“I know Sterling cares for me,” I challenge, not the least bit put off. Perhaps it's the Arcane now fueling my courage, or perhaps the power I feel after claimingbothAamon and Quinn last night. But I don’t back down from Zeke. Even with the way I can see the rage simmering in his eyes. “And I know despite your history with sharing him, that angers you.”
I lift my hand to his chest, tracing a finger over the swirls of black ink stretching the expanse of his bare skin. It’s a bold move, to touch him uninvited. But something possesses me to keep pushing. To see what I awaken. “Perhaps it’s because you hate me? Or perhaps because you’re"—I flick my eyes up to meet his—"dare I say, jealous?” I smirk on the last word, amused with the outrage I elicit.
But I forget, too easily, the power these males have. Even now, as I am one of them, I’m still so weak, so slow, in comparison. Before I know what’s happening, he’s rid himself of the coffee mugs and is wrapping his hand around my throat, pinning me to the fridge.
“I do not hate you, Evangeline.” His voice is venom as his words spew from his mouth. His fingers constrict around the column of my throat and I grab instinctively at his hand, trying pointlessly to free myself. This only makes him push harder, tightening his hold and lifting me into the air till not even the tips of my toes are touching the ground. “Because in order to hate you, I’d have to think about you. And I do not. At all.”
I smile, despite the airflow being cut off. I don’t need it, not now that I have become whatever I am. Still, it’s careless for me to not heed his threats. But I can’t help myself as I open my mouth and force the graveled, coarse words out: “Thisseemslike the reaction of someone who doesn’t think about me.”
He mimics my smirk, the movement completely void of any amusement. “Let me make one thing perfectly clear.” He leans in, fangs elongating as he teases the shell of my ear. “I am indifferent about your existence. You live, I do not care. Youdie, I do not care. All I care about is making sure Sterling does not get hurt. By you or anyone else.”
“I’m not going to hurt him,” I whisper, because my vocal cords are nearly incapable of doing anything else.
He laughs, the bitter, acidic sound burning my skin. “You are a Watcher. Of course you will hurt him.”
“I’m not.” I shake my head, or at least try to as his grip holds firm. “Not anymore. I’m one of you now.”
He pulls back, cocking his head to the side and running his gaze up and down the length of my body, evaluating. It’s several painful moments before he speaks again. And for a heartbeat, I think I see something pass in his assessing, icy eyes. But I swallow, convincing myself it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Whatever I see is gone a moment later, the emotion in his eyes hardening till there is no doubt in my mind the hate this male holds for me.
Then he shakes his head slowly. “No, Evangeline. I don’t care how much Arcane blood you drink, nor how much Blood Order cock you fuck. You will never be one of us.”
And without another word, he drops me. I collapse on the floor, hands flying to my throat to massage away the ache he’s left behind. He steps back, picking up the coffee mugs and staring down at me.
I force my eyes up to meet his, mad at the tears leaking from the corners—betraying how deep his words cut. “You’re a bastard,” I rasp out, trying to push down the feelings of unworthiness that are fighting to drag me under.
He tsks, shaking his head as he drinks in the sight of me. “And you’re a High Quarter whore who’s even uglier when she cries.” He turns, all at once, slipping into the shadows of the hallway and leaving me discarded on the kitchen floor.
It takes me more time than I’d like to admit to pick myself up off the floor and put myself back together. Zeke’s words didn’t just bruise my ego; they flayed me to the core. I don’t know why he affects me this way. His tone has been consistent since I arrived here, much like Aamon’s. He has no interest in me, and he’s given me no reason to believe otherwise. But if Aamon’s mind could change . . . then maybe Zeke’s could, too.
I shake my head, rising to my feet and dusting myself off. I shouldn’t want his attention. I don’tneedhim to accept me. I have three amazing males right here in this clubhouse, ready and waiting to fulfil my every want. It’s enough. But even as I let the words echo through my mind, settling the ache in my heart, I recognize themfor what they are. A lie.
Voices rumble from down the hall and I lean against the island to quickly collect myself. I swipe the dampness away from my cheeks and will my body to calm, attempting to act casual as the males enter the common space.
“There you are,” Quinn chirps, snaking a hand around my waist from behind and softly kissing the shell of my ear.
“Here I am,” I say, my voice quiet as I force a smile and look back over my shoulder at him. “Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep anymore. Didn’t want to wake you.”
He lingers beside my ear, humming softly as he tightens his hold, and I can feel the outline of him against my ass.
“Hungry?” Aamon asks from across the island, and my head snaps up to meet his gaze. Suddenly I’m caught between the two of them again, Quinn’s hunger behind me and Aamon’s intensity before me. Both males are nothing short of ravenous. Forme, I realize, as I feel the electric force crackling in the air of the small kitchen. I swallow hard, and it’s almost enough to forget the events that transpired with Zeke. Almost.
But that doubt creeps in, the small voice inside of me saying I'm not wanted by these males, that their attention is nothing more than physical. That they'll surely get bored soon and discard me. Just as Zeke had when he walked away from me today. Just as my father had when he banished me weeks prior.
Everybody rejects me. Eventually.
“Angel.” Aamon catches my attention when I don’t immediately answer. I force myself to nod, even though I can't stomach the idea of food right now. “Famished.” I force another tight-lipped grin.
Aamon watches me for a moment but doesn’t challenge me to share where my mind’s gone. Quinn lets go of me, his presence at my back a black hole that nearly cripples me. But to my surprise, he doesn’t head towards the stove to whip up breakfast. He heads towards the fridge, leaning in as he pulls the metal door open, grabbing something from inside. He turns, tossing it at me and I somehow manage to catch it without even thinking.
I blink, looking down at the blood bag. He’s just handing it over to me like it’s nothing. Like this isn’t their livelihood. Like I’m not draining them dry with every second they spend taking care of me. Reluctantly, I set the bag down on the island. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, forcing my fingers to release the blood. But I make myself, clamping down on the ache deep inside my belly and echoing through my bones. “I”m okay, actually.”
Quinn straightens, cocking his head to the side. “You need to eat,” Aamon calls out from behind me. Quinn’s inquisitive look slips from me to Aamon, and a hint of amusement creeps across his features.
“That’s rich, coming from—”
“She’s fresh.” Aamon cuts Quinn off. “Blood priority goes to the freshest amongst us. And the less she eats, the harderit will be for her to get along with the Arcane inside her.” He comes around the island, into my field of vision as he crosses his arms over his bare chest.
Fuck, why is he never wearing a shirt? And why can’t I stop staring? Oh right, it probably has something to do with the two . . . no, make thatthreeorgasms he gave me last night.
