I keep walking backward. “Stay away from me if you want to stay alive.”
He laughs. “It’s very late for that threat to take effect.”
My back hits the wall. He cages me in, his body pressing close, leaving no space between me and the wall. “Why are youdoing this?” I ask, keeping my voice steady even though I’m thoroughly unstable.
“Isn’t it clear yet, Angel?” he says in a voice so soft it doesn’t even sound like his own. I’ve never heard him sound like this.
My breaths have become shallow, like I’m underwater, drowning. But the water isn’t blue—it’s black, like hell—and it’s nothing other than his eyes drowning me. I’ve heard black eyes don’t exist. They should meet Matleon. The prince of the underworld.
Even a room full of people can start trembling under his attention, and here I amalone. So it’s not my fault that my body is shivering, even though all I can feel is heat on my skin—the heat of his massive existence. It radiates from him, like he has a fireplace burning inside. I’m sure if he touches me, I’ll find his hands burning hot.
And why the hell am I thinking about him touching me again and again?
I know why. It’s that damned drug.
I try to take a long drag of breath to deal with the sudden dip in my oxygen levels, but it hurts my lungs. Every breath puts too much pressure on them. I lift my hands, touch his chest, register the hardness and the heat beneath my palms, then push him with all the shaky strength I have left.
I’m one hell of a disappointment to my papa. He invested such a huge amount of time training me, and here I am.
He moves away. I take deep breaths silently, but he can see it. He can see the effect he has on me. I grit my teeth. Leave Dad, even I’m disappointed in myself.
“Look, Matleon—” I start, but he interrupts me with that goddamn smirk.
“I am.”
“If you think I’m still having that fledgling love for you, then you’re very wrong. If you’re making fun of me because onceupon a very long time ago I had a few teenage, unreasonable feelings for you, then let me tell you, it’s not funny. I don’t care about it anymore, but you will only look immature.”
I deliver the speech I’ve repeated in my head more times than I’ve ever said my own name. Over all these years, I wanted one such opportunity, one moment where I could tell him thatthat lovewas not something important to me. Even though it’s a lie, I want him to believe it, so he thinks he was never something important in my life.
He rubs his chest, looking away. “It hurts.” Then he smiles, looking back at me. “But it’s a good thing it wasn’t that serious for you. We can start fresh, with no hard feelings from the past.”
My mouth hangs open. I’m at a loss for words.
He’s talking like it was nothing. Like the past meant nothing. And yes, I’m the one who said it, but how does he even come up with this nonsense so quickly? I want to curse him, shout at him, tell him in the ugliest way possiblehow much this bastard hurt me back then. But now I can’t do any of that, because I said it wasn’t serious.
“I don’t want to start anything with you. I don’t like you at all—”
He interrupts me again. “But I do. And I have every right to pursue you.”
My soul almost leaves my body. Can he hear himself? What does he take me for? He makes fun of my love, disappears for four years, and then comes back sayingI like you and I have every right to pursue you.
My head is about to explode with the intensity of my rage.
“What do you think you are, Matleon? You crush a girl’s heart under your feet and then come shamelessly after a few years, claiming you have the right to pursue her,” I shout at the top of my lungs.
“But you just said it wasn’t that serious,” he says, still as calm as if we’re discussing food preferences.
I grit my teeth, my breath hot and rapid with anger. I know I must look like a tomato right now—completely red. I look around the room, grab a book from the nearest surface, and throw it at him. He dodges it easily.
“Get the fuck out of here, you fucking bastard,” I scream.
He comes closer.
I turn and yank open the drawer. I know every one of them keeps a weapon near their bed, and I find a gun. I grab it, turn around, flick the safety off with my thumb, chamber a round, and point it straight at him.
“Get out of here.”
“It’s empty.”
