Page 33 of Taming His Vampire Mate
Which meant, yes—he was worried about the human.
“You like him,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “James, I mean.”
He pursed his lips, but the anger didn’t fade. “It’s hardly a schoolyard crush. James is useful—he keeps the king’s progeny happy and out of my hair.”
“Thierry, come on.”
“I’m done explaining myself to you.”
“You never started.”
“Bully for me, then.” He shook his head. “You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserveanythingfrom me.”
Ian had taught me that the best way through a fight I was mostly responsible for was to own my crap and make amends. Ian was far more patient than Thierry, but still—this mess wasn’t the vampire’s fault.
“Look, I know I’m a dick, okay?”
Thierry paused, lips twitching as if I’d almost startled him into a smile. Then his gaze swept over me, assessing. “Go on.”
“You hate me. I didn’t understand why. But it’s because of what I tried to do to James. Isn’t it?”
He arched a brow, silent, eyes glittering dangerously as they bored into me as if he were trying to peel me apart piece by piece to see what made me tick.
“And you probably should,” I added. “If James is actually your”—I forced the word out, still halfway sure it was impossible—“friend.”
“Just because you’re doing the bare minimum—andbadly, I might add—doesn’t mean I have to forgive you.”
“I don’t want you to,” I said quickly. After all, I had left my pack for a reason. My emotions—and my decisions—couldn’t be trusted. “You shouldn’t.”
His brows drew together, his expression thawing a fraction. “You mean that. Your heartbeat’s as steady as a metronome.”
“You can really hear it when someone’s lying?”
He sighed, more of the heat draining away. “Tell me, Jeremy—what do you want, if it’s not my forgiveness?”
I faltered. I honestly didn’t know.
“Good Lord.” Thierry shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Seems I was wrong in my previous assessments. Toe rags have far more depth than you. You’re about as nuanced as a pet rock.”
I tried not to take offense. Fair enough that he’d think something along those lines.
“Were those really a thing?”
“There were many delightful things about the nineteen-seventies,” Thierry said, still frowning. “Those weren’t one of them.”
Grateful for the subject change, I asked, “What was it like?”
“Excuse me?”
“The seventies. Living through them.”
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to stop hating you,” Thierry said, but the coldness had gone from his voice. His eyes didn’t look quite so dangerous, either. He added, “Admitting you’re an asshole and then changing the subject to distract me isn’t enough.”
I took a deep breath. My wolf was all for this strange shift in conversation, even if the rest of me wasn’t sure showing this much vulnerability was wise. But he was right. Admitting I was a jerk only went so far.
“I’m sorry.”
He studied me, perhaps listening for the truth in my heartbeat.
