Page 29 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

I’m speechless.

Stunned.

It was pretty much the last thing I expected to hear. Especially coming from him. The shock of his words pins me in place.

Narrowing my gaze on Killian, I say, “You mean what you did t o my dad?”

Killian’s response is soft, almost remorseful. “Yes, what I did, Shiv,” he says, and for once, his face is an open book. No sign of his usual tells, no swipe of his hair, no pressing of lips. And the fake accent is notably gone. “I want you to know I’ve never forgiven myself,” he continues, and though his admission strikes a chord, it’s not nearly enough to douse the anger burning brightly inside me.

“Oh really?” I say, my skepticism palpable, voice laced with bitterness. “Have you forgotten that I watched the whole scene unfold? That I saw how you casually flicked your cigarette ash onto his face, while you gloated over…” My voice fades, my anger cresting to such great heights that words temporarily escape me. “Gloated over all the vile and disgusting things that you’d one day do to me.” I practically spit.

“And have you forgotten that I was only fourteen at the time? That I was young, and stupid, and full of reckless, unearned bravado? Look, I admit, I was a little piece of shit. I was naive, thought I was invincible—a complete and total asshole. But did it ever occur to you that I’m no longer that guy?”

Tossing my head back, I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Are you joking? Killian, you are exactly that guy,” I say, my gaze like a blade. “In fact, you’re the scorpion, right? Isn’t that what you told me, when you recited your little scorpion and frog story back in Renaissance Italy?”

I watch as he drops his head into his hands, acting the part of a man caught in a flood of emotional distress. But I’m not buying it, not for a second. When it comes to Killian, my skepticism remains completely unshakable.

“You know, there’s a quote by Maya Angelou,” I say. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

Raising his head, Killian locks eyes with me, and I know he’s searching for an inroad, a crack in my resolve that doesn’t exist.

“Well, unfortunately,” I continue, “I didn’t believe you the first time. But I do believe the last face you showed me, when you held a knife to Braxton’s throat, forcing me to choose between his life and the Moon.”

He sits with that for a moment, staring into his beer. “And clever girl that you are,” he says, his voice so quiet I can just barely make out the words, “you found a way around that predicament, didn’t you?” His expression falls flat, the spark in his eyes nearly doused, his usually full lips reduced to a thin, grim line. A weighted silence falls between us, and I’m thinking it’s time to bid him goodbye, when he adds, “Perhaps I’m unaccustomed to not having my desires met.”

My eyes widen. Can he even hear himself?

“Seriously?” I say. “What are you, a toddler?” I shake my head, unable to hide my disdain. “Are you going to throw a tantrum every time you butt heads with the world? Because all I can say to that is, Killian de Luce, you’ve got some serious growing up to do.”

He concedes with a shrug. “Maybe you’re right. And yet, you can’t deny what existed between us. We had something, Shiv. Something genuine, real—something bigger than both of us. I felt the way you returned my kiss. Felt the way your hands—”

“Enough!” I cut him off, the memory of that moment filling me with a deep seething anger and regret, not just at him, but also that sad, desperate girl I so recently was. “What we had, if you can even call it that, was a mistake. A moment of weakness on my part. Nothing more.”

Killian leans back, his expression hardening. “You’re really going to look me in the face and tell me it meant nothing?”

“Yes,” I say nodding firmly. “Because it did. Not in the way that you think.”

He studies me for a moment, then sighs. “I suppose there’s no convincing you otherwise.”

“Don’t waste your time,” I tell him, my resolve steeling. “Because you and I will never happen. That’s not a threat, it’s a promise I plan to keep forever.”

“Forever is a long time, Shiv.” His voice is so quiet it’s nearly inaudible.

“In this case, not nearly long enough.” I shake my head, eager to be done with him. “You have an alarming sense of entitlement, you know that?”

Pushing his half-eaten pie aside, he rests his hands on the table, staring at his open palms as though the secrets of the universe were etched in those lines. “Love makes a person do crazy things,” he says, as though that’s somehow supposed to excuse his actions and charm the pants off me.

And yet, as annoying as I find his response, my feelings for him suddenly shift from a deep, seething anger to sheer, unadulterated pity.

Killian de Luce has no idea what love really is. And I suppose, back when I was crushing on him, neither did I.

But now that I do, now that I know what it’s like to love so deeply and completely it’s woven into the very fabric of my being, I can’t fathom what I ever found appealing in him. Good looks and banter—it’s a greeting card, a Christmas movie, a swipe of red lipstick on a pig—it’s all surface, no substance.

“You’re wrong about love,” I say, my voice softer, hoping maybe it will help him to truly hear. “Love doesn’t make you crazy. It’s not drama and chaos and insecurity. Not when it’s real. Love is grounding, healing, the most stabilizing force in the world.”

“I want that,” he says, his voice almost childlike in its yearning. “And I want it with you.”

Frowning, I stand, my chair scraping softly. “But that’s something you’ll never have with me,” I say. “My heart is already claimed.”

Killian’s eyes well with something that’s much closer to rage than tears. “Fucking Braxton,” he mutters under his breath. Then, looking at me as though he’s just noticed I’m no longer sitting, he adds, “Are you leaving?”

“I am,” I tell him, without a trace of hesitation.

“But I haven’t even told you about my idea on how to save your father.”

I pause for a moment to consider. And though there’s still no sign of a tell, I don’t need Killian de Luce to save my dad, not when I plan to do it myself.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come up with another way to redeem yourself,” I say, and anchoring my bag on my shoulder, I circle the table to make my departure.

“But you’re not going back, are you?” he says, voice spiked with panic. “Back to 1741, I mean?”

Though I could answer, set his mind at ease, what would be the point?

I’ve nearly reached the door when his voice cuts through the air. “What does fucking Braxton Huntley have that I don’t?” he shouts.

Figuring that’s worth a response, I turn to face him. His eyes blaze with desperation, frustration, as his cheeks flush splotchy and red.

“Braxton,” I say, voice steady, “is a grown-up who understands what it means to truly love someone.”

Leaving him with that, I don’t allow myself so much as a backward glance. With my heart racing, I step through the door and onto the cobblestone street.

Though a part of me hopes this is the last time I’ll ever have to lay eyes on Killian, another, more intuitive part, whispers that our paths are surely bound to cross once again before this is over.