Page 67 of Blades and Bone

Brodie smiled. “There it is, that bit of resistance.”

Oh…maybe Brodie didn’t need to ensorcell him at all.

Chapter Thirty-One

Even when Garrick had spoken to him, Brodie hadn’t quite realized what the cost of action was to Hamish. Hamish had seemed fine when fighting and then when helping Garrick. Although maybe fine wasn’t the right word. He hadn’t quite been himself; the part that Brodie liked had stopped existing and had been replaced by something colder and more robotic.

And he really didn’t think it was right that Hamish referred to himself as something disgusting and terrifying. Did he really believe that all blooded vampires were something that belonged only in nightmares and horror movies?

Or did Hamish believe he was the only monster?

“Jeans off.” He gave the order lightly, not sure of the response he’d get. There’d been a flicker of something, but the man he knew was still buried.

Hamish’s eyebrows twitched as if he were tempted to say something, but the words didn’t come out.

Brodie undid the top button. It was too easy to imagine someone else chastising Hamish for not pulling himself together and snapping out of it—whatever it was. But Garrick had seen it, and now he saw it. It was Hamish’s way of protecting himself. He shut down and did as he was told and then packed it all away, so he didn’t have to deal with what he’d done.

He had the zipper halfway down before Hamish tried to take over.

“I can undress myself.”

“Oh good, I thought you’d forgotten how.”

“I thought you were just impatient to get me naked.” Hamish pushed his jeans over his hips.

Brodie was unsurprised that he hadn’t bothered to put underwear on. “Does that mean you were stalling?”

Hamish kicked his jeans aside. “Yes. I don’t want you looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you still want me after what I did.”

“You saved both our lives.”

Hamish shook his head. “I happened to be awake and heard something.”

“It doesn’t matter the reason; that was the result.” Brodie guided him toward the shower, happy to keep him talking so that he didn’t sink back into that place where it was hard to reach him.

“You’re deluded.” Hamish turned and snarled, fangs down.

Brodie had three older brothers, so it took quite a bit more to scare him. “You want to play that game?” He let his fangs drop and took a step closer. “You think you can push me away because you’re having a bad day? We’re all having a fucking bad day.”

“Stop being so…so…”

“Understanding? Caring? Or is that the part you don’t like because if someone cares about you, it means all the lies you’ve told yourself about who you are start to break?”

Hamish took a step back, and Brodie knew he’d hit a nerve, so he pressed on. “The unwanted son.” He stripped off his own shirt. “Unloved, and unlovable, no matter what he does.” He shoved down his track pants and stepped out of them. “Always trying to prove himself and never measuring up. But you can’t tell your family to get fucked.” He stepped into the shower and closed the door, trapping Hamish in there with him. “So it’s much easier to push back in a multitude of microscopic ways. You got a degree they didn’t seen any value in. You probably had hobbies and friends they didn’t approve of. And then they trade you to another family, proving how much they don’t like you.”

“Fuck off…you aren’t my therapist.” Hamish put his hands on Brodie’s chest as if to shove him, but Brodie grasped them and pushed him back against the tiles, pinning his hands.

“Do you have one? Maybe you need one.”

That snarl again. He twisted his wrist trying to get free, but if he were really fighting, Brodie would’ve gotten a knee to the balls already.

“You want me to hate you because it proves your theory about who you are.” He moved closer, pressing against him. “Guess what? We’re all a little fucked up. As soon as we choose to be blooded, we open the door to a certain darkness because we need blood. Your body count is higher than my zero, but I don’t really care because it’s not a competition. There are no vampire games, with gold medals awarded for the most kills or the fastest cleanup.” He raked his fangs over the corner of Hamish’s jaw, hard enough to draw blood because he wanted to taste it, which had the added benefit of stopping Hamish from wriggling. “Maybe I’ll sleep better at night knowing that if someone tries to kill me, my husband has thought of half a dozen ways to kill them before I’ve even woken up.”

Hamish closed his eyes, head turned away. “I don’t want to kill. I don’t want to be blooded.”