Page 92 of Imprisoned with the Vampire King

I kept going. "I get it. I genuinely do. But being told that you don't want to fuck me because of your meetings, and seeing you always in a rush to get away from me, still doesn't feel good. Yeah, sure, we have a mental connection, but it doesn't fix anything, and it doesn't mean anything. Not really."

"It means something to me," he countered.

"What does it mean to you? That I belong to you? That you can't bite anyone else? That we're going to spend the rest of our immortal lives revolving around each other even if we barely tolerate each other? There are a lot of shitty things it can mean, and I'd rather it was meaningless."

"I don't barely tolerate you," he said in a low voice. "I like you, Ophelia."

"What do you like about me?"

He didn't answer.

Not immediately.

I sent my wings away. Leaving them out suddenly felt way too vulnerable. "You don't know me, and you've spent the last few weeks trying to force me to adapt to your life, your lifestyle, and the way you think things should be. You're a good guy, but you're not someone I can be safe with. Not emotionally."

His throat bobbed.

And he finally let go of my wrist.

The victory was hollow.

nineteen

DANTE

I was in over my head.

And still silently thinking about everything my mate had just said to me while I followed her through the mansion.

My hunger wasn't helping me think more clearly.

Neither was her obvious hurt.

She slipped into the kitchen, her legs much more wobbly than they had been a few days earlier.

"What are you doing?" I asked, as she reached the fridge.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm hungry."

"I'm still taking you to breakfast."

"I'm not going."

"You're going," I said firmly.

"I just told you I'm not interested in doing things that will lead to me developing feelings for you. I'm not going to a fancy restaurant you probably own while you look like that and I look like this." She gestured to me, then to herself.

She wasn't necessarily insecure, but she definitely wasn't secure. Jazz was right about what I'd done and said not being enough to show her that she had nothing to worry about.

I slipped my phone out of my pocket while she was leafing through the leftovers and groceries inside. There wasn't much. Her next delivery was scheduled for that night.

I pulled up the page for the restaurant and put my phone in her hand before striding back to the closet.

Obviously, I had fucked up in more ways than I had imagined, but there was one thing I could fix.

And fixing it would give me time to keep working through what she'd said, anyway.

By the time I rejoined her in the kitchen, I'd gathered my thoughts a little. I found her leaning up against the cabinets, flipping through pictures from inside the restaurant.