Her expression doesn’t change, but resignation whispers through her eyes. “Malachi…” she murmurs.
“The fuck,” I interrupt on a snarl, shifting back on the mattress and placing the smallest amount of space between us. I need it though. I need some space so I can fuckingbreathe.
No sin I won’t commit to protect those I love. Nothing is off-limits, including bringing down a queen who threatens their lives.
No sin I won’t commit to protect those I love.
My chest seizes, and shit, it’s like I’m having a goddamn heartattack. Only, I know it’s not that. Panic bands around my ribs, squeezing harder and tighter. Gold and black spots blink in front of my eyes, and her words echo over and over in my ears under the dull roar howling there. I vault from the bed, and as soon as my feet hit the floor, I begin pacing the length of the bedroom, making sure to steer clear of Eshe. Yeah, I’m fully aware I’m like a bleeding, wounded animal protecting itself while growling and snapping at anyone who dares come near it.
In a very real way, I’m fighting for my life, and she’s the threat. And her claims of protection, of devotion, of… love are the very imminent threats.
I violently shake my head, my jaw flexing.
“You asked me—” she begins.
“No.” I slash a hand through the air, throwing a narrowed look at her. “You’re lying. You can’t love me.” The words grind out of me, so low, so guttural, I almost can’t understand them myself. “That’s not possible.”
“Why?” Her tone is even, damn near conversational, and for some reason, that just pisses me off more. She’s tearing me to pieces, and she’s so fucking calm about the wreckage. “Why isn’t it possible? Because you don’t want love? Or…” She cocks her head. “Because you don’t think you’re worthy of it?”
I don’t answer.
“Why wouldn’t you be worthy, Malachi?” she asks again. “Because you have blood on your hands? On your soul? Because you hand out death like other people give out advice? Because…” Her voice lowers, and dropping on all fours, she crawls to the edge of the bed and then kneels, scrutinizing me with that bright gaze. “Because you like it?” she asks in that throaty, hypnotizing voice. I stare at her, stuck, pinned to the floor like a butterfly fixed to a corkboard. “Because that makes you a monster? Even monsters need love. Maybe we need it—deserve it—more.”
I can’t move because, against my will, she has my attention. My fingers tingle with the urge to touch her, to graze the stubborn edge of her jaw, brush the lush curve of her mouth. Tracethe stark line of her cheekbone. I want to imprint her skin, her thick, curvy body, with my hands, my mouth, my dick.
It’s that desperatewantthat has me remaining in place when everything in me screams to abandon this room, this apartment. To run.
To leave before she does it first.
“Why?” I grind out.
“Why do we deserve it more?” Apparently taking my silence for affirmation, she continues, sitting her ass on her heels. “People like you and me… We’ve known more darkness than light. Seen more violence than peace. Experienced more death than life. Have even been a part of dealing in that death. That darkness, that death? It can crawl inside you, take up residence, and leave a stain that’s impossible to erase. And if we’re not careful, that stain can grow and swallow us whole. But love, for people like us—monsters like us—is the difference between losing our soul and keeping our humanity. Everyone deserves it. But who do you thinkneedsit more? Someone who’s only been protected, cared for, adored, sheltered? Or someone who’s only ever seen the worst this world has to offer, been handled by it? We do. We need it more. Unpopular opinion, but I believe love was an invention just for us.”
By the time she finishes speaking, my breathing is harsher, more labored. Tremors ripple through my body, as if it’s being subjected to electrical shock after shock.
I don’t know who moves first—her or me.
Before she can climb off the bed, I’m on her. Climbing on top of her. Covering her. Quickly discovering this is my favorite place in the world to be. I crush my mouth to hers, parting her lips with mine. The kiss is wild, furious, nasty. And then, like the quiet after a destructive storm, it turns tender, softer.
A humiliating whimper lodges in my throat.
The warning screams inside my head, rebounding off the walls. But it’s much too late for that. My control has taken a direct frontal assault, and it doesn’t exist anymore. And I drive myfist into the mattress beside her head. Once. Twice. Three times. Eshe doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to evade the blows only inches from her face. She just stares up at me, lips swollen from our kiss, her eyes bright, fathomless pools.
“I don’t want your love.”
“I didn’t ask for your permission. You don’t get a say in this.”
I shove off her and stalk to my dresser. After snatching a drawer open, I grab a T-shirt and pull it on, then head to the closet.
“Get dressed,” I throw over my shoulder.
When silence greets my order, I glance at her, and she slowly swings her legs over the edge of the bed, but she doesn’t stand.
“You want to give me an idea what for? Midday snack? A little recreational reconnaissance? Or maybe some loungewear for aYoung and the Restlessbinge? I hear Nikki’s lost her memory again and Victor’s… Victoring.”
“You think this is a joke?” I snarl, grabbing my boots and slowly straightening and turning around. Goddamn. Her social cues couldn’t be that fucking off.
“No, Malachi.” She stands with a shrug. “Just asking a question so I know how to proceed.”
