Page 43 of Blood

“That’s beneath you,” I say in a clipped tone.

“You can be beneath me any time you want. Let’s not dance around it, Rogue. If all you are is horny, baby, I’ll fuck you until you forget your name and send you back on your merry way down the aisle to get a new one.”

This isn’t anger. It’s pain. We’re both in fucking pain. His demeanor leaks with torment and indecision. “If I wanted his last name, I’d have it,” I say. “But I don’t because I don’t love him, Callan.”

“Then why did you invite him to your room?” His tone is ominous, pitch black, and dripping with malice.

“To find out why he’d called your damn number! You’re a King—the enemy.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. Covering my face with my hands, I shake my head.

“And yet, here you are, weak in the knees for a King.” He chuckles, dark and unamused.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I bite.

“Tell me it’s not true.” He stalks me, a predator taunting prey. “If I put my hand in your panties right now, how wet would I find you?”

Soaked.“Too bad you can’t. I’m not wearing any.”

Lust brightens his eyes. “Now who’s the tease?” He scoffs. “What did you think? You’d dangle your pussy at me and string me along? To what end?”

“Fuck you,” I snarl.

“I’m right here.” He splays his arms wide. “Just tell me which hole to fill.”

The slap resounds through the room. My palm stings. My handprint is bright pink on his cheek. An animalistic growl booms from his chest. His demon is on the hunt. Grabbing my wrist, he smacks the gun into my palm, aiming it at his own chest.

“What are you doing?” My voice is weak, confused, scared. A bolt of panic streaks through me.

“If this is what you think you need to do, why you came here, then do it.” An unnerving calm washes over his face.

“Callan…” Terror paralyzes my limbs. I search his eyes. Nothing but pitch black.

“Do it.” He pushes his chest into the barrel, daring me.

Lowering the gun, I dump it on his desk and thump at his torso with my other hand. He’s an unmovable fortress. I’m so fucking tired. I’ve been tired for weeks. I’m losing control.

Since Harley.

Tears blur my vision. My head drops to his chest and I fist his shirt. “I can’t,” I admit. To him. To me.

He wraps his arms around my body, holding me. “Are you a King or a Devil?” he asks once more. A hollowness twinges in my chest.

Silence lingers in the room like a toxic poison filling the space.

My hands shake, I fill like the skin has been torn from my bones leaving me raw, defenseless.

“I’m both and neither. Someone killed my sister. Until I find out who, I’m just emptiness and retribution.”

I raise my head to look up at him. He tilts my jaw. “Tell me about your sister. What happened to her?”

My lungs squeeze. “She got murdered the night before my wedding. Nineteen years old.”

He stiffens. “Why do you think one of us did it?”

I slip my hand into the pocket of my sweats and pull out the patch. “This was found on her person.”

His brow furrows, jaw clenching. The silence is deafening. There’s something in his eyes…The air knocks from my lungs when I sense it.

Recognition.

---