Page 90 of Cursed to Be Mine
A second never felt so long.
Straining, my ears search for the answering vibration, praying it doesn’t –
Bzzzz.
My phone drops from my sweaty palm.
“Oh,kira. I wish you didn’t hear that.”
Twenty-SIX
HIM
Despite the mess her calling me has caused, my heart squeezes over the fact that she did. I place a hand on the flat of the door, debating if I should go in all bloody or make her fall asleep, then talk to her at home after I have a shower.
“I’m not going to hurt you,kira,” I murmur.
“What are you?” she hisses.
A weight settles on top of me, and my fingers press into the wood, wanting to comfort her even though I know she needs the door between us. “A witch.”
“And you killed Derek?” Her voice is biting and angry, and I wonder if she is painting me like he did – all sups to be hunted.
“Yes. He was going to kill you.”
The sound of soft ceramic clanking draws my brows together as I try to make out what she is doing. She won’t fit through the small window above the toilet, so it can’tbe her climbing on top of it.
My brows relax as pride fills me.
She took off the toilet’s tank lid. It’s a solid weight, and the only good weapon in most bathrooms.
A corner of my lips curl upwards.
My girl’s a fighter.
I like that.
My hand drops to the doorknob. “May I come in?”
“You’re asking me?” Shock laces her words, and I frown.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re not going to kill me?”
“Kira…I would never hurt you.” Pain has me sagging against the door, pressing my forehead against the wood as I close my eyes. I relax my grip on the knob, making sure not to turn it as I move, not wanting to freak her out anymore.
“Um…okay.”
Happiness jolts through me, straightening me on a smile.She trusts me.
I twist the handle, using magic to break the lock easily.
My grin widens as I step inside the bathroom, then falters when I don’t see her.
Fury shoots down our bond a second before the shower curtain attacks me. She jumped out of the bath, taking the railing down with her, hiding her bulk behind the dark-blue fabric. I stumble back beneath her weight, hitting the opposite wall in only a couple steps, the bathroom tiny. A heavy weight slams into my chest –crack!–knocking the wind out of me and breaking at least one rib.
She swings again as I slip down the wall, the toilet tank lid connecting with where my head just was. Plaster and chipped paint rains down into my hair, and I close my eyes to keep them clean. Yanking at theshower curtain, I look up at her.
