“I said, no.”
He sat up and stretched across the bed for her hand, which she yanked away. “Dammit, Tayla, I don’t care if my instincts are responsible or not. I want you.”
“Oh, that’s one hell of a proposal,” she snapped, tugging her robe tight around her. “Excuse me if I don’t run out and reserve a caterer and a church. Oh, wait. You probably can’t set foot in a church.”
“So I need to work on my delivery . . .”
“You need to work on finding someone who doesn’t mind being the 3:00 a.m. wallflower. I might not have anything to my name or any place to go, but that doesn’t mean you can take advantage of me just so you can hold on to your precious medical degree.” She glared at him, daggers of fury that pinned him in place when he would have grabbed her and held her to him. “How dare you lie to get me to fall for your shit? You don’t want me. You can’t. You don’t even know me.”
“I’m not lying. I do want you, and I know all I need to.”
“You know nothing. Nothing. How am I supposed to believe what I am isn’t a problem for you, when it was before? I’m an Aegi butcher. A lemming, remember?”
“I was wrong, Tayla. My brothers are wrong.”
She shook her head. “See, that’s where you are wrong. I am a butcher. Want proof? Proof that you know nothing about me?” When a tremor entered her voice, she cleared it ruthlessly. “Let’s talk about your brother Roag—”
“Don’t say it.” He searched her eyes, seeing an ugly truth in their murky depths. “Don’t. Even. Say. It.”
But she pressed on, leaning forward on fists pressed into the mattress. “I was there. At Brimstone. I was there and I killed anything that moved. When Jagger set the place on fire, the sound of demons screaming didn’t bother me at all.”
Oh, shit. Roag. “It might not have been you . . .” The desperation in his voice was pathetic, and he hated himself for it.
“Or it might have been. I don’t remember seeing a demon like you, but—”
“He could have shapeshifted.”
Eidolon felt his world collapse in on him, felt his chest crack wide open. It hurt. Gods, his heart hurt.
The female he wanted as a mate had killed his brother. Had been involved, at the very least.
“Do you see, Hellboy? Do you see why we can’t be together? Can you really see beyond what I was? Can I ever see beyond what you are?”
But he was no longer listening. “You killed my brother.”
He pushed backward, off the bed, feeling the anger rise in him, feeling something even more horrible churning inside. He could feel The Change pulsing, clawing to the surface.
With a roar, he tore out of the bedroom, out of the apartment, away from Tayla before he did something he’d regret. Because he was pissed, hurt, and he was also out of time.
Twenty-two
A combination of sunlight streaming through the bedroom windows and the sound of the television woke Tayla. A glance at the bedside clock told her she’d slept later than she’d wanted to. Eleven a.m. She’d wasted so much time sleeping. And crying.
She hadn’t bothered chasing after Eidolon last night. He’d clearly been devastated, and besides that, his eyes had gone red, just as they had before he’d turned into the Soulshredder, and she was so not prepared to deal with a repeat of that.
Instead, she’d cried herself to sleep, something she hadn’t done in years. Not since the first night she’d spent at Aegis HQ, when gratitude had overwhelmed her, gratitude that Kynan and Lori had taken her in and given her a safe place to sleep for the first time since her mother died. They’d said they wanted her. Every foster parent had said that, but she’d quickly learned not to believe it.
Her own mother had said it, but if that were true, she would have stayed off the drugs. Yes, she’d had a demon tormenting her, driving her to self-destruction, but Tayla couldn’t shake the belief that if she’d only been a better daughter, her mom would have fought harder.
And now Eidolon said he wanted her. If only she could believe him, could believe that for the first time in her life, she was something special. Worth more than what the state paid someone to take care of her, worth more than her fighting skills.
He’d hurt her last night when he’d hesitated to answer her question, and she’d struck back with Roag’s death, a low blow, and something he hadn’t needed to know.
Desperate to hold off on a confrontation that would surely end in his kicking her onto the streets, she showered, taking a long time to inspect the new decorations on her arm. They weren’t as sharply defined or as dark as Eidolon’s, but they were otherwise identical—and she knew because she’d traced every one of his with her tongue.