“Okay, so maybe this wasn’t my best idea.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that game with you again. But could you please stop with the blood luring?”
My hand was still bleeding, but I hadn’t touched anything. That was all I had to do, and the trap would be set. As I chewed at my lip, contemplating, his hand shot out to cover my wound again, his face twisting into deeper pain.
“Charisse, please.”
God, his voice was so strained. But what other choice did we have? “We can’t do nothing.”
“I promise we’ll do something,” he said. He barely got the words out. “Something. Not this. Please.”
Seeing Abram beg twisted up my insides. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t see him like this.
“Okay,” I whispered. “I won’t, okay?”
He nodded and released my hand again, then stumbled back to sit on the floor, leaning back against the wall clutching his hand against his chest.
“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt,” I said, overcome by guilt.
He balled his hand into a fist. “I’ll be fine, Charisse. This is far from the worst pain I’ve been in.”
“Uh-uh,” I said. I dug in my purse for a bottle of Evian. “At least let me help fix it.”
I kneeled beside him, opened the water, and pulled his fist apart before splashing the liquid onto his hand. The blood dispersed, as if by magic. Just … gone. When Abram’s hand was clean, I noticed his palm had been scorched.
“God,” I said, staring at his palm. “If that’s from me, then maybe I’m the monster.”
“You’re a miracle. I’m the monster,” he answered, visibly relaxing. “But that’s all right. If a monster is what it takes to keep you safe, then I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And there it was, the miracle and the monster. But even if Abram was okay with being a monster, as he called himself, I wasn’t. He wasn’t this horrible thing. Hell, even in his beast form, he had done everything he could to keep me safe.
But that didn’t change the fact that, once the sun went down, he would lose control of himself. He would be forced to take a shape that wasn’t his own, to live a life that wasn’t of his choosing. And he had done it every day for well over a century.
“Satina,” I muttered, looking at him and seeing not just the man I adored or the monster that intrigued me, but also the naughty roguish boy who had gotten himself into a hundred and fifty years’ worth of trouble. “You said something about breaking the curse.”
“I said no such thing.” He wouldn’t look at me.
“No more lies, Abram,” I said, grabbing his chin and turning his face toward me. “And no more secrets. You said Satina’s spirit is connected to you until you die … or until the curse is broken. How do you break it?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” he grumbled.
“Well, for one, because I want to hear it from you. For two, we both know damn well she’s a liar.”
His gaze swung toward me. “And who do you think told me how to break the curse?”
“Right,” I said, feeling the sinking of defeat in my stomach. “Satina.”
Which meant anything he might know about breaking the curse was a moot point. For all we know, if he even tried to do what she said, it would only make matters worse.
“I don’t want to get either of our hopes up, Charisse,” he said quietly. “I’m not keeping secrets, and I’m not lying to you. I’m just not sure what the truth is.”
“I see. But there has to be a way,” I said, “And my hopes are getting up regardless, Abram. It’s a little something called faith that my Grandma taught me.”
“Hope you have enough for both of us,” he muttered.
I smiled. “At least I got you hoping for something.”
Abram didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened where he sat and tore the sleeve from this shirt. “Give me your hand.”
“Um, okay,” I said, stretching my hand out to him. He tore the fabric sleeve in half, making a scrap of cotton that he began to wrap around my wound.
As I watched him, I tried to think what our next move should be. My blood was magical—the sort of magic that was no less than poisonous to the touch (at least for Abram). If we were going to see our way out of this, we were going to need guidance—the same sort of guidance Abram sought out when this whole thing started.
“We need her help, Abram,” I said, though I couldn’t believe the words were coming out of my mouth.
“Whose help?” he muttered as he finished tying off the fabric. He looked up to me, and his expression shifted from blank curiosity to sheer disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Charisse.”
“I am.”
“Satina’s not going to help us. Never, not in a million years. Just get that idea out of your head right now.”
I placed my uninjured hand over his and gentled my voice. “If we’re going to even have a chance of surviving this, we need her on her side. You must have had that thought at some point, too—that’s why you brought her back here.”