipped it over, pressed my face into the cool side, and stared at the wall instead.

Sleep wouldn’t come. It never did when something was gnawing at me. The kind of thought that digs its claws in and refuses to let go.

Before I knew what I was doing, my thumbs were already typing. “Tomorrow sunrise. Come pick me up.” I hit send.

I stared at the message. My pulse was already racing. ‘What am I doing?’

Instantly, my stomach dropped. I tapped the screen frantically, trying to recall it, but the grey text had already turned white. Delivered.

“Shit.” I threw the phone face-down on the mattress and pulled the blanket over my head.

Five minutes passed. I couldn’t breathe under there. I pushed it off.

The phone stayed dark. No reply.

‘He won’t come. Of course he won’t. It’s two in the morning and I’m texting him like some-‘

A single notification lit up the screen.

Ryder: “Okay.” That was it.

I stared at those three letters until my eyes burned. Then I set the phone on the nightstand, turned away from it.

I’d been awake since four, sitting on the edge of the bed with my shoes on, watching the clock turn 5:00. Then my phone buzzed. Ryder texted to say he was already downstairs.

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Chapter 32

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I grabbed my jacket, slipped out of the apartment without waking Lily, and walked down the three flights of stairs.

The morning air hit me like ice water. Vancouver in June at five a.m. meant grey fog and the smell of salt from the harbor. The streetlights were still on, casting weak yellow halos through the

mist.

Ryder’s car was idling at the curb. A black SUV, sleek and expensive, looking completely out of place on this narrow residential street lined with peeling paint and rusted bikes.

He saw me coming and leaned across to open the passenger door. I got in without a word.

The interior was warm. A paper cup sat in the cup holder between us, steam curling from the top. Hot chocolate. I could smell it-sweet, thick. He handed it to me.

“Thank you.” I said gently.

The engine started running.

The city blurred past through the windshield-quiet streets, closed shops, a few early joggers in neon gear cutting through the fog like ghosts. The heater hummed. The turn signal clicked.

I should have felt awkward. Sitting in a car with Ryder Wilson at five in the morning, not saying a word, heading somewhere I hadn’t even told him where. With anyone else, it would have been unbearable.

But with him… it wasn’t.

Maybe because, for the first time in eighteen years, the silence between us wasn’t heavy with

hatred.

Forty minutes later, the road opened up.

The ocean appeared through the trees, stretched out to the horizon. The sky above it was a bruised gradient of navy and charcoal, with a thin band of pale gold bleeding along the waterline.

Ryder pulled into a small turnout. Gravel crunched under the tires. He killed the engine.

We sat there. The dashboard lights dimmed. Outside, the only sound was the low rhythm of waves rolling in and retreating.

I opened the door and stepped out. The cold air bit through my jacket. The ground was damp from last night’s rain, and my boots sank slightly into the soft earth.

I walked to the edge of the bluff and sat down on a flat rock, pulling my knees up against my

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Chapter 32

chest. Ryder sat beside me. His face half-shadowed, watching the horizon the way I was.

We waited Slowly, the gold band widened. It turned orange. Then pink. Then a blinding, burning white.

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The sun broke over the water like it was tearing through the sky. Light flooded everything-the ocean, the rocks, the fog, even the inside of my chest.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my lungs started to ache.

“Before,” I said. My voice came out barely audible. I wasn’t sure he heard it. But he straightened

I kept my eyes on the sun. “Before I left… I used to think… if any one of you… if just one of you had been willing to watch a sunrise with me… I wouldn’t have gone.”

The words hung in the cold air between us.

Ryder didn’t move. I heard his hand shift against the car. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry.” His voice was rough. Gritty.

I didn’t turn to look at him. I couldn’t. If I saw his face, I might say something I couldn’t take back. Something I wasn’t ready to give yet.

So I just sat there and watched the sun climb higher.

When we got back to the Gadigal Center, it was just after seven. The morning light was brighter now, washing over the brick building in warm gold.

Colton was standing by the front door.

He was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. His hands were stuffed in his pockets. He looked tired. Dark circles, unshaved jaw, hair pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it for hours.

He didn’t look at me when we pulled up. He looked straight at Ryder.

“Found it,” he said. His voice was flat. Controlled. Like he was reading from a report, not talking to his brother about the man who had haunted our family for sixteen years.

Ryder stepped out of the car. “Show me.”

Colton pulled a manila folder from his back pocket and handed it over. I stood a few feet away, half-listening, pretending to adjust my jacket collar.

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