“Yes.” He beamed at her with the full force of his wolfish delight. Heavy hands settled on her hips and drew her in a little closer, until she was forced to tilt her head back to keep his face in her eyeline. “You get it.”
I don’t, no.But she also didn’t feel like he was lying, either, which meant that he was being deadly earnest or he was very, very insane.
Probably both.
“It’s not bombs.” She had to say it aloud to confirm it, or else she’d never get it out of her head. “Guns?”
“No bombs and no guns,” he assured her.
“I don’t like guns. I don’t want you to make them.” It felt like a stupid thing to say — what control did she have over him or what he did? — but the words came out in a rush anyway.
Silas’s mouth creased in a deep frown. “You were shot. Of course you don’t like guns. They’re on my shit list right now, too. I always carry one, but I don’t like using it. My claws are more reliable.”
She shook her head. Right. She’d almost forgotten that she was shot. Was that her brain trying to protect her from something traumatic, or was that a sign that she was finally losing it?
The world just kept spinning and spinning. Every time it felt like she might have her feet under her again, there it went. She was tired of it. So tired. “No. I mean, yes, but also no. I really don’t like guns, Silas. My dad ran weapons and it got him and my mom killed. I can’t stay here if you?—”
“I don’t make any fuckin’ guns and I’m sure as shit not gonna startnow,”he snapped.
Startled by his harsh tone, Petra looked away. She cursed the way her eyes prickled with reflexive tears. Silas had been far crueler to her than this in the past, but something about this moment felt particularly cutting. Like she’d exposed her soft underbelly to him and he’d barely given it a glance. Guns were a tender spot he had no way of seeing, and with her nerves strung as taut as they were, his dismissive tone hit her harder than was probably fair.
Buck up, buttercup,she silently urged herself.This isn’t a normal relationship. You can’t be this sensitive.
They’d had their tender moments, but she had to remember that Silas wasn’t a normal man. She wasn’t his girlfriend. For a moment there, when she first saw the shadow around her neck, she thought maybe… But no, she wasn’t anything but a means to an end, really. One she firmly believed he’d developed some form of affection for, but a means to an end nonetheless.
Silas blanched. “Are youcrying?Stop that. I said I don’t do guns. I don’t make them and I don’t sell them. And I don’t like it when you cry, sostop.”
Petra took several steadying breaths and tried to reorient herself now that her initial panic had begun to recede.
Okay, so he’s a mad genius making robot bodies for ghosts. Okay. Okay. I can deal with that.
It was better than someone making bombs in their basement by a mile. Weirder? Sure, but she could handle weird. She wasn’t exactly normal or well-adjusted herself.
But would I leave if he was making weapons?
Petra dropped her gaze to Silas’s bare chest and the cheap gold necklace that hung in the divot between his pecs. Her eyes moved from one pale scar to another, like she might find the answer to that heavy question somewhere in their grisly constellations.
No.
She couldn’t picture herself leaving him. Even knowing he needed her for something potentially nefarious, she couldn’t. It wasn’t just because he was her only friend in the world at the moment — what a deeply troubling thought that was — but because she just… couldn’t.
Didn’t want to. Wouldn’t.
Silas could be cruel, but he was hers. He was essential to her wellbeing now, like a new, more potent oxygen. If he disappeared now, she’d slowly suffocate.
Because she was starting to understand him, and she knew he understood her. He understood her right away. He saw past the masks, the desperation, the fear. He saw every fucked up inch of her and he asked for more.
Whether he truly cared about her or not, whether he wanted to use her or not, they were connected by more than a bargain. Theykneweach other.
Oh Glory, save me. I think I’m falling in love with Silas.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
She swayed into him,unconsciously expecting him to hold her steady when her legs failed. Strong arms looped around her waist as he braced his legs a little farther apart.
“Petra.” He said her name with such a peculiar inflection that she really couldn’t tell if it was a growl or a whine.
“I’m fine,” she rasped. She took a moment to scrub her eyes against her shoulder. “I’m fine. This just really— It caught me off-guard, but I’m good now. No guns, no bombs. Just… bodies. Okay. Yeah.”
