Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,64
myself.” The hardness of her tone had him stilling a moment, expression freezing.
His claws tapped on the armrest and he said, “No. Quite the opposite in fact.”
“If you’re hoping for an apology, you aren’t getting one,” she said, kicking her chin up. She felt a bit like a child, defending her actions; by the end, she and Beck had felt like equals, partners. But in the beginning, he had glistened like an untouchable statue on a pedestal, fascinating and unknowable. She was reminded of that, now; it brought out her stubborn streak. “Lance is a good man. He’s a good fighter, and he’s fair, and he’s been kind to me. He helped me bring you back even though…” She trailed off before she said too much, and how strange to keep things from Beck of all people.
His smile was small, and tight. “Even though he’s in love with you.”
She couldn’t deny that.
Beck sighed and turned his head, presenting his beautiful, now-horned profile. His black hair set off his sharp features in even greater relief. Harsh and lovely, that was Beck. “Of course he is,” he murmured, tone lower, rawer – more honest. “I’m sure he’s wonderful, and you of course care for him in return. I’m not – listen, when I say I’m not angry, I’m not trying to be dictatorial. I’m truly not angry. But I’m it saying wrong, like always.” He turned back to her, gaze open, now; broken-open, tinged with deep sadness. “I’m sorry that I left you before, sweetheart. But I can’t say I would go back and do it differently.”
She swallowed, a lump forming in her throat.
“And I’m not sorry that you were spared – that he saved you. There is no way possible to thank him for that. But I can stay a step back. I won’t ask you to choose. I forfeited any claim on your heart the night I chose revenge for the past over a life with you in the future.” He attempted a smile, a wobbly, pathetic thing.
Her eyes stung. She blinked, and stepped toward him – heart breaking when she saw the surprise flicker through his gaze, the doubt. His hands tightened on the arms of the chair, claws squealing faintly against the wood.
“You’re an idiot,” she told him, voice choked. “You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever met, but you’re also an absolute idiot.” She leaned forward and put her hands on his shoulders, having to clutch to him for balance thanks to the awkwardness of the angle.
He blinked up at her in a moment of blank incomprehension. Then he let out a breath, and she saw his throat move, saw the flex of tendons there. He uncrossed his legs, carefully, made a space for her between them; gripped her waist and reeled her in, until she lost her balance totally and was forced to straddle his lap.
A very rewarding development, actually.
“I am an idiot.” He sounded pained. He reached to cup her cheek with one hand, so carefully; she felt the scrape of his claws down the side of her neck, and leaned into the heat of his palm. Trusting. It was important to her that he know she wasn’t frightened or disgusted by the changes in him.
“I won’t apologize,” she said again, voice unsteady now. She smoothed her hands across his chest, its muscled planes achingly familiar beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. He was warmer, though, nearly hot, as if feverish. “But I am sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Hush, sweetheart,” he whispered, and pulled her mouth down to meet his.
It wasn’t their first kiss since his resurrection, but it was the most private, and the most honest, too. His tongue teased at the seam of her lips and she opened for him right away, welcoming the hot slide of his tongue against hers. She could feel the points of his fangs, against her lips, and her tongue, an electric scrape amid the lush softness of the act.
It was as consuming and dizzying as kissing him had always been. It wasn’t just about the care and talent, the gentle rasp of his thumb over her cheek, coaxing her jaw wider, the sly flex of his tongue; there was something deeper to it, something soul-shattering that had rocked her foundations from the outset – that had given her the nudge to reach out of the pie safe and take his hand that very first night.
She became gradually aware that she was kneading at his chest like a