Hope mouths another,I’m sorry,and tiptoes to her room with her head down.
Later, I’ll tell her she’s done nothing wrong.
First, Alaric.
“Fuck your parents.” The wordsI’m glad they’re deadalmost come out. I’m not supposed to know that. I swallow them down at the last second by pressing my lips to his neck, and start over. “Fucking assholes.”
“It’s okay. They got theirs.” He winds a hand through my hair, brushing it reverently while his chin rests on the top of my head. I think it’s easier for him to speak like that. “They died in a car accident fifteen years ago.”
“Good. They deserved it.” That and so much more. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” He groans, sounding pained. “For complaining about being beaten with a belt and ignored when I know your history.”
“You weren’t complaining. You were talking. Besides.” I raise my head to look at him. “You…”
“I, what, little devil?” His hand curls around the side of my neck.
He does it intentionally, using his firm grip to calm me down.
It won’t work. Today, I’m too riled up to relax.
“Don’t ever downplay your pain because of my past.” Cupping his smooth jaw with both hands, I lower his head until we’re at eye level. “It happened to you. That alone makes it bad.” The more I think about it, the angrier I get. “They had no right.Noright.”
“Thank you,” is all he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s?—”
We’re interrupted by his phone.
When it vibrates in his pocket, my first instinct is to tell him not to take it. I’m close to saying that we need each other tonight.
But then I remember the person he might have in his storage unit. This could be a notification, an alarm system going off.
I slide back to my spot on the couch. “Your phone.”
He kisses my temple and reaches for his pocket.
A few taps on his screen, and Alaric’s eyes widen by a fraction. Someone less attuned to him wouldn’t even notice it.
Thing is, I’m not asomeone. I’m his.
Pinpricks race across my skin, my pulse thundering when I think of all the things that could’ve gone wrong.
I don’t realize I’m biting my lip until blood trickles into my mouth.
“I have to go.” He pockets his phone, fixing his expression into a composed one. The perfect mask. “The hospital. I apologize.”
“It’s okay, I get it.” I do. I also pray he didn’t just witness his captive breaking free.
“No, it isn’t okay.”
My body heats when his hand curls around my neck, and he pulls me into a desperate kiss. With his lips, teeth, and tongue, he shows me how much he hates leaving me.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he vows, his lips brushing mine. “Dinner at my place tomorrow. Or whatever you want to do. Just say the word.”
“Dinner sounds good.” It truly does.
Doesn’t mean I’m letting him go.
Not. At. All.