“I don’t want to be punished,” she says. Louder, she continues on, “I don’tdeserveto be punished. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
I gaze at her, pursing my lips. “You went behind my back, trying to do something that would effectively get you away from me. That iswrong.Now, I understand that we haven’t established the boundaries of our relationship, or opened up a steady, reliable channel of communication, which we’re going to do tonight. We’re going to have a nice, long talk, and then I’ll ensure youthoroughlyapologize for your indiscretions. Am I understood?”
Mira swallows again, but nods, folding. I notice guilt on her features, but she doesn’t express it verbally. She doesn’t need to—I cansee the discomfort and contrition stamped over her entire body. Her eyebrows are pinched, her shoulders are slumped. I recall that she was withdrawn and occasionally guilty looking during dinner; it’s possible that she hasn’t felt very good about her ploy to get away from me, either.
I walk over to the bed and take a seat on the edge of it. “Come here.”
Mira slowly rises and crosses the space between us, footsteps tentatively padding along the floor. She stops two feet away from me, wringing her hands in front of her.
I pat my thigh. “Sit.”
Biting her bottom lip, she slowly takes a seat sideways on my lap. I set the blindfold down beside me, wrap one arm around her back, and plant my free hand on her thigh, supporting her and holding her in place. Mira’s weight is light, her build is small, and holding her like this feels so utterly right, I’m filled with a righteous anger that she had the audacity to try to leave. To try to run away fromthis. I know she feels our connection the same way I do; her breathing hitches when I stroke my thumb over her knee, and she relaxes against me with a soft sigh. I muster the anger running through me. I don’t want to rage at her; that won’t get us anywhere. I want to understand why she did what she did from her perspective, tell her mine, then get past this.
“Explain why you felt the need to go to your guidance counselor,” I say, keeping my tone carefully even.
“I’m sorry,” she says. The words sound like they’re ripped out of her. “I can feel that it hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I appreciate the apology,” I say sincerely, “but that isn’t what I asked for. I asked for an explanation.” I give her thigh a warning squeeze.
Mira releases a long sigh. “Fear.”
“Fear?” I repeat. When she merely nods, I prompt, “Of?”
“You.”
That doesnotsit well with me. “I’ve assured you repeatedly that I am not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to allow anyone else to kill you.”
“I know,” she says simply.
My frustration mounts. I contract the arm around her back, holding her tighter to me, forcing the side of her body against my chest. I almost wish ridding the physical distance between us could also close the gap of the emotional distance. “Then what are you afraid of?”
“Your life.”
I swallow, feeling my eyebrows furrow. “What about my life, exactly?”
She lets out another sigh. “We’ve already been over this, but I guess we’ll have to do it again. Your life is not safe. You have some sort of gang war going on that brought enemies to your house. They shot at you. They shot atme.When I tried to shoot back, Connor’s immediate assumption was that I’m a threat, and he wanted to kill me. For some reason, I’d justassumedthat you’d intervene—when you didn’t, that crushed me, and I got angrier than I’ve been in a long time. I withdrew, dissociated, did the things that I avoid doing because they’redangerous. Do you knowwhyI dissociate and zone out?” she pauses, glancing at me. I shake my head. “Because when the noise of the real world becomes too overwhelming, I need a safe space away from it. Do you knowwhenI started to do that?” I shake my head again, and she looks down at her hands. “When home invaders shot my mother and stepfather full of bullets. He survived; she didn’t. I dissociated to the extent that I didn’t come back to myself for weeks.” Her lips pinch. “I was eleven.”
My heart pangs at the image of her at such a tender age, eyes vacant, demeanor withdrawn, her mind in a far away, unreachable place. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not telling you this because I want your pity,” she says harshly. “I don’t. It doesn’t interest me. I'm saying this to explain. I almost died several times in my youth; one of them was because of a home invader. My momdiddie because of a home invader, and I subsequently developed a mental disorder that I have to grapple with every day of my life. My life was nearly taken several times because of my stepfather’s involvement in criminal activities. You are involved in criminal activities.” She sucks in a deep breath, shifting her body away from me. I loosen my grip, allowing her the small bit of freedom. A deep ache pangs in my chest at the life she’s lived, at the things she’s survived. It’s accompanied by a deep admiration of her. “Do you understand why I need to get away from you? From this house?”
“I understand why you think you do,” I reply. “You’re correlating my connections with those of your stepfather. Let me tell you now, they arenothingalike. From my understanding, your stepfather is involved with local gangs that peddle drugs, run strip clubs, and have a dirty chief of police on their payroll. I do not engage in those activities. My boss is a brutal, dangerous man, but he’s also an honorable one. The shootout you were present for was unfortunate, an example of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Things are not usually like that. I’ve actually never been attacked in this house before. My legion is currently enshrined in exterminating a dangerous local gang, and we were targeted for it. The gang that targeted us will be wiped out before they have another chance to pull a similar stunt.
“As for Connor… he sees the world in black and white. Either you’re an ally or an enemy. A threat or a nobody. A problem or a solution. He saw you as a potential foe and problem; he doesn’t anymore. Now, he sees you asmine. He understands that if he has problems with you, he is to come tomewith them, and he will respect that.” Unable to resist, I lean forward and press a kiss on Mira’s neck. She doesn’t pull back or flinch, which pleases me. “I understand you’re uncomfortable here. I was serious earlier when I said we can get a different place. I know of an apartment building in the city that a few students live in—it’s safe and will get you away from the house.”
“You keep sayingus, as if we’re a foregone conclusion,” Mira murmurs. “I don’t think we are, Dorian. I don’tfeellike we are.”
Chapter Twenty
Dorian
Iinhale a deep breath, trying to temper my immediate urge to quite simply fuck her until she changes her mind.
“We’re not,” she goes on, causing anger to replace the pain in my chest. “I know you’re into me, and despite my better judgement, I’m into you.” Her voice quiets. “Really into you, actually. Today was wonderful, but I can’t reconcile the side of you that pulls out a gun, getsshot, then recovers so quickly it's almost miraculous, with the side of you that set up a lovely date that wasperfectfor me.” She shakes her head. “Or the side of you that just sat there when Connor was a hairbreadth away from killing me.”
I tighten my arm around her again, pulling her closer. Pressing her head against my shoulder and stroking her arm. “Listen to me,” I tell her firmly, allowing a hint of the dominance I’m going to unleash on her seep through my tone. “I understand you have trauma from your stepfather, but you need to understand that I—am—not—him. The reason my legion went after the gang that attacked us isbecausethey were trying to charge bullshit protection money from local small businesses and Greywood students who couldn’t afford it. When people refused to pay, the Serpents would send someone to beat them half to death. We dismantled their operation, cutting off their profit and killing most of their people; they went underground to regroup, making it more difficult than normal to pick them off. But wewillpick them off. I won’t pretend to be a good man, but I have morals and standards that I stick to religiously. You like me, I like you. You want me, I want you so much sometimes just looking at you makes my chest feel tight. Let us have each other, Mira. Give in, and let’s see where this goes. I don’t just want you for a few weeks; I want you, period.”
A soft, astonished puff of laughter tickles my neck. “You barely know me.”
