Page 89 of Fallen

“You have to stay with me now.”

The man didn’t want love, he wanted to own me.

Back in his apartment, we took a shower together. Not talking. Not touching. Sticking to opposite sides of his big-ass shower stall.

Seeing his set face, something in me snapped. I wrapped a towel around my body and slapped a hand on his chest.

“Enough. I want my passport back. And my phone. And some money, while you’re at it.”

Brien’s expression shut down in that way I hated. He dropped his towel and stalked to his walk-in closet.

I followed. Knowing I’d made a huge mistake, that he’d think this was why I’d told him I loved him, but unable to stop myself. “Answer me, damn it.”

He pulled on a pair of navy boxer-briefs. “You don’t need money or a passport. You have everything you need.”

“Except my freedom.” I curled my lip. “You’re so fucking perfect, aren’t you? You do everything by the book. Loving a human isn’t in ‘The Plan,’ is it?” I made air quotes around ‘The Plan.’

His green eyes iced over. “Don’t say that.”

But I was on a roll now. I fisted my hands to keep myself from bloodying that straight, perfectly symmetrical nose.

“That’s it, isn’t it? I don’t fit into ‘The Plan.’ You probably have it written down somewhere. Step 1: Take over my father’s syndicate. Step 2: Mate with a vampire princess. It must’ve been a tough blow when Zoe picked Rafe Kral over you.”

His breath hissed in. “Zoe is a friend. Nothing else.”

I made a scoffing sound. “That’s what you would say, wouldn’t you? And I’m not finished. Step 3: Rule the whole goddamn world.”

I’d started keeping a few changes of clothes in his closet. I grabbed a sleeveless shirt and cargo pants and stomped back into the bedroom to put them on.

He appeared a few seconds later dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, watching me.

I zipped my pants and put my hands on my hips, waiting for him to say something, anything. Even a lie to make me feel better would be preferable to his closed-mouth stare.

But when his mouth finally moved, what came out of it was, “Where do you think you’re going?”

A cold, demanding question that put me in my place, making it clear that even after this past week, I was nothing but a thrall to him.

I felt like he’d sliced me off at the knees. I had to brace my feet apart to steady myself. I should’ve known the Perfect Prince was too straightlaced—toohonorable—to lie, even to make me feel better. But would it hurt him to show me a little tenderness?

“Back to my own suite.” I inhaled a jagged breath and lifted my chin. “Unless you have a problem with that,my lord.”

His mouth tightened. “No.”

“Okay, then.” I grabbed my high-tops and sat on a chair, lacing them up with sharp, angry movements.

He swore under his breath.

“Goodbye,” I muttered and headed for the door.

His arms were still folded over his chest. He looked sexy and unattainable, mouth stern, eyes burning. A godlike being who could be worshipped but not loved.

He inclined his head, in full Prince-Brien mode. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

All the fight went out of me. Suddenly, I was exhausted.

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah. Whatever.”

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