“Shirt.Off.”
“Fuck. You.”
Surging forward, he picks me up, dropping me to the desk with no finesse. My wound throbs; I groan in agony, and he yanks the blouse higher. Using one hand to push me back on my elbows, he inspects the inflamed skin, the stitches stark against the red.
“I already did,” he grumbles. “Or did you forget already? Maybe we need a repeat to remind you who owns that fucking pussy.” Glaring down at my side, he continues, “It’s going to get infected.”
“I’ll be fine?—”
“No, you won’t,” he interrupts, exasperated. “You are not indestructible. You are not unkillable. You arehuman, Maeve, running around in a city where people want to end your life and take your head back as a damn trophy.”
Pushing away, he grabs a first aid kit from the bottom of my drawer.
“I know,” I whisper, watching him rifle for more supplies. “I’ve been reminded many times.”
He scoffs. “Apparently not enough for you to listen.”
He dabs at my skin, and I bite back a gasp, nails chipping on the desk.Fuck. That stings. And he’s not exactly gentle. Anger radiates off of him, heating the air between us.
“And now you’re mad at me.”
“We’re way past mad.” He glares up at me, fingers impersonal. “I’m fucking livid.”
“You left,” I whisper, throat clogged. Blinking away tears, I hold on to my flickering rage—the kind that doesn’t know if it wants to consume us both, or die under the crushing love that still simmers underneath. “You said it would be us against everything. You promised you’d stay and help me.”
I fucking hate how weak I sound—how broken I feel. But that’s what he reduced me to—a helpless girl, looking,waitingfor him.
Clearing my throat, I avoid his hard gaze. “So, I learned how to function without you. I didn’t have you to stabilize me, to help me through the dark days. I learned to cope.”
“By running headfirst into danger,” he mutters. “By ignoring your own limitations.”
“Someone has to do it.” I shrug, his fingers pausing on my side. “Might as well be the person no one will miss when she leaves.”
He stops, surging forward to grab my chin. His nails bite into my skin, his breath hot against my lips. My body tenses, waiting for the lash.
“And what happens to me when you leave?” He searches my eyes. He’s angry—but oh, so sad too. “How do I continue if you’re gone?”
Swallowing, I shrug. “I assume you’d find another person to torment.”
His lips quirk, fighting a smile. “You’re it for me, Princess. In this life or the next, I only want to disturb your peace.”
Pressing his forehead to mine, I exhale. I grip his sides, his fingers casually running along my side. It’s a simple touch—but grounding.
“You’re still mad.”
“Pissed,” he corrects. “You almost died again. And that fucker touched you.” Under the current of fury is a thread of pain. Of abandonment and longing so tight, it strikes my heart.He still wants me. Years, torment, and being pushed away, but Killian Linwood still wants me.
I sigh, closing my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
He clenches his jaw, nodding once. I don’t apologize—that’s not something I do. I make choices and move on—fuck whoever gets hurt. But with Killian?
I make an exception. He’s always the exception.
“Tell me,” he says, rubbing his head against mine. “One thing. Just one.” I nod, waiting.
“Were you going to fuck him?” He glares at my lips. “Were you going to choose him if I didn’t show up?”
I should tell him I would. Force him to leave me alone. Maybe then, this love in my chest—an ugly, festering flower of rot—will die a horrible death. I’d finally havepeace.
