Fucking hell, Connor. I’m not strong?—
“Stubborn.”
Okay. Iusedto be?—
His mouth curves faintly. “Dangerous as hell ‘cause of the poison, but”—and his eyes move over my face—“so very fucking beautiful, too.”
That’s something else I wish I could believe. I also wish I could call bullshit on everything he’s saying…
“Everyone focuses on the poison,” Connor says. “That’s the first thing people think about. How deadly it is. How something so pretty can stop your heart if you’re stupid enough to let it.” His thumb strokes the stem. “And maybe that’s the point.”
Suddenly, I’m not so sure that we’re still talking about the flower. When it comes to Connor… the things he says sometimes only make sense inside his own broken head, and I’m beginning to think this is one of them?—
“Some things are bad for you,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me. “You know they are. You know they can ruin you. Poison you. Destroy everything you thought you were supposed to be.” His gaze locks onto mine. “And, because you love it, you still can’t stay away.”
My pulse stutters. Damn it if he hasn’t managed to pluck a similar thought right out of my head. Because the last time I ran from him, there was a part of me that almost didn’t want to, and here I am, falling under his spell again.
His lips twitch, and there’s that familiar wicked smirk of his. “No one should want poison, Haven. No one sane, anyway. Though, have to say, I’ve never been all that sane when it comes to you.”
That, at least, seems to be true.
I swallow, words rising up inside my throat. Words that I just can’t find it in me to say.
That’s okay. He’s not done yet.
“For nine years, I’ve known exactly who I wanted. I understood the rules. The Order traps all of us until we’re damn near thirty, one way or another. Adrian had to make his move before I could make mine. He was supposed to Claim Loni. I was supposed to Claim you.” A humorless laugh slips out of him. “Trust me, we both had a plan, Adrian and me. A good one, too, before everything went to shit.”
A plan. Of course they had a plan. Adrian Heller, the goddamn Kingmaker, and Connor Heyward, the obsessive lunatic, had a plan for me and Loni. Only Loni got out, and I stayed, and for nine years, I believed that I was forgotten—and maybe I was, but not by Connor.
Nine years…
I think of the basement. My sanctuary. The ‘H’ carved into his arm from way back then, and how he’s not hiding his insanity from me anymore. Almost like he’s made up his mind, and making sure I understand that this is it for us is the next stage of whatever plan he’s running right now.
The reason for that becomes clear when he bites out: “They took you from me. I won’t let anyone do that ever again.”
The words are so raw, so angry, I almost flinch again.
He sees my barely concealed fright, lowering his voice as if it isn’t the sentiment behind the words themselves that are scaring the shit out of me.
“I mean it. I won’t lose you again. If I have to keep you here with me so I know you’re safe, that’s what I’m going to do. Someday, you’ll understand. Someday you’ll know just how far I’ve gone for you, and how much farther I’m willing to go. And when you do? I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
Does he think that his promisecomfortsme?
I mean, maybe they would have once. Maybe eighteen-year-old Haven would have heard Connor say that and felt chosen.Wanted. Maybe the girl who stood at the Claiming ceremony and waited for him to Claim her over Adrian like he promised would have given a shit that he obsessively spent nine years plotting the moment he could tell me that he’s always considered us a pair.
Unfortunately for Connor, I’m not that Haven Smith anymore.
I don’t think that’s going to stop him, though. Listening to Connor, I’ve finally figured it out. This… it isn’t temporary like I wanted to believe. Connor isn’t just keeping me here until I get better. This isn’t about me trusting him or him taking care of me instead of leaving my trauma to the professionals.
Nope. This is him making himself as clear as possible: I’m not going anywhere.
Avoiding the insanity written in every line of his too-too-handsome face, hope radiating from his body as though he believes that his ‘love’ confession is somehow as romantic as comparing me to foxglove, my attention turns to the flower he’s still holding.
You know what? Connor seems to think love can be poison, too. Maybe he’s got a point.
Because standing here, still trapped between him and the wall, I finally understand that there will be no convincing Connor to let me go. No reasoning with him. No future where he wakes up and realizes that keeping me against my will is wrong. He’s keeping me, and that’s that.
Or is it?
