“And you’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.”
A wan smile spread across her face. “I suppose I have.” The smile disappeared. “But I’ve learned from that not to let things in that will hurt me in case I lose them. That if I relax or have fun, everything will fall apart. Fun is for my child, not for me. And while I loved Rashon, he never really got inside me, not to the parts he could potentially destroy. But you’ve somehow gotten inside me,” her fingers pressed to the center of her chest.
Despair wailed up from my depths. This is what Timothy warned me of. I was doomed to hurt her.
She was handing over her most private, vulnerable parts on a silver platter to me. I might as well be a butcher, ready to hack it all into pieces.
The reality of what a disaster this was, fully hit me. I might as well be one of the gods of chaos. And it sickened me.
Miranda closed the distance between us until her hands wrapped around the bars beside my face. Her light brown eyes searched mine as she whispered, “Sometimes I forget what these bars are for. Because when I part them, I know you won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt anyone, Xander. Not anymore.”
I stepped away, though every nerve in my body screamed in protest at the increasing distance. My voice was flat, emotionless. "Miranda, I don't want to live.”
"But you're getting better. You don't have to die. Don't you see? You can control your power, you aren't out of control anymore."
My hands slammed on the bars so hard they shuddered, and lights flickered all around us. “I am not in control,” I bellowed.
And I wasn’t. Perhaps I’d gained a modicum of control over the pain of my overflowing power, but when it came to her, I was entirely out of control. I wanted her more than reason. Maybe even more than death, but I wouldn’t hurt her. I absolutely refused to do that. I’d much rather die.
“Yes, you are,” she stubbornly countered, sticking out that tempting lower lip. She stalked over to the control panel and hit the button, opening my cage.
Damn it.
“You won’t hurt me,” she declared. “Come with me.” She extended a hand. “Let’s go aboveground. If you step out of line, I’ll kill you, and we’ll try again tomorrow.”
How dare she?
How dare she tempt me with a dream long dead and buried? After so long, I’d have no idea how to return to the world. I was meant for shadows and solitude, or death.
Spinning on my heel, I retreated back into the shadows of my cage.
My spirited little badass had lost all sense and reason. This was evidence that Timothy was right; things had gone much farther than they should have.
If I have to hurt her, to sever this bond that I’ve foolishly entangled her in, then so be it. I pivot once more and strode toward her, falling back on my bitterness, my resentment, all the pain that had turned parts of me dark with cruelty.
“Miranda, I am not safe. You are not safe with me.”
“Yes, I am.” She fully believed it, her hand still extended with unwavering confidence in me. She walked further into my cage, ready and willing to trust me. It repulsed me.
I let out a harsh laugh. “You think you want this? That makes me wonder then. Did you ever even love your husband?"
The change in direction was so sudden, her hand dropped. "How can you say that?" Pain saturated her words.
I shrugged. "I'm just saying, it sounds like you chose him because he was safe and self-sufficient. You thought he could take care of himself, and you wouldn't have to. But then he died."
Miranda shook her head. "Shut up. You don't know anything about me or Rashon. He was a good man, and he shouldn't have died."
I had my foothold now. I advanced on her, sneering. "That's the thing, Miranda. Of course, he should have. It's what mortals do. No one makes it out alive. Or rather, no one should."
“I know what you are doing.” She tried to act like my words didn’t affect her, but the quiver in her voice told me her subconscious was shaky at best on the topic.
I circled her with slow, predatory strides. “If you loved him, you could never want me, Miranda. I am the opposite. You want to take me out into the world? He saved people, I would hurt them. Sometimes it would be an accident, and sometimes. . .not.” That at least was a truth I was certain of. Captivity and pain had stripped away the remnants of humanity I possessed as a god. “Rashon took care of himself, but you would always have to watch me. Make sure I didn’t hurt someone. Hurt you.” When I circled behind her, I whispered in her ear, “hurt your son.”
Miranda shook her head hard, as if trying to dislodge my words. But I knew the fear I was planting in her would grow. She could put herself in danger, but not her child.
The idea of harming a child revolted me, but I had to lean into the idea to convince her.
“It’s best for everyone, Miranda,” I said, reaching into her jacket. I reveled in the warmth of her body and her scent far too much as my hand withdrew her blade. She took it from me, and I backed away, adopting a combative stance.
