Biting my lip, I looked away again before answering him. Though it was hard to speak without breaking into tears, making the words soft and breathy, I’m pretty sure he still heard me just fine. “My soul. My free will.”
Shaking from a mix of stress and fatigue and a sickness more of mind than body, I jerked out of his grip and put some distance between us, turning my back on him as I swung my legs over the side of the futon—not that there was far for my feet to go to reach the floor—and put my head in my hands. He might own me now, but that didn’t mean I had to like it.
What hurt worst of all was knowing that my dad was right. I wasn’t fit to be a Waynest. I wasn’t even my own person anymore. Without the belt, I was just another helpless, hapless human, at the mercy of a monster who could feed off of or kill me at any time with no cost to himself. No safety nets. No taking it back. I’d put myself here, and now I would have to suffer the consequences of my own choices.
The vampire’s hand settled on my shoulder. The irony of that possessive gesture coinciding with my thoughts wasn’t lost on me. If anything, it made it harder to get the tears under control. When I didn’t turn around, he gripped my upper arm, not tight enough to hurt, but definitely enough to keep me from pulling away from him again.
“Shiarra, please look at me.”
I wouldn’t—couldn’t do it. He made a soft, frustrated sound in his throat before speaking.
“I wish I had some way of expressing to you how much you mean to me in a way that you would accept. You saved my life, Shiarra, back when I meant nothing to you. You’re brave when you have every reason to run scared, you’ve shown a remarkable ability to think on your feet, and you’re resourceful. You’ve faced many of your fears, which is more than could be said for some of the most loyal of my number—but you hold to this idea that belonging to me makes you less than a person, and it’s simply not true. You are no less the woman you were before you let me touch you last night, and I have no intentions of discarding you like some broken toy.”
“This isn’t something you can fix, Royce,” I said. My voice might have been thick with tears, but I was proud of myself for being able to say what I was thinking for once instead of choking on my own angst like a brooding teenager. “You were just . . . you. It was my choice. I let it happen.”
His voice was deadly cold and quiet. “Are you telling me you consider last night a mistake?”
I twisted to look at him, shocked.
He leaned in, using his grip on my arm to push me to my back. Before I knew it, his fingers, icy and implacable, tightened around my wrists. The growl rumbling in his throat made my knees quiver, and I gasped as my hands were abruptly pinned above my head, his lips brushing over my throat with a teasing rake of fangs as he leaned into me. His usually smooth voice came out rough, ragged, and I could very nearly taste the anger and frustration radiating from him around the bitter flavor of fear on my tongue.
“Why is it you can’t accept that I don’t intend you any harm? I have fought everything that I am to be what I thought you would desire of me. I have left you to live your life as you wished it, rather than as I willed it. Do you know how difficult it was to wait idly by while you hemmed and hawed about whether you could trust me? Don’t you know that the temptation to interfere with your choices was nearly unbearable?”
“Don’t you know that’s what scares me about you?” I shot back.
That seemed to startle him out of his sudden surge of anger. Though he drew back, peering down at me, his eyes still glittered with a hint of red deep in the pupils, pinpoint sparks gleaming like the reflection of light on his fangs.
His voice, though it had deepened with his anger, was steady. “I have been as kind and generous and understanding as I know how to be, Shiarra. I waited for you to come to me of your own will—and now that you have, you think that what we did was a mistake? After all that I have done? Still you spurn me, fear me. Am I not generous enough? Have I not been merciful? What must I say or do to make you understand that I have leashed everything that I am so that you would choose me of your own will?”
“I don’t know,” I cried, voice breaking even though I was doing my best not to let him see how much the truth of his words stung. “Don’t you think I know it’s stupid? For God’s sake, look at you! You’re a walking wet dream, you’re great in bed, you’ve got money and power and you have this fascination with me I can’t even begin to fathom. I know you haven’t done anything to hurt me, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop—I just don’t know, Royce! I wish I had a neat answer wrapped up in ribbons and bows to give you, but I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m so scared of what I’ve done and what I’m becoming that I can’t even think straight anymore. For crap’s sake, I barely trust myself, let alone someone I hardly know who holds the power of life and death over me. I’m not even close to coming to terms with what I did this month, so to ask me to come to grips with how I feel about you, too—please, just give me time. Please.”
An aggravated hiss escaped from behind his clenched teeth before he leaned in. He closed his eyes, his hair becoming an inky curtain as he rested his brow lightly against my own. It took him a bit to speak again. Probably trying to collect himself so he wouldn’t throttle me out of sheer frustration.
“If you think I’m about to let your inaccurate, specious beliefs about me continue to stand, you are very sorely mistaken. You are every bit as human now as you were when you first entered my home last night. I have done nothing—nothing—to change that. Don’t hate yourself for letting me make you feel good. Giving in to me isn’t a crime. Liking the things I make you feel isn’t a sin against your family or your God. There is no shame in it. I won’t tolerate these misconceptions any longer, or see you destroy yourself, physically or emotionally, now that you’re finally mine—do you understand? You mean too much to me for me to allow that to happen.”
I shuddered at his pronouncement. Though a part of me was absurdly pleased with his words, the rest of me was screaming in horror at that finally mine part. It only validated the terror of losing my own identity, only to be overshadowed by a new “master” I couldn’t live without.
“Damn it, Shiarra, look at me!”
I did. His normally black eyes were blazing red with anger, shining like bright beads of precious stones set in a lake of tar. His grip shifted, and he twined his fingers with mine before lifting one of my hands to press it to his cheek, much like we had done last night.
“Why do you not believe me when I say you will remain your own person? You know I still taste you, crave you, want to be inside of you again. Can you honestly tell me you don’t want that too? That you don’t want me?”
I wanted it. I wanted it so badly I could taste the remembered mint and copper of his mouth on my tongue.
But I wanted to stay me, too.
“Please,” I croaked between shallow pants, my fingers against his cheek lightly stroking his skin, pressing the length of my body against his to ease the growing heat and need, even though I knew I should have drawn away. “Please, Royce, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t even figure out who or what I am, let alone what you are to me. Please.”
“No more tears. Not because of me.” His hands cupped my cheeks as he tilted my head up so he could briefly press a kiss against each eyelid, his cool lips following the path of my tears as he whispered against my skin. “You don’t need to be frightened anymore, my little hunter. You’ll always be safe—and yourself—with me.”
When he loosened his grip and coaxed me to embrace him, I wrapped my arms around his neck and clutched at him. The hurting, lonely, emotional side of me that wanted to believe it all—heart and soul—was winning out over the dark part whispering what a terrifically awful idea it was to trust him.