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11

Vanessa

“I should’ve doneit when I had the chance,” Holden snarled.

I closed my eyes but could still hear his shoes on the wood floor as he walked back and forth.

“I should’ve torn that bastard to shreds. I told you so.”

“I swear on everything, I’ll kill you if you say that one more time,” I snapped.

He walked back and forth across the living room while I stayed where I had landed when I walked through the front door, curled in a ball on the couch.

“If you had only listened to me.”

I’d had enough. “All right, all right. Damn you. What really happened, honestly? Nothing. We have nothing to worry about. He didn’t hurt me. His brother didn’t hurt me. Nothing happened. So things could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t,” he growled.

“No shit!” I rolled over and glared at him. “Are you honestly so self-involved right now that you think I don’t know how lucky I am? Or do you think that little of me? Please put your fangs and claws away.” I shuddered.

“I can’t help it. When I think about what they did.” He punched his palm with the other fist. “I want blood.”

“Please, take one of the bags from the fridge,” I begged. “I’m still low from last night.”

He stalked off to the kitchen, and it sounded like he nearly tore the door off its hinges. The blood would calm him, or I hoped it would. I didn’t know how much I could take of his rage. I had enough problems.

Such as my broken heart.

How could I have let myself get so wrapped up in him so quickly? Just because of a few dreams? But they were more than dreams—or, rather, they meant more than a normal dream. He had saved me before I even knew who he was. He had allowed me to sleep again, to stop feeling like I was crazy. To feel safe in my bed for the first time since the night Kristoff took me.

Of course, as long as I was being honest with myself I had to admit that it was crazy to attribute so much to a person I didn’t know. Dreams were just dreams. It was my fault for letting myself fall for him, even a little bit.

A sorcerer. A murderer.

When Holden returned, he was a lot calmer but no less full of himself for telling me so.

I wondered how long I would have to put up with his reminders. Probably for as long as I lived, since I would be stuck with him for that long. Just the two of us.

No men in my life, not after this disaster. I had decades of loneliness to look forward to. I wondered if adopting cats was next on my list of life choices.

My phone buzzed.

I barely had the energy to check it—when I saw Gentry’s name on the ID, I let out a sigh.

“I was waiting for this,” I whispered as my hands shook.

“Don’t answer.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” And because of that, I answered the call. I wouldn’t have if he would just remember his place.

“Vanessa. Please. Give me a chance to explain.” He sounded desperate—but then, he would, wouldn’t he?

“I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t see what you could possibly have to explain,” I said, straining to keep my voice even. To keep from screaming. It wouldn’t even be him I was screaming at, I realized. I’d be screaming out the rage I felt toward myself for being so clueless. So willing to give my heart to a stranger, all because I had dreamed about him.

“Please, give me a chance. You’ll understand when I explain everything.”

“Don’t you dare allow him up here,” Holden warned.