He doesn't speak for a minute, giving me the gift of his silence to think through what I've just admitted out loud. How utterly pathetic it sounds that I accept the crumbs of my mom's love just because I have nothing better to compare it to.
"You're a better person than me," he says finally.
I laugh, though the sound is hollow, stilted, "I hate to tell you this, Cormac, but that was never up for debate."
His grin as he looks at me is both feral and full of wonder. Like he's just discovered a new, glorious prey he'd like to chase around for a whilebeforedevouring it.
The full force of his attention, even just for a few seconds before it returns to the road, leaves me scattered in the wind, struggling to stay on solid ground.
Finally, we pull into a parking lot outside of town, tall wooden buildings, silos, and flowers as far as the eye can see out into the field.
Towering overhead on the stunning, dark oak main building is the same logo I saw the night I met Cormac, blown up to a monstrous size, just above the twin doors and awning that act as the entrance.
As I'm stuck taking in the beauty around me, the array of purples and blues and pinks surrounding the meticulously crafted artistic buildings that add to the landscape instead of detracting from it, Cormac silently slides out of the car, appearing at my door to let me out.
I can't even bear to give him any attention yet, lost in the scenery around us.
"It's cool, huh?" he asks, once again guiding me forward with a warm palm on my spine.
Cooldoesn't even begin to describe it.
It's mind-blowing; a tapestry of florals far into the distance.
"We needed flowers that survive the coldandattract bees without disrupting the natural ecosystem,” he offers as an explanation. "We outsource some of our honey when we're doing flavorsand seasonal stuff, but most of it comes from right here." He points at a building a few hundred feet away, "That's where the bees do their thing. It's expanded a ton over the last few years. I won't bore you with all the details of harvesting and beekeeping. But during Spring, when the bees and butterflies are most active, this place is paradise."
"A land full of bees is your paradise?" I ask.
He pushes me forward again, "It was. Now I think my idea of paradise is a little different."
"Mmm," I hum. "Beesandmurder."
He chuckles but doesn't disagree, pulling a key from his pocket to let us into the main building.
"I had the staff take today off," he tells me as the lock clicks open. "So we'll have the whole place to ourselves."
What?
No. I can't be here alone with Cormac.
My heart starts racing.
I was already losing my mind just being trapped in the car with him, his molten amber eyes and sharp canines— the ones that I constantly wonder how they'll feel dragging across my skin. Not to mention, his cologne that makes me lose all sense and his warm, calloused hands— and fuck, his tattoos that have no reason being as hot as they are when they're a reflection of the monster that wears them.
"Relax, Brigit,” he opens the door, walking inside to dismantle the alarm system. "You're not in any danger, I promise."
I am 100% in danger.
Just not in the way that he's thinking.
I'm not worried he's going to hurt me.
I'm worried I'm going to let him.
That I'll be begging for his touch, even if it comes with the risk of more danger trailing behind me and eventually catching up.
I'm not afraid of him.
I mean, Iam.But, more than that, I'm afraid of who I might bewith him. What morals I might compromise, what I'd allow even when I know it's unethical.
