Page 91 of The Beast

“You stopped.”

He meets my eyes, his hard. “I almost didn’t.”

“Fuck almost,” I snap. “You. Stopped.”

But he’s not hearing me. He’s on his feet now, pacing like a caged animal. “Another second and I would have—I was going to⁠—”

He can’t say the words.

“But you didn’t.”

“That’s not good enough.” The anguish in his voice breaks my heart. “Don’t you get it? I can’t control it. When I’m with you, when I want you that much, the beast takes over. He shakes his head violently. “I become something that hurts people. That hurts you.”

“Gabriel, no.”

“It’s done.” His voice has gone flat. Empty. “We’re not doing this again. I’m not risking you again. Not ever.”

He grabs the blanket and walks out of the bedroom. A moment later, I hear the creak of the couch springs.

I sit alone in the wreckage of our attempt, my throat tender, my body still humming with unfulfilled need. And I watch the empty doorway where he disappeared.

He thinks I’m looking at him like he’s broken.

He’s not wrong.

But not for the reason he thinks.

He’s broken because he won’t let anyone help him heal. Because he’s so convinced he’s a monster that he won’t give himself the chance to be anything else.

I lie back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. My body aches, still craving the connection that shattered before it could form.

How do you save someone who refuses to be saved?

How do you love someone who thinks love is a weapon that will destroy you both?

I don’t have answers. All I have is a cold bed and the growing certainty that if I don’t find a way around his walls, I’m going to lose him for good.

Not to death this time, but to fear.

And somehow, I think that’s worse.