Aurora #2
My fight-or-flight should kick in. It certainly did when Samuel ever stood over me like this. The twins are so damn tall and wide and packed with muscle. Either could crush me with half a thought. But I’m not afraid. My instincts don’t scream at me to run. Not with Saint.
Does that mean it’s his mark? Because I have zero fear of him when even his own brothers keep a watchful eye on him, fearful he’ll snap?
“I won’t,” I say more firmly. “Not from any of them.”
“Why?” he grumbles. “You have to be hungry.”
“I am,” I admit. “But I won’t feed from a human.
Won’t touch one.” I swallow hard. “I can’t take the risk.
I don’t want to hurt anyone, Saint. And the power in my touch…
” I look down at my hands, hating that they have the ability to betray me.
“I could just as easily drain the life from any volunteer as I could the blood from their veins.” I shiver at the thought. “I can’t take that risk.”
“You aren’t giving yourself enough credit,” he says, reaching his hand toward mine. He grazes my palm with his fingertip, the lightest of touches. It feels like lightning. “See? I’m still standing.”
He’s right. My power hums beneath my skin, deep in my soul, resting.
But I’ve killed so many plants unintentionally.
What happens if my power activates when he’s touching me?
Or if I risked feeding from a human and lose myself to both bloodlust and a power I don’t know how to use yet? Who knows what I’m truly capable of?
“This woman volunteer may have agreed because you asked her to, but everyone who sees this mark on my neck is immediately terrified,” I counter.
“They’re certain you’ll kill them for coming close to me.
” That much I’d learned the other night when I’d been with Annika and Cassandra and Grace.
One of the king’s talem had spotted the ink on my neck and bolted the opposite direction.
Saint sighs, slow and heavy. “Aurora.”
“Saint.”
I don’t even blink as he stares down at me. A glimmer of pride shines in his eyes but he quickly drowns it in frustration.
“I told you who I’m comfortable feeding from.” I hope he’ll change his mind. Hope he understands that it can only be him.
“You know we can’t do that.” He takes a step back, breaking our connection.
“I don’t know, actually.” I shake my head. “Saint, I can’t help it. You’re the only one I trust myself with—”
“I don’t trust myself,” he cuts me off. “I don’t. You have no real idea the line I walk. The madness that skirts the edges of my control. The lines I’m capable of crossing.”
“And you have no idea the true depths of what I’ve been through,” I fire back. He knows most of what I endured, but I spared him the specific details of the whispers Samuel spewed in my ear nightly. What he wanted to turn me into. What he intended to use me for.
Icy shivers threaten to steal my breath, but I shove the memories away.
“I can tell the difference,” I continue. “Between good and evil. You are different. You’re not him. You’ll never be him.”
He holds my gaze, long enough that I think he might yield. That he might allow himself to feel something for once.
Saint stomps toward my door, throwing it open. He glances back at me. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Saint.” My plea stops him from leaving.
I don’t care that I’m begging. “Please. I can’t bite a human.
I can’t. That’s what he…he constantly talked about it.
How to hurt humans. How to kill them. How they were nothing more than mindless blood bags to satiate us.
He wanted to use me as one of his weapons.
Turn me into a killer who served at his feet.
He took so much pleasure in showing me how many ways there are to end a human’s life.
” Chills burst along my skin at the memories.
“I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.” I shake my head.
“I refuse to turn into what he wanted me to be. So, because you won’t feed me and I can’t drink the blood supply, I’ll have to starve. ”
Saint’s dark eyes go wide before he steps into the hallway.
My shoulders drop, the hope draining from me.
“We no longer have need of you,” he says outside the door. I hear footsteps retreat, then Saint steps back into my room and shuts the door. A flurry of emotions storms his features—despair, regret, guilt?
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” I hurry to add now that he’s turned toward me. “If that’s what you’re afraid of. Even if this turns out to be your mark. I won’t use it against you. I won’t trap you.”
“I would never think that.” He looks like he can’t believe I even said such a thing.
“Okay,” I say. “Will you please help me?”
A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I always want to help you, Aurora,” he says, his voice a hair softer. “But…”
My insides twist. “But what?” I’m exasperated. I’m starving. “What are you afraid of—”
“Of hurting you!” he cuts over me.
“You would never hurt me, Saint. I know it.”
“You don’t know it. I’m completely capable of losing control.”
I nod. That part I understand. The instincts, the need coursing through me. I’m very close to bursting out of my skin, my fangs throbbing any time I set eyes on him. My mouth waters at his scent, at the teasing glimpses of his skin that his clothes don’t cover.
“I understand it’s a risk,” I say. “But if you were ever going to take a risk with someone, shouldn’t it be me?”