“Was it?”
His grin was half-cocked and awkward, far from the guilt of a man who’d been caught in his crime. “Of course,” he said. “I don’t just go around biting people. That would be weird.”
Having no patience for his feigned ignorance, I scowled. “I said you weren’t stupid, so don’t play at it now. I don’t mean the bite.”
He studied me between slow blinks. “Then what?”
“You poisoned me.”
Zephyr rubbed at his eyes as though he could scrub clarity into the situation. When he started shifting off the bed, I backed up a step.
His gaze snapped to the space I’d put between us, and he had the gall to look wounded by it.
“You put me under your spell.” I aimed my sore finger at his chest. “And I hope you got whatever you wanted out of this because it’s through. I won’t be manipulated or used by anyone. Not again.”
He leaned back, no longer trying to leave the bed but rather disappear into it. “What spell?” He shook his head. “I didn’t?—”
“It’s not what youdid,” I cut in. “It’s what youare.”
The statement appeared to be as much of an affront to him as his treachery was to me. But was it trulyhisdeception? I may have misread him, but not entirely. He wastrusting and malleable and could have been manipulated by the wraith who held the strings of his fate.
“Did Maslow put you up to this?” I demanded, then decided as much for myself. My face twisted in a scowl. “He’s using you as leverage. Trying to get me to sign for Fairmont. That rat.”
Zephyr glanced around as if there were someone here who could save him. From this. From me. But no, even if Maslow was the cause, Zephyr was the culprit. He deserved my scorn.
“I-I didn’t… I wouldn’t,” he sputtered, trying for an excuse but failing to come up with anything more than a plea. “Beck, stop…”
“Say it’s not true, then.”
“It’s not!” he bawled.
I lunged forward, bending in and planting my palms on the mattress. “You didn’t put your venom in me? Didn’t enchant me so I’d be your thrall? Your puppet? Yourpet?”
When he tried to speak, nothing came out. His shoulders caved inward as he started to cry in earnest, mouth working like the words were there but stuck in his throat.
I felt sick.
I felt cruel.
More than that, I felt justified.
Standing straight, I pointed toward the door. “Get out. You can wait in the hall. Colette will take you home.”
Zephyr looked up at me, eyes glassy, lashes wet. When his voice came, it was low and steady, more steel than sob. “That’s not my home,” he said.
“Well, it’s where you belong.”
He didn’t meet my gaze again before swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. His bare feet hit thefloor with soft thuds, then he mopped his face with the sleeve of his pajama top and followed my lead toward the exit.
When I opened the door, the hallway light cast long shadows between us. Zephyr stepped over the threshold, and I didn’t touch him. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t breathe.
Then I shut him out.
The lock clicked into place, and the ensuing silence was profound. I stood for a long second, resting my hand on the knob, staring at nothing.
Turning, I walked back to the bedroom and retrieved my phone from the side table. My fingers hovered before I punched in the number.
It rang twice before Colette picked up.
