Will it stay that way?
It can’t. He’s my angel. Our story doesn’t end with me bound for life and him as my agonized captor.
“But it doesn’t change the fact that I need to tell you everything.” He tips my chin up a little higher. Determination hardens his gaze. “I can’t take the chance of you running off before you hear me out.”
I don’t nod or try to talk. I don’t disagree or bargain.
I simply sit there, a silent,I’m listening.
“You went through my notebook. You saw that I do more than keep people captive.” His tone stays calm, the pad of his thumb steady as he wipes the spit from my chin. “You must’ve realized I kill them too.”
His eyes are steady on mine, studying me.
No, it’s more than that.
It dawns on me that he’s treating me like I’m his patient. Like we’re in a clinic, and he’s a doctor.
Like one of his ties isn’t stuffed in my mouth.
It’s not a good sign.
Not a bad one either, since this isn’t how he is with the people he’s kidnapped.
I’m different.
I won’t end up like them.
I. Won’t.
“Lilith?”
One blink is my answer.Yes.
“Good. Then I don’t need to go into detail about the storage unit either.” His palm slides to my cheek, his grip turning possessive. “Or the state Fraser was in.”
I want to hear him out, but there are more important things to tackle before I do. Like freeing my mouth.
“Mmm.” I cast my gaze to his palm, a pathetic attempt to communicate that if he only moved his fingers an inch or two, he could pull the gag off. He could let me explain. “Mmm.”
He gives me one decisive shake of his head. I’m only mildly comforted by the fact that he isn’t refusing me out of cruelty. He apologizes right away by caressing my cheek, as if he’s trying to soften the blow.
Then, slowly but surely, the repetitive movement of his fingertip disarms me, practically lulling me into a trance.
It takes me too long to realize why he’s doing it.
Alaric doesn’t want me to be too present for this. Too aware.
It’s clear he’s afraid that, even silenced, I’ll still tell him—if only with my eyes—that he’s no better than my mom.
To have him even consider it is worse than any punch or kick she ever hurled at me.
He isn’t like her. Not even a little. Not at all.
He can’t keep thinking like that. Somehow, someway, I’m determined to get through to him. For that to happen, I have to talk.
My gaze is locked on his as I keep twisting one of my hands in his hold. He’s quiet, watching me back. My pulse roars between my ears.
I’m terrified. I’m desperate.