“Saint—”
“Shut up, Calder.” Her eyes flash, dangerous and bright. “I’m done listening to the lies.” As much as I want to protect Saint, protecting her doesn’t keep her alive. It doesn’t prepare her for what’s going to happen. It makes her soft. It makes it unlikely that she’ll survive, and I can’t lose her.
Snapping, I snarl, “I think you’re forgetting something here. We aren’t in your world anymore, Saint. We’re in mine. I’m doing everything I can to shield you from the worst of it, but I can’t stop all of it. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t trust me. I know you feel like everything is out of your control. I fucking understand all of it, and it’s killing me to see you so upset, to know you’re hurting, but I can’t…”
I shake my head and swallow down a wave of bile threatening to rise up when I think of her being branded.
She doesn’t give a fucking inch, though. “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be married to you. I never asked for any of this!”
I push off the counter, closing the distance between us in two steps.
Saint’s spine straightens, but she doesn’t back away. Doesn’t flinch. Just meets my eyes with that defiant tilt to her chin that makes me want to kiss her and shake her at the same time.
“When the time comes, I’ll explain it.” My voice comes out harder than I intend. “Right now, you need to prepare yourself for the branding ceremony. One thing at a fucking time.”
She reaches for the whiskey bottle, and I watch as she pours, as she drinks, as the alcohol does what I can’t—loosens the terror gripping her throat.
After a moment, she interrupts the silence. “What’s the point in waiting?”
“Waiting for what?” I lean in close to catch the scent of her beneath the alcohol, try to gain some kind of control over my emotions, over the hard-on already pressing into my fly.
She’s sexy when she’s angry.
“To have sex.” She’s still close enough that I can smell the whiskey on her breath. “You’ve been talking about how much you want me, but you haven’t done anything. Is it because of this stupid ceremony? Is that the reason you haven’t fucked me?”
Nothing turns me on more than witnessing such a sweet mouth say such filthy words. I don’t think now is a good time to explain because I doubt she would believe me if I told her I want it to mean something. That I want her to wantme, not because she was trapped or forced.
“Kinda, but now isn’t a good time to talk about it.”
“Kinda? That’s not an answer. If it doesn’t have to do with the ceremony only, then why wait?” She pauses for a moment,staring into my eyes. Then her lips tug up at the sides. “Don’t tell me you’re hoping that I fall in love with you?”
The challenge in her voice makes something dark coil in my gut. I know what she’s doing—pushing me, testing my boundaries, and trying to provoke me into doing something I’ll regret, that she’ll regret. Giving her a real reason to hate me.
“Don’t push me, Saint. I can do plenty without touching you with my cock.”
“Prove it,” she snarls.
“No. You’re vulnerable, and drunk.”
“Ooo, did the morally gray cowboy grow a conscience?”
“All you’re doing is trying to start a fight.”
“No. I’m asking for answers. So tell me, why wait?”
I sigh, knowing that I won’t win this battle with her. “Because I want it to be your choice, for it to happen when you are ready.”
“That sucks, because I’m never going to be ready.” Defiance bleeds into her voice. “I’m never going to want you.”
Well, we both know that’s a fucking lie.
“Go ahead. Lie to yourself.” I catch her chin between my fingers, giving her nowhere else to look. “But don’t lie to me, Saint. I know the truth, even if you don’t want to say it. I can see it. Feel it.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You are, and the truth is eating away at you. It doesn’t matter how much you fight it.”
“I don’t want you,” she claims, even as her pulse hammers in her throat and her breaths grow more rapid.
