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She holds my gaze, not shying, not flinching. “And there’s no room for forgiveness?”
“Fuck no!”
“Then why should I forgive you for killing my sister?” she cries.
Well… fuck.
I feel like a fool. Played so easily. How had I not seen where this was heading?
She doesn’t lean away from me. Her breath is cool and citrus fresh and her eyes burn with the strength of her convictions.
I used to consider Bee my biggest challenge in life. Her personality was as big, as bold, every bit as stubborn and fierce as mine. But compared to Wren, Bee was child’s play.
And the thing is, I could walk away from Bee.
Wren is different. That baby in her belly means I can’t walk away. And that look in her eye makes sure I won’t.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I say gruffly. It’s a piss-poor answer and she knows it.
And even still, her voice is gentle when she replies, “You haven’t even asked.”
The air is thick and boiling. If I look too deeply into those eyes, I might just end up doing something stupid. Like professing feelings that I’m not even sure I believe in.
“And I’m not about to,” I spit instead as I tear myself away and charge for the door, just to put some distance between us.
But even when the door slams shut and my eyes follow suit, all I can see is the look on her face.
All I have to do is ask.
So why won’t I?
11
DMITRI
Wren spends the first ten minutes of the drive with her head craned back, staring out the moonroof. After she’s had her fill of the tinted sky, her neck swivels from side to side like an oscillating fan. And when even that goes still, her eyes dart around as though she’s never seen the outside world before.
“Are you okay?” I’m not used to silences when they come from her.
“Sometimes, I feel… barely human.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean? Are you in pain?”
Her lips crack open a quarter-inch and ironic laughter bursts through her lips. I watch her mouth as she laughs—her lips are dry, chapped to all hell despite layer after layer of Vaseline and gloss. She can try to hide it all she wants, but I can still see the after-effects of her capture splayed across her body in a million subtle ways. Her skin is pale, her arms and legs ashy; she fidgets far more than she used to.
I plan on making him pay for all of it.
“Pain?” she echoes. “Pain is the one thing that constantly reminds you of your humanness.”
I sigh. “Are we getting philosophical now? Because I’m not sure I have the energy.”
She falls silent again.
And again, I feel like a top-shelf asshole. “Wren…”
She doesn’t turn back to me, though I notice her flinch at the sound of her name. “I need to be able to talk to you, Dmitri,” she sighs before I can figure out a way to apologize without actually apologizing. “I need to be able to tell you what I’m thinking and what I feel without worrying that it’s going to turn into a fight.”
I heave a sigh of my own. “You’ll get no fight from me today.”
