Page 46

I'm pretty much homeless.

Not penniless, no. Ronan had way too much wealth to burn through in five years. Or ten. Or fifty.

Alcohol no longer does it for me. Nothing works. I see him everywhere. He follows me. He talks to me. He blames me. He hates me. He curses me. To die, forever alone, never loved, never seen.

The shot of tequila tastes like poison. A necessary one. If I could catch even five minutes of reprieve from the voices in my head, I would be very thankful.

I grab the next shot, but a warm hand covers mine.

My gaze travels up to meet muted teal ones. "That's enough."

I blink rapidly to clear my sight. I lean imperceptibly to sniff at the male.

Broad shouldered in an exquisite black suit, crisp white shirt, intricately patterned tie that chokes his neck so tight, I wonder how he can get a single breath down.

Pure silver glints at his wrists, the letter 'J' etched into each cufflink.

A rich businessman, possibly. He smells sweet and bitter at the same time.

It is confounding. "Uhm...do I know you? "

His lips thin and his eyes narrow like I am some petulant child. "Hopefully not." He knocks my glass aside with annoyance, ordering the waiter to clear the mess. "Do you have any idea where you are, Miss?"

I look around. The stripper poles are occupied and an even greater crowd surrounds them, throwing wads of cash at the half naked dancers. "A strip club?"

He snorts, but there is nothing amusing on his face. "You drink hard enough, pass out and get taken by a gent. You wake tomorrow and your name stops being..."

"Trisha," I lie, and I can tell from the arch of his brow that he doesn't buy the lie. Still, I hedge on. "So what? I'm going to get kidnapped and shipped off somewhere else?" The idea makes laughter bubble in my gut. "That seems exciting."

He looks at me like I've lost my mind. I snicker at the joke, looking over his shoulder instinctively in search of the ghost that follows me everywhere.

Only, I don't find it. I don't hear anything either. For the first time in years, the voices in my mind have quietened.

I blink, startled. The male is focused on his phone, deeply immersed in the colored charts he frowns at. I sniff him again. Very human.

I have wandered through city after city, country after country, fleeing from everyone, fleeing from the blood that coats my hands and the voices that echo in my head, and not once have I experienced this.

Peace.

My heartbeat races. My brows draw together in confusion as my gaze runs from the glossy dark hair styled in the fade haircut the humans favor so much, the tan skin, and facial features of a gene pool that suggests a Basque descent.

Though, he has no accent, his words twist around each alphabet elegantly and precise, maybe with a tinge of arrogance.

He is attractive, but I have known many attractive men in my life.

What is it about him that chases my demons away? Or more appropriately, scares them?

He catches me staring. He doesn't like it much. "I'm not on the menu."

I blink. Was I...was I staring at him like that?

I admit, I haven't found anything that rouses my interest or amuses me in so long, I didn't realize how much I hungered for it.

This. Something as easy as looking at a man and not seeing Ronan's lifeless eyes.

Or having a simple conversation that didn't have men or women walking away from me like I had a plague.

It wasn't them.

It was mostly always me.

I've gone without communicating for so long that I no longer know what it means to...relate. I'm a loner. A lone wolf who has broken away from her pack to seek solace in the wilds.

"Is your place close by?"

His head cants to the side. He stares at me. Blinks twice. His lashes are long. His lips are soft, kissable. "Are you asking me to take you home?"

I rise from the bar's stool and the world spins around me so fast, I nearly fall back and crack my skull.

The man catches me by my shoulder, which is more than I can say any other man would've done.

A normal man would have taken the opportunity to slip his hand around my bare waist. A normal man would have taken the opportunity to press our chests closer and have a feel of my breasts.

This one only holds my gaze, mildly irritated. I giggle, rocking back on my heels. "I was going to spend the night on the curb, you see."

He sets me down on the stool and walks away without another word. I watch his retreating back for seconds and in another, a sharp growl echoes in my head. "Murdering whore."

I flinch and grapple for the next shot, gobbling it down swiftly.

The moment of reprieve is gone and I see him on the stool beside me.

He wears the same clothes I last saw him in.

Black shirt ripped up from the fight with Soren.

Sleeves missing. Face bloodied, his jaw skimmed raw of skin, nose mangled beyond repair, blonde hair crusted with crimson.

Fear holds me like a vice as he smiles with bloodied teeth. "You will never be rid of me, wife."

I escape to the dance floor, stumbling on my four-inch hot pink heels and nearly cracking my ankle. I throw myself into the throng and dance with the viciousness of a woman running from death.

I can no longer return home to my cousins. I am broken. My mind is broken. There is nothing left for me there. Nothing.

Soren didn't understand and he never would.

Killing Ronan had been a mistake. I hadn't meant to aim for his heart.

I had been angry. I was hurt. I was bleeding from a miscarriage at the hands of the man I loved with every fiber of my being.

Ronan hadn't been perfect, but I already knew that way before anyone else.

I loved him, regardless. You don't pick the parts you choose to love when you're in love with a person.

You love every unhinged, broken part of them.

It had been two thoughts.

The first being that I wanted him to hurt, too. I wanted him to see me and know I could inflict the same amount of pain he did me.

The second had been Soren's face. He'd given me everything. He had loved me and given his childhood to raise me. He fought to ensure I never felt the absence of my parents enough to grieve them. He never asked for a single thing in return. Soren never, ever asked for anything from anyone.

But in those moments when Ronan aimed to snap Seraphina's neck, I saw his eyes. The panic. Such absolute despair. A plea to the Goddess. The universe. Anyone who listened. The plea he hadn't even realized he spoke to Ronan, twice.

And I knew I had to do something.

I was rusty and angry, driven by too many emotions. I punctured his heart and twisted it before I could think things through.

And now, years later I have still not recovered from it. Perhaps I never will.

My hips sway to the booming music, loud enough to drown out my own thoughts. Hands touch me. Women. Men. I grind hard, sensually, dancing until I hurt, until the room spins.

Hot hands grab at my waist and I am pressed against a tall, hard back. Lips move against my right ear causing me to shiver. "You're a handful, Trisha."

I recognize the businessman's voice and I relax, feeling that odd sense of peace wash over me again.

I roll my hips against his torso, raising my hands and rolling around on him until we're face to face.

He's a couple of heads taller and his gaze blazes with both dislike and desire.

Like he can't decide if he wants me or wants to ditch me. "You like?"

His nostrils flare again and his teal eyes darken. "More than I'll ever care to admit."

I dance around him, running my hands along his shoulder, down his broad, muscular back. Feeling wild and drunk and silly, I cup his ass. "What is your name?"

He whirls, catching my wrist and pulling me into him. "Jericho."

Our bodies press flush together, and when we come apart, we meet again with a frantic, uncontrollable need to...feel. He watches me under hooded eyes. He watches me throw my hands in the air. He watches the lines and curve of my body. He likes it, but it disturbs him that it does.

The pull is instant.

The tension is a burning pressure under my skin.

I might have moved first. He might have.

His lips hover above mine. He smells like strong cologne. "I can't..." His fingers clamp on the back of my neck, gentler than I've ever been held by anyone but my cousins. It does something to me, unravels me faster than thread on a spindle. "Stay away."

Then, he kisses me. Softly. Like I am something fragile to be wrapped in bubbles and shawls. Like I am the human and weaker breed in this situation.

It startles me. It...heals me.