attention. I was the ocean, scrambling to get away from the moon, only to be ripped back every time.
When I didn’t turn to face him, he chuckled.
That dark, deep, and lovely sound washed over me. I wished it were like nails on a chalkboard to my ears. But that would make me even more of a liar than I already was.
And I was so damn tired of the lying.
“What do you want, Ronan?”
The chuckle stopped. I felt the predator in him shift at my tone. “Why do you ask me questions you know the answer to?” he mused. “I am not the one that lies. I have been straightforward with you since the very beginning—when you called me out of my world and into this one.”
I sighed. “You can’t have me. I’m not a bone for you and Lucifer to fight over.”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “You’re my atma. In your world, shifters have mates, and humans have spouses, vampires have brides, and witches have psychic partners. You are more than all of them to me. Those are simply watered-down imitations of what it means to have an atma.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, turning to face him instead of being the coward I wanted to be. “Being someone’s spouse is a choice. Mates and brides and psychic partners don’t have that, but wives? Husbands? They choose. That is more than any bond that forces itself on people.”
Ronan assessed me carefully.
“Choice,” he murmured. “That’s what you value.”
“Yes, and it’s what you have not given me.”
“If I gave you a choice, you wouldn’t even consider it. You’d turn me away because of your prejudice,” he pointed out. I shrugged, not denying it.
“I guess it sucks to be you. But chasing me like this? Hounding me like a dog in heat—it won’t win me, Ronan. I might not be human anymore, but I was born one. I am human in the ways that matter.”
Winter skies and steel shone in his eyes as he considered my words. He was shirtless again, this time in slacks. Smudges of blood smeared on his skin. His brands seemed to pulsate in my presence. As if calling to me.
“Perhaps,” he murmured again. “I need to find another way to win you.”
“That wasn’t an invitation—”
“But it was,” he said, smiling with that cruel beauty. “You may not realize it yet, but you’re playing this game. I just need to turn the tables.”
I stepped forward, opening my mouth to ask him what that meant.
But Ronan disappeared. His body fragmented into shadows and faded into the darkness of my mind. I sensed his power leaving.
Those parting words, full of promise, unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
He was planning something. I had no doubt I’d soon know what.
28
A soft warmth spread through me. I rolled, burying my face deeper into the cool pillow. It smelled like jasmine tea and lilac. I inhaled deeply and then sighed softly.
It took another five seconds for that in-between state of being awake and asleep to shift more toward awake, and reality crashed down. I opened my eyes, and bright, brilliant sunlight assaulted me. I winced, taking in the soft cream walls and the jazz music playing in the background.
My body was stiff as I twisted, trying to sit up. My legs tangled in the blankets. Gravity threatened to pull me back down as a wave of dizziness hit.
“Drink this,” Nathalie said from beside me. She passed over a glass of water that was clear and cold; fat droplets of condensation running down the side of the glass.
I took it between my hands and drank greedily.
At the end I choked, and she took the glass as I coughed roughly.
My ribs ached, and a jackhammer started pounding into my head.
“How long?” I rasped, between breaths.
“Four days,” she said, knowing what I was talking about.
The coughing subsided, and I cursed under my breath. I knew it was longer by the hunger and dehydration getting at me, but I didn’t think it would be that long. I wondered how many more times it could happen before I wouldn’t wake up. Before starvation or dehydration killed me.
It was a somber thought. I pushed it away for now, taking in my surroundings.
I was on a twin-sized bed with an off-white comforter. Behind me, a window spanned a few feet, the long drapes wide open, letting the sun warm me through the pane of glass. There was an antique-looking end table beside me, with crystals and the now empty glass on it.