It was supposed to be a dose of normal, but it seemed so... inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I suppose even a serial killer needs to shop for new pillows and blankets, but the fact that it was me? That I was surrounding myself in comforts after I’d put countless people in the ground?
I just wanted to burst into tears.
It was too much, too open, and too normal. I thought that’s what I wanted, but apparently my priorities shifted alongside everything else in my life. Normal fucking sucks. I hated it when I was human, and I despise it now.
So here I am; curled in on myself on the floor like I’m right back in the cage I woke up in, trying to hold myself together and comfort myself in silence. Back then, I wanted to shrink until I was invisible, too small to notice. And while the situation is vastly different, the impulse returns, because right now? Malcolm treats me like I’m the center of his world, the only thing worth noticing.
I need him to freaking blink for once and let me out from under the microscope.
A weary sigh makes me thump my head back against the wall. “You’re being an ungrateful jerk, Scar. People would kill for this kind of devotion.” I wince before the words are fully out of my mouth. “Which you did, and he still treats you like you hung the moon.” Tightening my hold on my legs for a minute, I force myself to admit at least to myself, “You’re just afraid that since he looks so closely, he’s going to see right through you. It’s only a matter of time until he realizes that he was saddled with a defective mate and you crush him when he’s been nothing short of amazing.”
Fated mates are supposed to be... everything. There’s no looking at another person twice after finding yours, no desire to ditch them for a hot piece of ass. Hell, even the shifters I knew back home that weren’t fated and simply created their own packs were loyal to one another, like the concept of cheating on their mate wasn’t even in their vocabulary. Mages are way more open with their sexuality than humans, but still, all of the ones I met had the decency to be open from the beginning that they weren’t looking for anything serious. Hell, I’d even had a fling with a couple, back before I realized it’d never work long term since I felt so inadequate in comparison. Even then, I never had to worry about getting cheated on. Caleb bluntly told me to my face that someone else caught his eye and asked if I wanted to try to work on our relationship or if we may as well call it so he could explore other options.
And none of them were fated mates.
Yet here I am, spoiled rotten by someone absolutely devoted to me, and I’m fantasizing about pushing the shifter that scent marked me to the ground and sinking my teeth into one of his broad shoulders. He was solid and sturdy, but in a comforting way instead of being all ripped muscle. The moment he first embraced me, it was like my world shrunk to the confines of his arms, simple and manageable, and I could breathe easier. But with that Xanax hug came the sweet, mouthwatering scent of his blood, and I had to force myself to hold my breath as much as possible until he finished.
“Malcolm deserves so much better than you,” I whisper into the darkness.
I hurt him if I refuse to let him mark me, and I devastate him if I accept it. With the emotional telepathy thing he claims comes with the bond, like it’s some fun and fabulous prize he’s using as a selling point, he’d feel the surge of longing and know. He’d know that vampires are just garbage humans.
Literally.
“So be better.” Nodding to myself like a lunatic, I continue to fill the depressed silence with one sided conversation. “You don’t have to act on it; you clearly have impressive control or you’d have torn his throat open.”
Getting to my feet, I fumble my way out of the plush nest and remake my bed, removing all evidence that I can’t keep my shit together when so much is riding on me being able to. “Malcolm will understand that it’s not my fault the gods were drunk when they created vamps and forgot to add the chastity belt into the fated mate coding for us. And knowing him, he’ll just be impressed by my level of restraint and it’ll give him hope that when it comes time to pitch to the world that we aren’t any more of a threat than shifters or mages, it’ll be a fact instead of a prayer.”
Straightening the last pillow and smoothing out the comforter, I grab my laptop and sit on the freshly made bed, coming to a decision as I boot up my game to keep me out of my head. I’ll lay it all out there for Malcolm and let him make the choice if he wants to be tied to me or not, in light of the new development. But I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself, and if I look at this bond as a good thing like he does, it would mean that when I’m beating myself up and starting to spiral, he’d know. And Malcolm’s the sort of man that would drop whatever he was doing to try and catch me before I fell too far, which is all the more incentive to keep myself in check so I don’t become a burden.
It also means I’d feel what he does, and even if it was orchestrated, he really seems to love me. It’d be a pretty nice change of pace if I could, too.
Chapter 9
Malcolm
––––––––
