“What if I don’t want to fight anymore?”
Myfuckingheart.
“Then I’ll fight for you.” Pushing into her space, I gaze down at her red-stained face. “I’ve seen the worst parts of your soul, Princess. It’s my fucking home, a place I fucking yearn to return to. I can handle all of it.”
Clearing her throat, she glares at me. I see the attack before the words leave her lips. “So, you can leave me in the middle of the night again?” Her lips twist. “So, I can wake up alone, left to fight the nightmares? No, thanks.”
I knew it was coming, but it still hurts.
“Maeve—”
“No,” she snaps. “I’ll handle this. Like I always do.”
“By hiding?” I challenge. “Pretty cowardly.”
That’s the wrong thing to say—she strikes out, flinging her knife into my shoulder. Luckily, I’m quicker. Blocking her wrist, I slam it onto the table, knocking the blade away.
“You don’t know what I’m dealing with,” she snarls. “What I have to do to survive.”
“No, I don’t,” I agree. “But if you tell me?—”
“Fuck.You,” she snarls and kicks out. Her heel scrapes my shin, and I bite my tongue, keeping the shout from exploding.
Something snaps inside of me. Something dark and ugly—the demon my mother always knew existed—and I wrench Maeve forward by her hair. Soft silken locks knot in my palm, and I hold our faces only inches apart.
“Maybe that’s what you need,” I murmur, fury pulsating in my blood. “To be fucked until you remember who you are. Who you belong to.”
Throwing her into the office, she rights herself against the desk, glaring over her shoulder at me. There she is. The icy rage, the murderous look that makes me want to ask for more.
Flipping out my knife, I twirl it over my hands. “Safe word, Princess. Now.”
She raises her chin, a dangerous dare in those black eyes.
12
MAEVE
“Safe word.”
“Fuck you.”
He laughs, a sound born from Hell. “You already did. It’s the best fucking memory I have of us. Tryagain.”
His hand shoots out, grabbing my throat, but I’m ready for him. Raising my knee, I kick his stomach, and he groans. I dart to the side, slipping a knife from under my dress.
“I’m almost surprised to see you armed,” he wheezes, clutching the desktop for stability. “I thought you wanted to benormal.”
“I thought you said we didn’t get to benormal.” My knife glints in the moonless sky.
“You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m not?” I scoff. “You’re telling me how to act, who to see, like you have any right to my personal life.”
“You’re parading around this city like some bitch in heels,” he snarls, slamming his hand into the desk. “People want to kill you. And you think hiding with that prick will somehow magically make your shit disappear?” He taps his chest. “I know what that’s like, Maeve. I know those sins. I know how theyburden you and make you feel worthless. Hiding from the ghosts doesn’t stop them from trying to take you under.”
I fucking hate that he knows.
I hate how my body vibrates with his nearness. How my knees tremble.
