My stomach turned again. Then my breath escaped my lips in a sob, and tears stung my eyes. Humiliated, I wiped them away with the backs of my hands.
Another sob tore out of me without warning. I blinked, and a tear rolled down my cheek.
Nicolas rose to his feet and took a hesitant step toward me. He put a hand out, as though to take mine again. “Eli, please. Talk to me.”
I lurched back, recoiling from his touch. “No!”
He froze, watching me with an unhappy expression on his face. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Laughter burst from me, harsh and bitter. “Tell who? Sam? The cops? What would I even say?” I couldn’t stop the jeering tone in my words—or the tears that kept coming. “Please send help, there’s a murderous vampire who bought the house next door to mine? No one would believe me.”
I let out another sharp bark of laughter, but it felt like there was a molten, jagged hole in my chest. It turned out I didn’t really know Nicolas at all—so why did knowing he was a killer, that he enjoyed it, break my heart? I had been in love with a lie.
“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe, Nicolas. You can keep murdering people.”
He flinched at my words.
Somehow, seeing that made the pain even worse.
“I have to go,” I said, realizing I couldn’t be here anymore. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done this. I never should have believed that you—that we—that we could be—”
I broke off, misery sweeping through me again. Fresh tears spilled over.
“Eli, please don’t.”
“Are you going to let me leave?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“If I ask you to, will you stay away from me?”
The grimace on his face was answer enough.
I shook my head, feeling another surge of anguish mixed with fury. “Fuck you, Nicolas.”
With that, I turned and fled out the door. I had no idea where I was going, but home was out of the question—and so was anywhere near him.
Nicolas didn’t follow me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN || COLE
“Ineed to kill someone.”
Harris looked up from his desk, scowling as I approached. “We’re in a police station,” he hissed. “Can you at least try to be discreet? Or maybe not project from the diaphragm when you’re planning a murder?”
“Discretion isn’t in my lexicon, I’m afraid.” I paused, inspecting my fingernails so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I need your most promising case. Immediately.”
“You’re… hungry?”
“Does it matter?”
In truth, I wasn’t hungry. But after my interaction with Eli, I needed the kill. I needed to remind myself that I was a creature of sensation, not emotion. Eli had somehow confused me. He had weakened me.
Because I found I was, impossibly, hurting.
His rejection—not of what I was, but of who I was—wasn’t surprising. But it was painful. And I hadn’t experienced anything approaching pain in the past eight centuries. I didn’t like it. I needed to shut it off immediately. Which meant I needed a reminder that I was still a cold-blooded monster.
That, no matter how much I played house, I was still me.
