Page 127 of Kingmakers, Year Three

“No,” he says. “Not until you talk to me.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“ButIhave something to say toyou.”

I turn to face him, fully annoyed.

“And it’s whatyouwant that matters, isn’t it, Dean?”

“No,” he says, somewhat abashed. “I mean,maybe . . .”

It’s hard to look at him, because the handsomeness of his face never fails to work its subversive magic on me, even when my stomach is still clenched up in knots and my heart is still aching from a weekend of bawling my eyes out.

Dean is bad for me. I’ve known that from the beginning.

And yet my body craves him like fresh oxygen. I’m already missing the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands on my flesh.

“You hurt me, Dean,” I tell him quietly. “You really hurt me.”

“I know,” he says. “And . . .” He swallows, as if he’s choking on something. “And I’m sorry,” he says in a strangled tone.

I almost want to laugh.

It sounds like he’s never apologized in his life.

He looks ridiculously relieved, as if he thought saying those words might kill him.

Unfortunately for him, no amount of apologies is going to wipe his insults out of my brain.

“I don’t care,” I say coldly.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because you told me you loved me, and then you said I meant nothing to you. So your words are meaningless.”

Dean flinches, looking guilty.

“I know, Cat, but I was so angry?—”

“You’re always angry,” I interrupt. “Always pouring out your rage on everyone around you. Well, it’s not going to be me anymore.”

“Cat, you can’t be serious?—”

He’s trying to take my hand, but I yank it away from him.

“I’m very serious. Don’t make me hurt you again.”

Dean laughs, knowing as well as I do that I only managed to knee him because he wasn’t expecting it. I have no chance of actually injuring Dean. Only he has the power to hurt me.

And he did.

Too much and too well.

I push past him into the dining hall.

He accostsme again the next morning, apparently hoping that a good night’s sleep will have improved my mood.

It hasn’t.

---