“I’m not afraid of your dark side, Krystian,” I tell him as I throw off my clothes and slip on the nightdress.
The fabric is cool against my overheated flesh, billowing around my thighs. I’m fortunate it hides my dagger tattoo from view.
“You may not be, but I am,” Krystian confesses after a long moment of silence.
I freeze at that, considering, then pull open the door, one eyebrow arched.
He’s gripping the doorframe, his head lowered, strands of silky white-blond hair obscuring his features from view. Tension lines his shoulders and neck.
“Why?” I ask softly, wanting him to look at me.
Needing him to.
He doesn’t.
“There’s a lot you don’t understand, love.” Krystian heaves out a tired breath, that one noise laced with years of wariness and unencumbered pain.
“Krys is you, isn’t he? Your dark desires and urges?” I finally lower my head in order to meet his eyes. “Do you not trust yourself?”
Those blue orbs blink repeatedly. He seems unsure of how to respond.
“It’s not that.” He lifts his head and shakily runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the strands. “It’s just…I don’t know what I do at night. Sometimes, I’ll wake up covered in blood with no memory of how I got there. Or in the bed of a woman with no knowledge?—”
He cuts himself off quickly at my sharp look.
The last thing I want to hear about is him—or Krys, for that matter—in the bed of another woman.
“Krys seems to believe that your distrust of him is what causes the disconnect between you two. It’s why you don’tremember what happens during the night, and vice versa.” Though I’m beginning to believe that Krys isn’t as oblivious as Krystian believes him to be.
“Do you know who also has no inhibitions?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, forging ahead with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Psychopaths.”
“You think Krys is the psychopathic version of yourself?”
“I know he is.” He licks his upper lip. “I don’t want to hurt you, Thea. I would never forgive myself if I did something to you.”
A choked, strangled sound escapes him, as if the mere prospect is too awful to even comprehend.
“I don’t believe you will,” I tell him sincerely.
“Iwould never,” Krystian agrees. “But Krys?—”
“Is you.”
“Is a psychopath,” he counters.
Frustration builds in my chest.
“You don’t believe that.” I shake my head adamantly and take a single step closer to him.
“I don’t?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“If you did, you wouldn’t be here, when you know you’re about to transform.” I allow my gaze to roam over his perfectly sculpted face, every inch chiseled by the gods themselves.
“I still have time,” he whispers, his breath stuttering.
“How much time?” I hesitantly reach for him, cupping the back of his neck.
My fingers tangle in his shiny blond hair.
