Page 18 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

It’s unfortunate for him that I know how his mind works. How he plays games.

I’m not angry at him, not really, even though I wanted to be the other night. I love him, understand him far too much to be upset at him for behaving the only way he knows how.

Cold. Distant. Sharp.

But I am no longer going to be meek. Not when my hands have been responsible for three deaths. The barrier keeping who I was and who I am snapped open when he left, while I was wondering if he was alive or dead.

If Thatcher is going to cut me with his words, I’ll return the favor. I know what we are to each other, but I’m done letting him hurt me with no rebuttal. We were made from the same blade; it’s not hard to know which spot bleeds the most.

Maybe he’ll get a taste of his own medicine for once.

All I know is I don’t want to be beneath him.

I want to be his equal. Mirror images of one another. He reflects all I am inside, and I reflect what’s inside of him. Two pieces on level playing ground.

It’s us at the end of this, and deep down, he knows that. That there can’t possibly be anyone else for either of us.

“Having me here makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Puts you on edge? Or is that just your new personality now that you’ve accepted being a killer?” I know when I turn around, he’ll be smirking. That stupid smirk that makes my insides curl.

“Does it matter?” I offer in return, turning slightly to face him, leaning against the doorframe with my arms crossed in front of me, book tucked tightly. Trying to ignore the way my heart is screaming.

He’s so close. Touch him. Touch him.

I wish she understood how hard he makes that for us. That she picked the most difficult man to love.

“No.” He clicks his tongue. “But I can’t help but wonder how the person who has invaded my space since we were teenagers has a problem sharing hers.”

I tighten my jaw, grinding my molars, fighting the blush threatening my cheeks. “You love knowing that, don’t you? That I followed you? Does it fuel your already massive ego to know you had a stalker?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You aren’t owed a reply just because you ask me something.”

He smiles, pressing his tongue to his cheek, a piece of his hair falling in front of his face as he replies. “Are you keeping secrets from me now, pet?” His eyes turn hard. “Considering I didn’t tell anyone about your recent homicide or how I helped you get rid of a body, I would think that warrants a little trust, does it not?”

The threat is laced within his words. I decided to keep things to myself because of the wedge he drove between us, and now I’m getting blackmailed to share?

He can never deny being a Pierson, that’s for sure.

“It’s nothing to do with trusting you, Thatcher,” I say with bitterness in my voice. “I’d be uncomfortable with anyone being here. This is my home, my space, the place I don’t have to hide. Which means it’s—”

“Easy for people to see you,” he finishes for me. “All of you.”

I swallow the knot in my throat, my mouth dry because of the heat in his gaze. How his eyes don’t move from mine for even a second. I hate when he does this, looks at me like he sees everything and it doesn’t scare him.

My skin pricks with goosebumps as I nod.

“That’s not something I’m used to. The world seeing me.” I pick at the edges of my sweater, pulling the thin thread at the hem. “We can’t all be built for the hustle of political conversation and media presence.”

Every room he steps into, he owns every single stare. Revels in their fear and smiles because of it. I’ve watched him talk his way through a room effortlessly. This town condemns him, but there is respect for who he is, and he knows that.

He laughs, humorless and rough. A black hole of a sound, sucking up all the light in the room.

I wonder if he knows what it is to truly laugh.

“After Henry was arrested, I stayed locked inside the estate for months. This version of me? It didn’t exist yet.” He looks around the room, probably picturing his childhood bedroom. Then he’s back to staring at me, his long legs bringing him closer and closer to me.

“I refused to leave the grounds, barely spoke to anyone, including my grandfather, which drove him mad. So, to put him out of his misery, May took me out to the gardens, and we sat in silence for hours. I watched while she tended to flowers and spoke to the staff. It wasn’t until it started to get dark that she spoke to me.”

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