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“Not that it is any of your business, but yes. Satisfied? His new interest may not like sharing anyway. Guess she doesn’t realize vampires rarely believe in monogamy.” I had spoken with Abby a few times at the club, a sweet girl. I was surprised the witch was hanging out there, but then, so was I.
“And you’re fine with sharing?”
I shrugged. What did I care if Liam slept with others? It wasn’t as if I loved him. I used him. “Told you, I’m not with him anymore. Listen, I have shit to do.” I pushed past him and headed out of the kitchen.
Everything in my body screamed to stay close to him, yet my mind knew better. Escape while you can.
“Delara.” Waleron raised his voice, although far from a shout. He never had to; his presence alone made defying him impossible.
I closed my eyes and halted without turning around. I heard his footsteps come up behind me and I froze. Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.
His breath came first, a soft caress on the back of my neck, and then his scent, deep and familiar, making my stomach whoosh.
His hands rested on my shoulders and fire burned in my belly. Every inch of me wanted to spin around and fall into his arms, taste his lips, feel his skin, trace every single tattoo on his body with my tongue.
Let me go. Hate me, so I can let you go.
Since the day we’d met, there had been fireworks between us, an undeniable chemistry that neither of us could extinguish. But for sixty-one years, I had thought he’d been dead. Years I’d wallowed in emotional turmoil. Then, at my weakest, not caring about anything anymore, I’d fallen into Tarek’s web. Self-punishment was a fucker, and I knew how to do it to myself in spades.
But Waleron wasn’t dead.
He’d returned, but a different man. A man incapable of loving me again. A man who’d become a cold, emotionless shell.
Waleron’s fingers swept across the back of my neck and goose bumps rose. His touch was the same as it was when we met and that was the worst. A reminder of what we’d lost.
His lips descended and kissed the spot just below my ear. I closed my eyes, body melting. One simple, lingering kiss and I was a pool of liquid.
This is what hurt. It crushed my fragmented, brittle insides.
I couldn’t be near him and not have his whole heart.
Heart? Waleron no longer had a heart.
He bunched a handful of my hair in his hand and tilted my head back with a rough yank. Then he suckled on the lobe of my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I counted to myself as I remained still, trying to regain control over my body and what he was doing to it.
“Look at me,” he whispered next to my ear.
I didn’t. I kept counting.
“What more do you want, Delara? I’m giving all I can. You know I can never be with you for more than what I offer.”
What he wanted was to be occasional fuck buddies. Sex. Passionate, raw sex. And I knew why he offered this—so I’d give up fucking other men. Another way for him to control me without giving an ounce of himself.
But sex with him was like jumping off the CN Tower in a freefall—the sweet caresses, the butterflies, the warm sensations swirling through my body. But the inevitable had to happen—landing—bruised body and soul, heart ripped apart. Dying inside.
“Maitagarri, look at me.”
No way in hell. Not when he’d see the desire pulsating in my eyes along with the pain and the anguish of his words. It was as if he were slowly digging a knife into my heart, inch by selfish inch, then slashing it apart.
