Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,82
I am learning, Karl.”
“I know.”
“Well, then, no harm, no foul, right?” Her laugh squeaked, and she stood there, fingers trembling around the first-aid kit, knowing she hadn’t said the right thing. Damn it, why hadn’t she said the right thing? Why didn’t she know the right thing?
“The problem,” he said after a moment, “wasn’t you. It was me.”
“But he wasn’t after you. This has something to do with that clairvoyant girl, and if you weren’t helping me with Robyn, he would never have found you.”
“Never?”
“Probably not. And so what if he did? You handled it. We handled it. If you hadn’t been there, he still would have grabbed Robyn—”
“Would he?”
“Prob—” She stopped herself. “Yes. Yes, he would have, and I would have had to shoot the son of a bitch and dig the shallow grave.”
He shook his head. “He was only interested in Robyn as a means to an end. That end was getting you, and he targeted you because of me.”
“Oh, sure.” That squeak-laugh again. “Thanks a helluva lot, Karl. I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of attracting asssholes on my own.”
The lines around his mouth only deepened. “In the forest, you weren’t overwhelmed by chaos from Gilchrist; you were overwhelmed by chaos from me. Fear, rage. I couldn’t control it. Even knowing it was endangering you, I couldn’t—”
He rose, walked to the window and stood there, looking out as if oblivious to the closed blinds. “Jeremy is always very cautious about who knows he’s involved with Jaime. She’s not a werewolf, and being with one puts her in danger. I told myself that didn’t apply to us. You can defend yourself a hell of a lot better than Jaime Vegas. And I’m not the Alpha. I’m barely even a Pack member. There would be nothing for another werewolf to gain by hurting you, except to force me into a fight. And if they want a fight, they don’t need to go after you. I never turn down a challenge.”
“Exactly, so—”
“I’ve spent my life building a reputation, not caring how many enemies I made because having that reputation makes my life easier. If those enemies want revenge, they know where to find me. There’s no other way to hurt me. Now there is.”
“I’m careful, Karl. You know I am. If you need me to take more precautions, I will. More self-defense classes, more shooting lessons, maybe training on another weapon, like a knife. Or carry mace or pepper spray.”
God, how pathetic did she sound? The words kept coming, each one underscored with a whine of please, please, please. Please don’t leave me, Karl. I’ll do whatever you want.
“You could bite me.” Hope heard the words, the softest whisper, as if she barely dared give them voice, and she couldn’t believe she was giving them voice, that someone else hadn’t crept up behind her and spoken them.
Karl didn’t move. Just stood there, back to her. He hadn’t heard. Thank God, he hadn’t heard. Then, slowly, he turned. The look on his face, the horror . . .
“No.” The word was a strangled whisper as he stepped toward her. “Never, Hope. I would never—”
She reeled back out of his reach, her cheeks blazing.
“I-I-I—” She rubbed her throat as if she could push the words out. “I’m sorry.”
She fled, stumbling, into the bathroom as he called after her. She locked the door and leaned against it. Burning tears of shame blurred the room. The doorknob turned one way, then the other. A pause.
Then a rap.
“Hope?”
“I-I’m having a bath.”
Which was, quite possibly, the lamest excuse she could think of.
“Let me come in—”
“What I said, I didn’t mean it. I’m wiped out and I’m worried about Robyn and I’m stressing over what she heard tonight, and I just— I need a bath.”
Hope could sense him at the door, but he didn’t answer. She had to follow through, but the tub looked an impossibly long distance away. She staggered to it and turned on the tap. Hear that? I really am having a bath.
She undressed and lowered herself into the tub without waiting for it to finish filling. Her words pounded against her skull.
You could bite me.
She couldn’t believe she’d said that. Worse, even now, shaking and crying in shame, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t meant it.
Bile washed over her tongue.
In movies, she’d heard romantic heroines declare they couldn’t live without their man, and she wanted to tell them to grow a backbone. But she needed Karl. Without him . . .