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“You’re a beast,” he said, his voice devoid of any anger or even judgment. It would have been easier to accept those words if they had felt like an insult, spat in a moment of anger. They weren’t, though. They were just a simple statement of fact. “No matter what Father Marius says, no matter how much time I put into training you, and even if I do manage to turn you into a hunter… that’s always going to be true. Did you really think I’d ever be able to look at you and see anything but a monster?”
All at once, it all came crashing down. All the delayed hurt and anger and confusion stirred by his words struck me, and it was too much.
I turned and walked through the door, because all of a sudden, the room felt too tight. Like the walls were closing in.
"Eddie!" Castor called from behind.
I ignored him, shrugging into my jacket as I took off down the corridor. To my relief, there was no one else in the hallway, and I passed quickly enough through the barracks that if anybody saw me, no one said anything. Not that they'd assume I had come from his room anyway. The mere idea that someone like Castor would be interested in me as anything more than a throwaway plaything when there was no other option was a joke.
Everyone else could see it plainly, and it had taken me long enough, but now, I finally saw it, too.
ChapterTwenty
CASTOR
Two Months Later
What was happening to me?
It was a question that had plagued me often over the last couple of months. One that kept playing on repeat in the back of my mind, but I was still no closer to an answer than I had been the night Eddie stormed out of my room.
I'd thought of going after him, and I almost had too many times to count. Each time, I talked myself out of it. I told myself he just needed time to cool down. I still didn't fully understand what had happened that night, unless rage happened to be catching, because somehow, he had left the encounter with what I had gone into it feeling.
And then, the entire conversation had taken a nosedive. It wasn’t even like I had been trying to hurt him. I hadn’t imagined anything I said was anything he didn’t already know, at least on an instinctive level, but the look on his face had told me otherwise. Then, the regret set in.
I wasn’t even sure what I regretted. It was the truth. No matter what, he would always be a wolf first and foremost. It was cruel to let him think otherwise. It was better to nip this thing in the bud before he could have more than just his feelings hurt. And yet, there was some part of me that had still longed to go after him, take him into my arms, and tell him whatever he needed to hear to erase the pain from those big brown eyes.
In the end, I didn't go after him, and I had regretted that decision every day since. When I went out on the hunt the following night, he wasn't there at the door waiting for me like usual, which was just as well. He always gave blood on Mondays, which meant he wouldn't heal as quickly, and he could probably use the rest after...
Fuck, I didn't even know what that was. I just knew that I had been in a blind rage after leaving Marius's office, and then the very target of my wrath had shown up in the eye of the hurricane.
I had fucked him because I couldn't kill him, and that seemed like the next best thing. It seemed like a relatively innocuous way to blow off steam, just like the last time had been, but there was nothing innocent about the impulses that tempted me when I was inside him. Some of them I had even acted on, and he had loved every minute of it.
At least, I thought he had. I wasn't sure when that had changed, or what I'd done that set him off before our conversation, and I wasn't even sure why I cared. It wasn't like he hadn't consented. It wasn't like it meant anything.
Did it? I still wasn't as sure as I wanted to be, but that look in his eyes after...
Why does it matter what I think of you?
Another seemingly innocuous question, but after replaying that night in my mind a thousand times, I had already pinpointed that as the thing that had set him off. He'd been upset before, sure, but that was just Eddie. He was raw and emotional, an exposed nerve in relatively human form. This was something else, though. Something bigger. Something I either lacked the emotional complexity to understand, or something that defied reason itself.
Maybe both, knowing me and knowing him. We were two opposing forces, at once repelling and attracting. This thing between us was toxic to us both, but I craved it all the same and so did he. We were playing with fire, and we both knew it. It had only been a matter of time before one of us got burned.
I just didn't think it would be him. I didn't think I would care.
One thing had become clear to me. Whatever game we were playing, it had to end. Arrow was right. I had crossed a line, and I had to find a way to pull us both back over it. I’d already planned out what I was going to say to Eddie when the opportunity arose.
The following evening, he was waiting for me at the door, but he didn't say a word when we went out, so I never got my chance. Evidently, I had already gotten my point across. It should have come as a relief, but it didn’t.
Every night since then had been the same. No questions, no unnecessary comments, no annoying little tunes hummed during a lull. I never thought I would miss that shit. I thought his strange mood would dissipate eventually, but two full months passed and he was as shut down as ever.
Tonight was not an exception. When I reached the front door to the Abbey, Eddie was waiting for me. He looked good with his dark jeans and skintight T-shirt highlighting all the muscle he'd put on since we started training. Hell, he looked stronger than I did by outward appearances, which was probably a result of his lupine DNA, even if the collar kept most of that side of his nature in check. His hair had grown out longer, shaggy enough that the wisps of it teased his shoulders beneath the collar of his dark gray leather jacket, and his bangs were always in his eyes. Sometimes it was hard to resist the urge to push them out of his face.
He looked up at me, nodding slightly, which was more of an acknowledgment than I was used to getting from him lately. I glanced down at the butterfly knife strapped to his hip where his katana would usually be, and right next to it was a second semi-automatic with a silver cross engraved on the grip.
"Changing things up?" I asked.
"My reflexes are better with guns," he said, sounding a bit defensive. "And I've clocked another sixty hours at the range. You can ask Father Baker."
