Page 26 of The Kill

Maybe I didn’t beg him to drink my blood, but I didn’t freak out badly enough to justify him rushing off to wrap his lips around another woman’s throat – did I?

Jealousy and the feeling of betrayal burn bright inside me, even as I try to pretend I shouldn’t have expected any less from him.

Tyson is a man who does what he wants. Did he stop to consider how I might feel, his mate, that he didn’t think I’d be able to have a conversation about what he needed, and make a decision for myself whether I’d be willing to do it?

Hurt and angry, I’m ready for a fight, building up a head of steam as I stomp down the long, dark-panelled corridor and into the elegant dining room. As I round the corner, I brace myself, expecting the wave of emotions ebbing and flowing inside me to become worse when I see his handsome face. Instead, the sight of his hunched shoulders, head in his hands, as he sits at the table waiting for me, stops me in my tracks.

When he looks up, staring unseeing at the wall behind me, his gaunt face, made more striking by the dark shadows under his eyes and skin so pale he’s turning translucent, takes the wind out of my sails.

The urge to comfort my mate, to nurse him back to health, takes control, and I’m struggling to feel anything but sympathy. Tyson sits in the same chair as always, posture stiff and his aura confident, but there’s a little less spirit shining from within when he drags his eyes to mine.

Tentatively, I move closer, and slide into the chair nearest to him. Silently, he pours me a coffee and pushes some still-steaming toast in my direction.

“Thank you.”

He tips his head in acknowledgement, topping up his own cup. I scan the smooth skin of his neck and see no puncture wounds.

Nobody has bitten him, anywhere obvious at least.

“Lucian took care of you?” His features are tight, and his fists lie clenched on the table, one clenching a balled-up napkin. Taking a deep breath, he exhales sharply and looks away, like it’s paining him to make small talk.

“He did. Did you have a good night?” My voice is strangled, the green-eyed monster clutching at my throat as I force the words out in a less accusatory tone than I was tempted to use.

Tyson’s dull eyes, the crimson ring looking flatter than before, give nothing away. He has me rattled, so I attempt to hide my nerves by smothering my toast in butter and marmalade, nibbling on the corner.

I don’t understand. I thought that after a feed, he’d look vibrant, radiating strength and vitality. Not like this. Maybe it’s guilt that has him looking so poorly? Good.

“Not exactly,” he mutters. “And you?”

Is he joking? Did I have a good night?

Narrowing my eyes, the pain of being left in a strange house, after a very strange evening, while he went out seeking comfort from another woman flares to the surface. My wolf wants to lunge at him – and not in a fun way. I force my shaking hands to pick up my cup, closing my eyes as I take a long, hot drink of liquid patience.

When I open them, Tyson’s gaze is on my lips, his nostrils flaring as I lick them clean. Catching him admiring me so openly only makes my anger worse, because I can’t figure out what the hell he wants.

“Oh, it was swell,” I begin. “It was my first time having my blood licked by a vampire, did you know that? And it was made extra fun by the fact that it was my fated mate.” I fan myself, aware I’m acting like a brat, but unable to rein it in. “Stupidly, I thought that maybe you licking my blood was a strange vampy foreplay thing, because it was HOT.” I lean forward, cocking my head to one side. “But then imagine my surprise when instead of sticking around to explain any of it, or maybe finish the job, my mate takes his raging hard-on and flees to his girlfriend’s house to sink his teeth into her neck instead!”

My cheeks burn with both rage and humiliation as I shove to my feet, letting the chair crash to the ground behind me. I press my hands to my cheeks, hiding my face, needing a moment without his smouldering eyes studying me to compose myself.

“Mandy…”

The sympathy and caring tone to Tyson’s voice is too much. Cutting him off, I shake my head.

“No! Don’t you dare feel sorry for me. Fuck this shit.” I toss my napkin onto the table, knocking over the freshly squeezed orange juice already poured for me and cursing.

Because now I know that none of this is for him.

Everything here is for me. To keep me happy. And it’s sweet. But does he really think I’m going to sit here every morning and pretend he’s not sneaking around at night, having his needs met by other women?

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he says quietly.

That’s the only bit of what I said that he’s focusing on? This man is impossible.

“Well, whatever she is, it doesn’t matter. Fuck buddy, friends with benefits…” Aware I’m sounding slightly hysterical, I push away from the table, stumbling over the chair as I turn blindly, rushing to just get away. “Goddamn it.”

It shouldn’t be this hard.

“Mandy…” Tyson blurs in front of me, but I swat at him when he tries to help me, whipping my head to the side to avoid looking at him. I attempt to dodge past, but he blurs to block my path, once, twice, then a third time.

---