Page 119 of The Blood we Crave

“But I refuse that,” I croak, giving a curt shake of my head. “You can’t make me accept something I know isn’t true. You don’t understand what I will become without you.”

“If this is about you learning to control your urges, you will—”

“No!” I shout, and to his credit, he doesn’t even flinch, just closes his mouth as I press my pointer finger into his chest. “If something happens to you, I will not weep at your grave and beg for someone to bring you back.”

How do you explain to someone who knows nothing of love that they are the reason you breathe? That without them, you would have died a long time ago, that they are the only reason you want to exist so that you can be seen by them?

“I won’t seek vengeance.” My voice cracks. “I will wage a war with no end.”

I will not leave him. He will not push me away. Not when I can protect him. The Halo will not take him from me. There is no one who can take him from me.

“If you die, it won’t just ruin me, Thatcher. It will be the reason behind the slaughter of this entire town.” I grind my teeth, knowing my grief at losing him would leave no one safe. “Do not shove me away, then allow yourself to be killed and blame me for what kind of monster is born in my mourning.”

Thatcher

I prided myself my entire life on being honest. It had been the only real factor distinguishing me from my father. He hid what he was from the world, pretended to be a man when he was a monster.

But I promised myself I would be different. I would be better.

So I refused to lie. Even if it hurt, even if the truth stung and it was bitter. I allowed the world to fear me, to let them see me for exactly what I was. That way, no one could ever say they were surprised by my behavior.

I wouldn’t be the serial killer on the news where the neighbors talked about how they had no clue. How they never would have guessed I could dismantle human bodies and dissolve them in acid.

No, they would know. They have always known what I am, what I have become.

“Do you think I care what you become?”

Lyra’s tears are leaking in heavy streaks down her face, large drops pouring out. She shows all she is feeling on the surface, wearing that fragile, ridiculous heart on her sleeve for anyone to see.

“I—”

“I think you have mistaken me for someone else. For someone who is capable of giving a fuck. So allow me to make this clear. I don’t want there to be any confusion moving forward.”

I lift one of my knuckles to her face, brushing the tears away from her skin, the gentle touch the direct opposite of my brutal words.

“I don’t care about you, Lyra Abbott.”

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

Dirty. Filthy. Disgusting lie.

There is something inside of me, a buried truth, one I will deny until my very last breath—that she has always been the only woman, the only person, I have ever cared for.

The kid I couldn’t kill. The little girl that got an entire tray of food dumped on her head in fifth grade by Scottie Camball, so I pushed him down a flight of stairs. The woman I let watch me, haunt me, because I enjoy the way her eyes feel on my body.

That one weak spot. The first person to ever make me bleed.

And I have hated her for it every single day.

Hated how she makes morbid desires for things of passionate beauty.

“But you—”

“Did you think you could change me?” I ask, pressing a tear into her cheek before grabbing one of her curls and tugging harmlessly on it. “Did you think you could weasel your way inside and filthy me up, turn me into the man who loves? Don’t tell me you’re that pathetic, darling phantom.”

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