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Did I want someone to save me? Or did I want to become lethal enough to save myself?
Maybe a little of both.
“I’m…fine,” I grunted before reaching for more soap.
He grabbed my wrist, stopping me. “You’re rubbing your skin raw.”
“I need to get the blood off,” I said robotically, my monotone voice stunning him for a moment.
He released me and turned off the water. It wasn’t enough, though. I needed to get clean. I needed to feel clean again.
He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me like a gentle lover, towel drying my body with gentle pats, as if he was scared a sudden movement would send me into another killing spree. “Stop touching me,” I gritted before stepping out of the shower. We kept meeting like this. In the bathroom. With me naked. With him trying to steal parts of my soul.
“Tell me what happened,” he whispered.
“You saw what happened. He threatened you. I killed him.”
I shoved past him. The moment I was in my bedroom, cold air hit my skin, sending goose bumps all over my flesh. “That’s not what I mean, Christine. Explain how. How you just…did that.”
He couldn’t even say it.
“You knew I was in self-defense training,” I said, knowing it was only a half-truth.
“I didn’t know it was like…like…”
“August,” I sighed. “I’m not really in a good headspace to have this conversation with you.” And I wasn’t. Not only because I was coming down from my kill, but also because I wasn’t ready for the judgment, the fear, or the fucking pity.
He ignored my wishes and kept fucking talking. “You learned…that because of what my father did to you. What Lord Geralt did to you,” he said, his tone confusing. I couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or angry.
I grabbed a nightgown and put it on before spinning around to face him. His eyes were downcast, and he had a frown on his face. “I did,” I finally said.
“And Leo and Atticus knew,” he said, sounding angrier.
“They did,” I said, this time less confident.
“Is that why you connect with them? Because they know about…about this?” I just wished he’d fucking say it.
“I don’t know. I haven’t really put much thought into it,” I admitted. I knew Atticus understood me in a way that no one else would. We fought similar demons and knew how to claw our way out of a fight. August was a party-hard playboy who didn’t get his hands dirty unless it was to reach up some heiress’s skirt.
No, that wasn’t fair. He was evolving. For me.
And I didn’t deserve any of it.
“It bothers me that they knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”
I plopped down on the bed and stared at the floor. “I didn’t know how to tell you. And what does it matter? Not too long ago, you were giving me up, remember?”
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, messing up the careful style before marching over to me. “Yeah? Well, I didn’t fucking want to. I figured they’d be better for you. I didn’t think I was enough. But now I know the truth!”
I looked up at him in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He sat down beside me and let out a lengthy huff. “Of course you’ve been going to them. They knew about this part of you. Now that I know, you can come to me about this, too.”
He sounded excited. Too excited. This wasn’t what I expected at all.
“August. It’s not that simple.”
He reached for my hand and squeezed. “I want to know everything about you, Christine. Every fucking dirty little secret rolling around that beautiful head of yours.”
