Page 64 of Mated Exile

I look into his eyes as I pin him to the ground, draw my hand back, and stab the stake down into his chest.

The vampire has barely stirred, sluggish from the feed, when the wooden stake pierces his heart. He makes a choking noise, spits up blood—then collapses into ash beneath me, leaving nothing but the smell of rot behind.

I get to my feet and turn around, feeling a strange kind of peace within me. Delilah and Roarke have joined me. She's helping the woman to her feet, wiping off her bloodied neck. Roarke paces over to me, looks down at the pile of ash, and claps me on the back.

"You did good." He squeezes my back. "Could've decapitated him with your teeth, though. A good throat-rip and spine sever usually does the job."

"Yeah, I know." Sliding the stake back into my jacket, I admit, "I wanted to prove to myself that I could."

"Of course you can," Roarke says, voice falsely bright. "I've always believed in you."

Studying him, I feel the tension he's carrying, and know that there's only one way to shake it out.

We have to talk.

* * *

My opportunity comes after Delilah has slipped inside the house, joining Cat and Bastian for a late night cup of tea and round of classic sitcoms. She invited us in, but I begged off, knowing I'll be up early for the gym again. Roarke looked tempted by the offer, but he turned it down, glancing at me as if afraid to take something more than me.

As we walk towards our cars, I stop him with a hand on his shoulder. He pauses and turns to me, eyes landing on my face, a familiar line of tension in his jaw, his mouth drawn into a crooked frown.

I remember when he was always joyful and laughing, open and at ease. He's been like this for too long. We've both suffered enough.

"I want to talk to you." I squeeze his shoulder, then let my hand fall, feeling all the years of friendship between us. "I just want you to know that you deserve Delilah more than me. If she's willing to be with you, you should have her—I meant what I said."

Roarke clears his throat. "I know you said it. But we both know you didn't mean it. You love her."

"You don't get to tell me what I mean," I argue, letting an edge enter my tone, even though I try to keep things lights. "We both know that I don't deserve to have her after what I did to her, even though she's started to forgive me. She can have something different with you, something without the messy past—and she deserves it."

Looking down and away, he says, "I can't take her away from you after what I did."

"It wasn't your fault." He frowns, so I raise my voice, putting emphasis into the words. "Just because you're the one who introduced me to the venom doesn't mean you're the one who made me an addict. That was my choice—and it could've been anything. Hell, my father is a drunk. Don't try to take all the credit for something that was mostly my doing."

Shifting back and forth on his feet, Roarke runs a restless hand through his hair. After all these years of friendship, I can tell he's working his way up to something. So I wait for him, listening to the sound of an owl hooting in the distance, letting the night air cool my skin.

He clears his throat. "It wasn't just that I suggested it to you. When you said you didn't want to forget—when you told me that you deserved to be in pain over Tara for the rest of your life—I told you that you were wrong."

"I don't remember that." Frowning, I shrug. "But I hardly see how it matters."

"It does, though." He looks up and meets my eyes, unhappiness written in the lines of his face. "I pushed you. I convinced you. And I didn't do it with just words."

A long moment passes before I understand what he means.

I inhale sharply, getting it all at once—and realizing now how many years went by without my noticing who my best friend was becoming. I got so wrapped up in my own stuff that I forgot to check on Roarke. He had so much thrust on him without even asking for it, and now he's found a way to take my burdens too.

"It wasn't your fault," I tell him firmly. Reaching out, I grab both his shoulders and shake him a little. "We were just kids. Even if you did use your abilities on me, you weren't telling me to become an addict. You thought we'd have one fun night out forgetting, grab some venom from that dealer at the edge of town, and move on with our lives. You're not to blame for everything I did afterwards."

"Still." He clears his throat. Reaching out, he punches me softly in the chest. "I'll always blame myself."

"Well, stop that." Shooting him a grin, I breathe deep, enjoying the stretch of my lungs. Stepping back, I brush myself off, and put as much confidence into my words as I can. "I'm getting better, and I'm not going to stop. I want my best friend beside me while I do it—and I don't want him to be a miserable son of a bitch. If being with Delilah will make you happy, that's what I want for you."

Roarke turns skeptical eyes on me. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Even if she picks me over you?"

It costs me everything inside, but I force myself to say, "Even then, dumbass."

---