“Sometimes,” he amends.
I laugh, and the sound surprises both of us.His gaze drops to my mouth, and the laugh dies slowly, not from fear, but from awareness.His eyes darken, but they don’t go black.
“You scared me,” I say and his face shutters.I touch his hand before he can retreat into guilt.“Not because of the horns,” I add.He looks down at my fingers on his.“Because I thought you might not come back.”
His hand turns carefully beneath mine.Not gripping and not holding.Just palm to palm, and my pulse leaps.
“I came back,” he says.
“Yes.”
“I will always try to come back when you call.”
Something fragile opens in my chest.I shouldn’t trust that.Not yet.Hell, maybe not ever.But I let my fingers rest against his for one more second before pulling away.
The silence that follows feels too full.Too warm.
I look at his hand, then his face.“What am I to you?”
Knox goes utterly still.Not blank or confused, but caught.
Every sound in the bar seems to fade around us.Even the voices downstairs.Even Ari and Cruz bickering in the background.Knox looks at me like I have stepped over a line he painted in blood and fear.
“Briana,” he says.
“No.”My voice is quiet but hard.“Don’t say my name like it’s an answer.”
His jaw works.I step closer, because apparently I am determined to set myself on fire tonight.“You look at me like I am something more than someone you rescued.You react to me like the whole world tilts if I bleed.You came apart because of a collar, Knox.Not angry.Not protective.Apart.”
His eyes darken, but I keep going before courage can abandon me.
“And everyone here knows something.Aldron.Cruz.Akasha.Ari.”My throat tightens.“They all look at you when I say certain things.They all wait for you to break when I’m in danger.So tell me.”
He says nothing but a slash of pain moves across his features.That hurts more than his silence.
My fingers curl at my sides.“Don’t make decisions about what I can survive.Not even kind ones.”
The words hit him like a blow.I see it.I want them to hurt.
His voice, when it comes, is rough enough to scrape skin from bone.“You deserve the truth.”
“Yes,” I whisper.“I do.”
He looks toward the stairs, where the others have gone.Then back at me.“Not here.”
Anger flashes through me, hot and fast.
He sees it and lifts one hand, palm out.“Not because I’m avoiding it.Because when I tell you, it shouldn’t be with an audience waiting to see if I bleed.”
That makes sense, and I hate that it makes sense.I study his face, searching for the lie, but there’s none.Only fear and restraint.And something darker that keeps reaching for me without ever closing its hand.
“Tonight,” I say.
He nods once.“Tonight.”
“No more hiding?”
“No more hiding.”
