Page 65 of Immortal Bastard (The Order of Vampires)

He frowned and she heard how dumb her words sounded. Of course, it was for him. He was the sole purpose for her shitty mood and whatever the hell was going on with her body.

Her faculties were in a total uproar at the sight of him, and she had to squirm and clench her thighs together to maintain the slightest composure, which she was quickly losing. “I know you’re using mind tricks on me. You’re making me feel these things.”

“I’m doing no such thing.”

Her breath quickened as he took another step closer. Like a cornered animal, she shrank back, searching for an escape while her heart beat against her ribs like a caged hummingbird.

“Passion comes in many forms, Delilah. Your outrage is futile. The bond we share is inescapable. I’m inside of you. I’ll always be an irrevocable part of you. If you close your eyes, you’ll find me there, with you, deeply embedded in your most secret places. I’ll never leave you.”

“Go to hell.”

“You hate how strong the pull is, but there’s no denying it.” He lifted his arm, rolling back the sleeve of his crisp white shirt. His claws lengthened. “You can’t bear to see me injured.” He sliced into his wrist, cutting through delicate tendons and veins.

“Don’t!” She sprang to her feet.

“Why? Do you care?”

“No…” Her mind scrambled for a lie. “I just don’t like blood.”

His eyes narrowed as he considered her statement then his claws retracted. Crimson trickled down his arm, but the flesh already started to heal. “Perhaps a different demonstration then.”

He moved to the window and drew back the curtain. “We’re on the second story. The fall will likely break a limb or two if I make no effort to land on my feet.” He opened the window and pulled himself up to stand on the sill with shocking agility. “Let’s find out—”

“Stop!” She rushed forward. “You could die.”

He shook his head. “Not from a fall. But it would hurt.” He glanced out the window at the ground. “I could crack my skull open or break my neck. Perhaps my back.”

Her jaw quivered as unease filled her. She didn’t want any of those terrible things to happen. “Why are you doing this?”

“You know why—to prove that you have a natural desire to protect me, just as I have a need to protect you. You care about me, Delilah.”

Her head shook in denial. “I don’t.”

He leaned back and flung himself forward.

“No! Wait!” She rushed to the window, catching his arm. “Okay, I care! Please, just…get away from the window.”

He studied her then nodded, hopping off the windowsill. “Do you see now? My pain is as unacceptable to you as yours is to me. Your body recognizes mine. Your soul’s naturally carved from mine, a perfect match, the yin to yang, a paradox of polarity so detailed in its finite perfection there’s no disputing its rightness. We are irrevocably one, my dear.”

Her acceptance wasn’t gentle like a gradual tide. It was painful and destructive like a hurricane. The devastation was done. He spoke the truth and nothing could replace all she’d lost. There was no going back.

Twin tears tripped down her face. “Help me,” she pleaded, desperately wanting to make sense of too many implausible truths.

He pulled her into his arms and she took shelter in his strength. “It’s natural to feel scared, pintura, but I’ll always be here to protect you.”

“I’ll never forgive you.” She sniffled. “I had a life.”

“Careful, little one. Wars are easy to start but extremely difficult to end.”

She pushed away from him and wiped her eyes, but the tears kept flowing. “Well, riddle me this, Nostradamus, what happens when a so-called mate refuses to let her other cosmic half touch her?”

“As I said, denial is futile.” He pointed to his chest, just below the intersection of his ribs. “It’s here, where instinct stems, not the heart or the mind. We have no control over the all-encompassing divination that implanted itself inside of us. It’s been there since birth, always germinating, and preparing for the righteous purpose we must fulfill.”

If his words were meant to comfort her, they epically failed. She was a holy piece of meat. “So, it has nothing to do with me then, just the fact that I’m ‘The One’.” She made air quotes, her detached expression and indifferent attitude the total opposite of the hurt that hid inside.

“You’re fulfilling your purpose. As am I.”

His words further insulted her as they removed all accountability on his part. He hadn’t hit on her because of attraction or desire, she had been a source, an ingredient, a dehumanized puzzle piece he needed so he could form a bigger picture. His apathy landed a lot like rejection, and she hated that his lack of culpability could sting. Not because he’d caused massive upheaval in her life, but because some pathetic part of her wanted him to care—about her.