Page 82 of The Blood we Crave

“You smell like me.”

He ignores me, as if I wasn’t talking. As if this revelation is more important than him summering me into pitch darkness and scaring the shit out of me.

“Why do you smell like me?” he asks as if I wasn’t just talking, demanding an answer and nothing else.

A week ago, I’d seen what he’d looked like with lust painting his face, how unnerved and all-consuming he becomes when he allows the desire to take over. I’d thought seeing Thatcher out of control would scare me. But it had the opposite entirely.

Even now, as handsome as he is, it was nothing compared to how breathtaking he had been the other day.Panting above me, lost in the chaos that tugged us together and refused to let go. Pieces of his hair had fallen in front of his face, his shirt disheveled and eyes the wildest shade of blue I’d ever seen.

He was a mess.

Thatcher Pierson had been a mess, just for me.

And he’d never been more beautiful.

Now, standing here. He was the Thatch I knew. The passive man, with a ridged spine, staring at me with an unreadable gaze. Both versions of him made me weak.

Maybe it’s because I’m angry at him for ignoring me or that I just don’t care if he knows, but with my head high, I tell him, “I stole your bodywash from your dorm bathroom.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks, his brows slanting, “Why?”

My arms cocoon around myself, keeping the light directed between us. Trying to shield the vulnerable parts of myself from him, even though he’d already seen the worst of them.

“I like the way you smell,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. “I like the way you smell on me.”

Something rushes across his face and I know it’s the memory of his body between my thighs. When the smell of his was smothering my own. I know he remembers it, how it felt, how he felt.

Heat sparks between us, his breath fanning across my face, and I realize how badly I’ve missed him the week we’ve been apart. I’d been so angry, still am, and had forced myself not to follow him around.

Denying myself my favorite addiction.

“My sweaters too?” He pushes, a realization clicking in his mind as he lifts one of his fingers to flick away a stray piece of my wet hair. I give him a slow nod as my cheeks warm. Thinking of all the clothing articles I’ve stolen from him in the past.

“Hollow Heights really needs to work on their dorm locks. I like the cashmere ones.” I mutter, a soft smile on my lips.

It’s only a prolonged second, just a singular moment where he lets something other than void expression cover his face. Where we exist between the shadows of our past and the dawning of our future.

Except life has a funny way of reminding me that I can’t live here forever. No matter how badly I want to, something will always pull us in separate directions. He will always keep himself at arm’s length. Just out of my reach.

“No more.” He says, allowing his face to morph into that blank sheet of emptiness I’ve come to know so well. A pit of nothing. “This is done, pet. You’re done. The following me around, our lessons. All of that is over.”

I can feel my heart plummet.

This is what he does, he cuts. He slices up the people who try to get too close so they will step away. Anytime someone tries to sink below the surface, he swiftly guts them with an expert hand.

Thatcher is not a solid wall that you just break down with force or crumble over time.

He is a fortress of thorns. Splintered wood and shards of glass. All fragments of what his father left behind. Deadly weapons to keep him protected from feeling. From emotion. From being human.

“Bullshit.” I say with a harsh bite, “That’s fucking bullshit. You’re only backing out of this because youfeltsomething for me.”

Except I was not everyone. I was not someone who would easily shy from his challenge. I would not let the knives of his fear of me keep me out. Not when a little blood had never scared me.

He scoffs, as if it’s the most unreasonable words anyone has ever spoken. Taking steps away from me to flick on the switch, burning my eyes with the abrupt light.

“Don’t flatter yourself. What happened between us was a mistake. Do not let that hopeless heart inside of your chest think otherwise.”

The coldness in his tone makes me shiver.

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