Page 56

“No.” The word snaps out of me. “I thought Cass was calling my name.”

“You don’t cross the property line. Ever.”

“You don’t own me.”

“You don’t get to die on me!”

His palm slams into the table. The wood shudders. The empty glass beside me jumps, water trembling against the rim.

“I’m not burying another one of you,” he roars. “I’m not—” His voice breaks. “I’m not doing that again.”

My chest caves.

Malek Vane doesn’t break.

But right now he’s shaking.

Somewhere behind him, the faucet keeps dripping into the sink. Slow. Steady. Cruel.

“Maybe you should’ve just let me die,” I whisper.

Something in him shuts off.

Click.

“Don’t,” he says quietly. “Don’t say that.”

“What does it matter?” I push. “I’m the reason Carter’s dead. I should be the last person you want alive.”

“Selah.” A plea.

The fever keeps my mouth moving anyway.

“You should’ve abandoned me here,” I whisper, “just like they did.”

His breath fractures.

For once, Malek Vane has nothing sharp enough to hide behind.

“Stop,” he rasps.

Then, lower—ruined.

“Please.”

Please.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he mutters refusing to look at me. “You’re fevered.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” I shove to my feet. The room tilts. Anger holds me upright.

He’s in front of me instantly. “Don’t stand.”

“No!”

“STOP TRYING TO DIE!”

“I thought it was Cass!” Tears burn. “I thought she needed me!”