Page 36 of The Blood we Crave: Part Two

Anger thrums through my veins. I told her what would happen if she let Godfrey touch what belonged to me. Just as I’d told her last night, even though I can’t have her, I own her.

It’s selfish and the worst kind of toxic, but I can’t bring myself to care.

She’s mine.

I toss my phone onto the bed and walk to the door. I hope she tries to protect him—it’ll make the blending of his fingers in my morning smoothie that much more satisfying.

However, when I pull the door back and see her standing there, all my wrath drifts away like smoke in the wind, as if it was never there to begin with.

My icy facial expression defrosts.

I feel my eyebrows twitch, pulling together as I stare down at her frost-nipped cheeks. The below-freezing temperatures outside make her body shake in the warm house. Snow is still sprinkled throughout the curls of her ebony hair.

Winter’s favorite rose.

Her lip is tucked between her teeth, and she carefully extends her arms, offering me the heavy rectangular box, all in complete silence as if she is waiting for my reaction before speaking.

“What is this?” The words shake in my mind but come out smoothly.

“A digital piano.” She shifts her weight, trying to hold it up, but her weak arms are struggling, “I couldn’t get a grand piano quick enough, and I wasn’t sure how I’d get it into the house. So I thought this was the next best thing.”

My stomach rolls, and there is a fluttering in my chest.

No one had been so outwardlykindto me.

I am the man made of nightmares. People pull their children tighter when I walk by. I’d never even held someone with warm intentions before Lyra.

I am not a man who deserves compassion.

Especially from her.

But here she stands, giving it to me regardless. It doesn’t matter any of the horrible things I’d said or done to her—none of it had affected the way she looked at me, her skewed perception of what she believes I’m capable of being.

Her face falls at my silence. The excitement in her eyes dimmed just enough for me to notice.

“If you don’t like it, I can send it back. I kept the receipt, so it’s not a big deal. I just thought you’d like to have something to pass the time since you don’t come out much.”

My face heats as I lift my arm, rubbing the back of my neck, still staring at the box she’s struggling to hold up. Her body slumps, readjusting her grip around the item.

I’ve never been in this situation before, and I know it’s common courtesy to say thank you, but those two words don’t feel like enough. I’ve been given gifts from my short list of family members but never from someone who owed me nothing.

Nothing I say will be enough to convey what’s happening inside of me.

Thisfizzling.

There isn’t any other way to describe it. It’s the first time I’m experiencing anything like this. Like bubbles floating around my organs or digesting Pop Rocks.

I take the box from her, sitting it down against the wall in my room. When I turn back to her, she has already started to walk towards her room, taking my silence as an answer enough.

Instinctively, I reach my hand out, fingers wrapping around her cold wrist. She looks back at me as if I’d called her name, and she waits for words I don’t know how to speak.

“I live in darkness,” I blurt out, not able to catch my thoughts quick enough before they slip from my mouth. “Kindness doesn’t live there. It’s a box with no light. I know nothing of the world, and it doesn’t know me. I don’t know how to—”

I stop abruptly because she looks like she’s about to laugh and everything I’m saying is stupid, her fingers resting over her mouth, which is curved in a humorous smile.

My mouth snaps closed, and I glare, only to hear her giggle in response.

My fingers release her, and I’m about to slam the door until it breaks loose from the hinges. But she reaches for me instead this time.

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