But just because I want to doesn’t mean I’ll get to.
“I don’t think she wanted this to happen,” Torrin says, and it’s almost like he’s answering the questions I can’t bring myself to voice. His tone is low enough that I catch it, but I wish I could ignore him.
I guess we’re talking aboutthis.
Abouther.
“You’re drawn to her,” he points out, causing me to grit my teeth. “When she’s in the same room, you can’t take your eyes off of her. When she’s not here, you’re distracted and practically crawling out of your skin until you lay eyes on her again.”
I release a long breath as I fold over and rest my arms against the cool wrought iron railing.
I don’t have it in me to deny what he said. Besides, we both know it would only be a big fat fucking lie.
“It’s the curse,” I say, not even buying that bullshit.
“Funny,” he says, sarcastic humor in his fucking tone. If it were anyone else, I’d have them snatched up by the shirt and dangling over the railing. Hell, with the mood I’m in, I’d likely drop them, and then tell them to walk to the emergency room on their broken legs. “It wasn’t too long ago you didn’t really believe in curses and magic.”
“I never said I didn’t believe.”
“There’s a difference between respecting and believing,” he points out. “You respect the craft, but I’m not sure even now you believe it. So… tell me the truth.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him, keeping my focus on the empty courtyard below. I’m not sure why I can’t look at him, seeing as I’m being as honest as I’d ever be with the person I trusted the most in the world. “I want her. But I also despise her. I despise the blood that runs through her veins. I despise what she did to me… what she’s turned me into. I’m disgusted by everything about this situation, yet I wouldn’t go back. I wouldn’t change what I did.”
I smirk as I remember how tight she was when I slid inside her. Her pussy felt like it was made for me, and I’d wanted nothing more than to claim her. I wanted to mark her. Hell, a secret part of me wished I would have taken her with me when I left that fucking house that night.
See, even then, she had been fucking with my head.
“Are you even going to try to fix it?” he asks me. His tone is so casual that it grates on my nerves. It makes me feel like he has the situation all figured out, while I’m over here floundering and sputtering, trying to come up with the first goddamn step.
My arms straighten, my hand grasping the rough iron banister to the point my knuckles turn white. I still refuse to look at him as I blow out a long breath. I know that if I turn and see the smug look I have no doubt is plastered on his face, I’ll lose it. He’ll end up with a broken nose, and I’ll end up pissed off at myself for the next few hours. He’s truly all I have left in this world, and picking a fight with him when I need him the most would not be the best move.
Still, there’s a fire inside of me that I can’t snuff out.
And I have every reason to believe it has to do withher.
“Well, for starters,” he says, and I cut my eyes over at him. His shoulders shake with a silent laugh before he goes on. “You could do a better job of not making her feel like she’s an unwanted prisoner trapped here.” I open my mouth, but he shakes his head at me. Why do I put up with this? I’ll never know. “You want her here or else you’d have every witch within the city limits here trying to reverse the curse.”
“It can’t be done,” I argue like a toddler. I don’t know if this is true, but it feels like it is. “Besides, I have Fabien on it. It’s not like I know any other witches, anyway.” Not helping my case at all.
“It wouldn’t stop you from exhausting all efforts if you really wanted to be rid of her,” he tosses back.
I press my lips into a thin line. He’s right. I can’t even deny it. I stand tall and head for the doorway to my office. I go straight for the bar in the corner and pour myself two fingers of bourbon. As I down it, I hear Torrin closing the French doors, shutting us in a room that suddenly feels like it has no air.
It isn’t a second later that they go flying open again with the force of a small tornado. I whirl around, hand reaching for my gun, just barely grazing the cold metal before I realize it’s a fired-up Astra coming at me and not a threat. Well, maybe saying she’s not a threat isn’t exactly right, especially given the look in her eyes as she heads straight for me.
Torrin—hell, the world—is all but forgotten as she steps up to me and pops the button on my white shirt. I’m frozen stiff, staring down at her. Cold, delicate fingers touch my skin, and I suppress the shiver threatening to run down my spine. She’s touching my chest, my heart.
The strain and fatigue leave my body. The small aches burrowing into my bones begin to ease.
She feels it too, I can see it in her struggling gaze. As the pain recedes, her eyes become more focused.
I’m not sure it’s a good thing since she looks like she could cut me with her stare.
Her chest heaves with a heavy inhale.
“I’m not your prisoner,” she tells me, and I raise a brow at her. “I can’t run from you. You feel it. I know you do. I’m not ready to die, so until we figure this out, you have to trust that I will always come back to you.”
I get stuck on the last part. My eyes are glued to her lips as she speaks them, and I hate myself for committing it to memory.
