“Why did these thoughts arise in the middle of what we were doing? If I could temporarily clear my mind of all the males who’d come before me—”
She gasped.
He rubbed his hand over his face. “That came out worse than I intended.”
“And proved my point utterly!”
“Though I’d once wanted to hurt you, I no longer do.”
“Why this turnaround?”
“I was cruel before because I thought you were evil. For centuries, I believed that. This anger inside me grew and grew. It’s been seething there so long, and I felt like I’d explode if I didn’t vent it.”
“Thronos, you haven’t been venting it—you’ve been giving it to me to keep. You might have eased your ill will, but you’ve kindled mine.”
“Do you want me to just forget how many males have bedded you? Every time you and your sister left Rothkalina, I knew it was because you were on the hunt for a power. I knew you’d bedded yet another sorcerer who’d stolen one of your abilities.” He paced, his leg beginning to ache once more, a stark contrast to those moments when all he’d felt was her lush body against him and the residual heat of pleasure. The pain was all the worse after its temporary absence. “I was left so damned conflicted. Even as I was enraged because someone hurt my mate, I’d be racked with jealousy. Whenever you let another take you . . .” He stopped to face her. “Melanthe, there is no word to describe that pain.”
She lifted her chin. “I can’t change my past. I wouldn’t even if I could.”
“Why? I suppose those lovers were so amazing that you couldn’t stand to miss a single one?” And yet his first sexual encounter with Melanthe had resulted in no orgasm for her, and him releasing against her belly.
How excellent, Talos.
“I wouldn’t take back my past, because then I wouldn’t be me. I’ve done these things, and I’ve had these experiences. Which means I’ll only fall for someone who can accept me—as is. There’s nothing worse than when a male looks at a female and thinks, ‘She would be perfect, if only . . .’ ”
“You believe I think that?”
“I know you do! Melanthe would be perfect if only she were a convent-raised virgin, innocent in the ways of men. If only she could fly, tell the truth, and go without stealing/drinking/gambling. If only she were a Vrekener.”
He couldn’t deny these things. “And have you reasoned so about me?”
“If only you laughed. If only you valued gold—and each minute alive. If only you could comprehend that I’m more than a number.”
He bit out a sound of frustration. “I don’t want to think of you like this! But it guts me to know you’ve been with others, and I can’t stop imagining you with them! Jealousy claws at me from the inside!”
“I need to know: Can you ever get over my past?”
“I will not hurt you again, not as I have.”
“That’s not what I asked. Can you get over it?”
He didn’t want to lie to her, but he didn’t see how he could ignore what she’d been doing for five centuries. “You have to give me time to wrap my head around all this. For very, very many years, my life was simple. I had one job to do, one thing on which to focus. Now? I’m always conflicted. I just need time.”
“How much time were you planning to give me to get used to life at Skye Hall? To dress differently, to act differently. Even to make love differently. How much time would I be allotted to become someone other than myself?”
He stabbed his hands through his hair. “Then tell me something to change my mind. You’ve always made me rethink things. Do it now!”
“I can’t—not when you boil my past down to an imaginary number of males. Know that you’re about to join their ranks.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just like you, they all failed to win me. When I finally find the one I’m supposed to be with, I’ll give him something no other has claimed.”
“Which is?”
She pinned his gaze with her own. “My heart.”
Something of hers he could possess that no other had before.