79. Summer #2
“I’m pretty sure he killed Torin.”
Alice lifts her dress and pulls a flask from a thigh holster. She opens it and takes a deep drink. “When?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “You know Jessica?”
“Junior Jessica with the hot brother?”
I nod. “Well, she was talking about her boyfriend, Damien. Damien was the name of one of Torin’s best friends, and she said he’s been missing for a while. He went missing while trying to help his friend, who was being haunted by a ghost .”
“So that’s what was happening when you were eavesdropping behind that tree.” Alice cocks her head in that eerie vampire way, listening intently. “Okay, and how do we feel about that?”
I exhale, worrying my lower lip. Honestly, I genuinely have no idea.
I’ve sat with it for days, trying to repress and ignore the connections my mind was attempting, but I’m almost certain something happened the night I told the stranger I wished he’d died.
The shock of my own words rocked the denial I have been living in, but it was his genuine pain that forced me to face the truth.
It was the lie that broke through my defenses.
“Torin has been hunting me for years. And he?.?.?.” My stomach twists. “Fuck. I need to ask him about it. It might not have been him. Or it might not even have been Torin.”
“That’s not what I asked,” Alice says, taking my hand.
“If it’s true, it’s a huge relief.”
Alice smiles and pulls me into a hug. “You’d be free, Sum.”
Would I? Torin would be gone, but the more I uncover about myself, the more I feel shackled to my past. Though the imminent threat of Torin, the one that made me run for years, would be gone, and that does feel so fucking freeing.
“We should get back to dinner,” I say.
“I’m going to go back to the table,” Alice says as she pulls back, her head cocked as if she is listening. “But just so you know, he is outside the door.”
My eyes snap to the door, and I let out a little squeak of surprised excitement. Alice grins but pauses for a moment while I recover before she opens the door. His gaze goes directly to me, and Alice sneaks past him, leaving us alone.
“Princess,” he says, stepping into the bathroom. His eyes are dark with concern, but he seems to sense I need some space. Reaching back, he deliberately locks the door and leans back against it.
“We have a lot to talk about,” I say, gripping the edge of the counter to keep myself from going to him.
He tilts his head and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I’m not sure this is the place to have this conversation,” I say, looking around the very plush powder room, but he doesn’t move, obviously impatient to hear what I have to say.
So I take a breath and try to gather my thoughts.
“I’m not sure where to start.” He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.
He just stares at me, his intense gaze boring into me.
“I’m sorry I said what I said,” I finally blurt out, deciding to start with the words he wouldn’t let me say earlier. “I didn’t mean it.”
He watches me for a long moment. “You mean, when you said you wished it was me?”
I wince. There is no heat in his words, yet the cruelty that I threw at him is there in just the words themselves .
“Yes.”
He pushes off the door and prowls toward me. “You’re sorry?” he asks, bracing his hands on either side of my hips, gripping the edge of the marble counter, and cornering me against it, trapping me.
“I am,” I say, barely breathing, staring up at him.
“Are you asking for my forgiveness?” he asks, his voice sending a shiver of awareness through me.
I swallow and flick my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. “I’m not asking for anything. I-I just needed to say it.”
His gaze locks on my lips, and he leans in. My lips part in anticipation, but he brushes his cheek against mine and nips at the tip of my ear. “There is nothing to forgive, princess.”
I gasp softly and shiver. “But I said?—”
He kisses the shell of my ear, and my thoughts stutter, my eyes rolling a little in pleasure. “Said?.?.?. ?” he prompts.
I moan softly, “That I wished it was you who had?.?.?.” I stop, unable to even bear the thought, much less say the words again. “It was unforgivable.”
“Is it?” he asks, trailing kisses along my cheek.
“I?.?.?. fuck,” I whisper, my breath so shallow that my head is spinning a little. I place my hand on his chest for balance, my fingers lightly caressing, seeking his heat.
He chuckles. “You’re unusually flustered, little fae. Do I make you nervous?”
So flustered. “We should get back to the table. I’m sure the host is supposed to be in attendance and not in the powder room with a guest.”
He pulls back, smirking. “The beauty of being host is that I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
“Oh? And what do you want?” I ask, glancing at his lips.
He rests his hand on my waist, his fingers splayed wide. My breathing quickens, and I lean in, but startle when someone pounds loudly on the door. The stranger’s shoulders tense in irritation at the interruption.
“We should get back,” he says through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into my side.
“Right,” I say, my cheeks heating as I look away. My body feels as if it is in meltdown, need and hunger roiling inside me.
The stranger leans down and presses a soft kiss to my neck. “Later,” he murmurs, his lips caressing right over his barely healed mark .
He slides his hand into mine and stands to his full height.
I feel better when he clears his throat and adjusts the front of his pants before leading me out of the bathroom, giving the female who dared to interrupt us a hard glare.
She’s beautiful, with blond hair and pale pink eyes that darken as she beholds him.
I tighten my grip on his hand and barely manage to keep from growling, needing to warn her off.
Mine.