Chapter 45

“Outside,” she tells them. “Guard the door on the porch. This won’t take long.”

Gratefully, they exit, keeping their backs to us. Neither of them wants to see who kills whom. Plausible deniability.

“You think I don’t know you?” I ask, whispers floating between us. I lower the gun but keep it close. My jaw clenches as I scan her again. “You think I don’t know who you are, Princess?”

She glares, remaining silent. That’s the thing about Maeve that no one knows—my girl doesn’t like to lie. She’d rather remain silent than speak a half-truth or admit to something she doesn’t believe in.

I’m going to snap her neck one day.

Turning, I slam the butt of my gun into a glass vase, shattering something priceless Ferguson bought and showed off. The man had a terrible spending habit, but it’s not important.Nothing in this house is as important as making this woman understand.

“You forget, Maeve. I know you. I’ve seen all the darkest parts of you.” I slam my hand into the glass, ignoring the sharp pain that flares along my palms and finger pads. In fact, I relish it. It takes away the fucking agony in my chest. “I’ve been there, when those pieces were nothing but jagged edges, shoved together with sheer willpower and spite. I’ve licked those wounds, healed those cuts, and lapped at the blood that fell because I craved something of you inside of me, where I could keep it forever.”

Spinning back, I grab her throat, dragging her over to the hall mirror. She kicks out—because she’s a fighter—her heels scuffing the hardwood floor. Adjusting her, I make her look at the reflection of us.

Two dark shadows who belong together.

“I’m the only person who knows all your sins,” I whisper, lips brushing her ear. She shudders. Her cheeks are a delicious shade of pink, her eyes glazed with lust.

Hate me, ruin me. But fuck, she still wants me. That spurs me on.

“And I’m the only one who understands them.”

Taking my bleeding hand, I wipe it over her perfect face, painting her like a blank canvas. Delicate but firm strokes, I make sure my blood marks her.

My cock jerks, fucking unbearably hard, as I watch it drip off her chin. She fights me, twisting her head around, but my arm around her middle is like iron. I make her take it—force my claim onto her body where it fucking belongs.

Gripping her cheeks, I stare at my work. Blood smears her forehead, over her nose, down her lips. A few spots cover her neck and collarbone.

“You can’t hide from me,” I tell her. “I won’t fucking let you.”

“It’s not your choice?—”

“This is who youare.” I shake her. “A bloody, avenging goddess, who can kill anyone around us. Instead, you’re choosing to hide with that fucking dipshit.”

“I’m nothiding,” she denies. “Wanting normalcy isn’t hiding.”

“For us? It is.” I press my cheek to hers. “We’re not normal people, Maeve. We know what it’s like to take a beating heart and hold it in our hands. What it feels like to be sprayed with warm blood on a cold night. And we both know that fucking guy wouldn’t know what to do with you when the nightmares become too much.”

“He’s good,” she counters. “With him?—”

“What? You canbegood?” I scoff. “We both know there is no such thing as good and bad people in this world, Princess. Only people who make choices, and we have to live with those decisions.”

“I’ve lived with mine.” She jabs me with her elbow, turning on her heel. Glaring at me, I fight to pull her close again. “Every single choice haunts me. The voices—the ghosts—they don’t fucking let me have onemomentof peace.”

My heart breaks for her. She might have killed Michael and gained back her freedom, but she’s still tormented by him. By his words, his actions. By her father’s control.

Maeve is the strongest woman I know, and yet, the past holds on to her so tightly, she can’t see through it. It had been like this for years. When we were together, I used methods of grounding her—but without me, she has nothing. Nothing but her sheer will to keep going.

And it’s getting ragged. She’ll break soon.

“Hiding doesn’t stop the pain,” I remind her. “It doesn’t make the ghosts leave.”

Her eyes are black, anger rising like a shadow that will destroy us both. “I can’t live like this. I can’t keep hearing them—feeling them watching me.” Her bottom lip trembles. “Do you know what it’s like to feel the eyes of hatred on you? Afraid of making a mistake, of failing—” she cuts off, voice soft. “When I’m out of this house, where no one knows me, I finally feel free. The nightmares stop?—”

“They won’tend, Princess.” My words are a rumble, my eyes turning soft. “Running away—hiding, doesn’t erase what happened.” I touch her shoulders, and she jerks away. “You were hurt. You wear the scars of every terrible thing that you experienced. And now, you have to lead a clan that no woman has ever led. You need to face your demons—fight them.”

Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looks to the side. Broken, forlorn, and still mesmerizing. I itch to touch her, to soothe her pain.