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Her body was such a traitor!
“I hate you.” Unsure if she was speaking to him or herself, she closed her eyes and let him have his way. He captured her pierced nipple, sucking forcefully as heat pulled at her core.
He was right. There was no use fighting him. But that didn’t assuage her guilt.
Her conscience relentlessly beat at her, shaming her and disrupting whatever pleasure he tried to give. She couldn’t stand on two sides of an argument. Where was her self-respect? This man ruined her life, and she was giving herself to him without a fight.
“Look at me, Delilah.”
When she opened her eyes, tears blurred her vision. His hold on her gentled and he caressed her cheek. It was too much, too intimate. A tear fell and she closed her eyes, turning away.
He caught her face in a delicate grip and said, “No. Your pain is my pain. There’s no hiding it. And why should you, when I’m responsible for so much of your sorrow?”
She didn’t want his sweet apologies or his remorse. She wasn’t ready to forgive him. She just wanted him to distract her from this forced reality long enough for her to find her strength again.
“Sweet, beautiful Delilah. You’re entitled to feel everything you’re feeling. There’s no shame or secrets between mates.”
Her head shook. This wasn’t what she’d wanted. He’d used his body to get close to her, and now he was turning everything around. She searched for her anger, but it had faded into mist. He’d done the unthinkable. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. So why was her resolve weakening?
“I’ll spend eternity making amends to you, pintura. I swear it, by my God and whatever deity you choose. Let that be my most sacred vow to you.”
“Please stop…” She just wanted to hate him. He was her enemy.
“I’m never your enemy, Delilah. I’ve lived nearly three centuries and made a lot of mistakes, but hurting you is by far my greatest regret. Taking away your choice was an inexcusable oversight. I didn’t think about your dignity or how deeply my high-handedness would violate your independence. It was a terrible, selfish mistake with a far-reaching consequence that has hurt you deeply, and I am truly sorry for that.”
Sadness enveloped her. His apology was a balm to her heart but it did not reverse his actions. Her situation would not go away tomorrow or the next.
“You regret hurting me, but not the result?”
He didn’t need to say anything. She understood, no matter how much he regretted upsetting her, how deeply he hated the consequences of his actions, he would only do the same thing again if he had the choice.
“How is that supposed to make things better?”
He lowered his forehead to her chest, chastised and weak with shame. “I don’t know.”
Quietly, he slid off of her and helped her right her clothes as best she could. The gown was torn beyond fixing, so she drew the edges together like a robe.
They were a mess, sitting on the floor, covered in blood, neither looking at the other. “I won’t be some old-fashioned wife-mate, or whatever the right term is. I hate uniformity. The idea of wearing the same clothes as everyone else guts me. I can’t live like this, Christian.”
“You’re immortal now. You can survive almost anything.”
“I mean mentally. I’ll die inside. Do you want that?”
He looked at her through a glassy stare and rasped, “No.”
“Can we go somewhere else?”
He hesitated and she sensed he was hiding something. “Other immortals aren’t like us. The risk is too great. It’s why we fled centuries ago. They’re lawless and dangerous, even to their own kind. There is no loyalty. Here, we’re safe.”
Because there was nothing. Life would be a monotonous cycle of boring obligations. Her individuality was already getting stripped away after only a few days.
“I can learn to accept the immortal stuff, but I don’t know that I’ll ever accept living an Amish life.”
“Then we’ll break the rules. Whatever I have to do to get you to willingly stay. My sole duty is to protect you. It’s safest here. I’ll do what I must.”
“What rules?”
“Ribbons for your hair instead of pins. The bonnet is necessary to protect us from the suspicions of outsiders, but while you’re in the house, I’ll make an exception. My mother frequently removes hers.”
His offer was sweet, but a far cry from the life she lived four days ago. “I need more than ribbons, Christian.”
“I could introduce you to the new transitions—females, around your age. They were mortal too. I heard that one male allows his mate to listen to music. She has a device that plays records. And Dane, my half-brother, he’s part mortal.”
“The guy from the other day?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not like the rest of you?”
He shook his head. “No. But his genealogy leads us to believe that he has a connection to my father.”
