His eyes darken. “Misery—”
“I’m just starting to put things together, you know?” We’re still buzzing from the pleasure, and it’s unfair of me to press him right now, when our defenses are lowered and we’re full of the wrong kind of hormones, but . . . Just but. “I think it was there for me to see all along. But you threw me off on purpose, didn’t you? There was your reaction to my scent when we first met, and it was so extreme, I assumed that you didn’t like it. How adamant you were about not having me around.” I swallow. “I would have realized it sooner, if I hadn’t taken for granted that it had to be another Were. It made so much sense that Gabi would be the one. In the end, though, it was all about getting to know you. Because now that I understand what kind of person you are, I cannot help but wonder: If Lowe were in love with someone else, would he be like this with me? And I can’t picture a reality, or even a damn simulation, in which that would be the case.” I let out a short laugh.
Lowe says nothing. He stares, impenetrable. His pale, decent, kind eyes retreat into something that offers no clarity.
“It happens between mates, right? Knotting, I mean.” Biologically, it makes sense in so many ways. Honestly, nothing else does. “It’s me, isn’t it?” I attempt a wobbly smile. It’s okay. I know it. I feel it, too. “I’m your mate. That’s why . . .”
“Misery.” He’s not looking at me, but at some spot around my feet. And his tone is like I’ve never heard it before: Unreadable. Empty.
“That’s why, right?”
He’s silent for heavy seconds. “Misery.” My name, again, but this time there’s a world of hurt behind the word, like I’m torturing him.
“I’m not . . . I feel the same way you do,” I add quickly, not wanting him to think that I’m accusing him of something beyond his control. “Or maybe not—maybe I don’t have the hardware. Maybe only another Were could feel the same. But I really do like you. More than that. I haven’t quite figured it all out, because I don’t have much experience with feelings. But maybe you think that this frightens the shit out of me, and . . .” My voice weakens, because Lowe has lifted his gaze, and I can see the way he’s looking at me.
He understands, I think. He knows. He feels exactly the way I do.
But then his expression shutters. And his tone can only be described as compassionate. “I’m sorry if I’ve ever given you the wrong impression about what is happening between us.”
My assurance wobbles, when I was secure in his feelings for me till a moment ago. I shake my head. “Lowe, come on. I know Gabi isn’t your mate.”
“She isn’t.” He presses his lips together. “But I’m afraid you reached the wrong conclusions.”
“Lowe.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Misery.”
“Lowe, it’s fine. You can—”
“We should stop discussing this now.”
“No.” I let out a laugh. “I’m right. I know that I’m right.”
There is something about the way he stares at me. Like he knows he’s about to hurt me, and himself in the process, and the thought is simply unacceptable. Like I’m leaving him no choice.
“You said that a mate grabs you by the stomach, and—”
“Misery.” He speaks harshly this time, like he’s scolding a child. “You should stop filling your mouth with Were words you cannot understand.”
My throat falls into my stomach. “Lowe.”
“It was a mistake, telling you about the concept of mates.” His voice is detached, like he’s reading from a script and sucking every emotion out of his performance. “It’s not something any non-Were can fully comprehend, let alone a Vampyre. But I understand how appealing it might be, for someone who struggles with belonging.”
“What?”
“Misery.” He sighs again. “You have been abandoned and mistreated your entire life. By your family, by your people, by your only friend. You are fascinated with the idea of eternal love and companionship, but that just doesn’t reflect what I feel for you.”
My heart cracks. The ground beneath my feet undulates as I come to terms with this version of Lowe. Who, apparently, would take things I told him about my past and use them against me. “You . . .” I shake my head, stupefied by how much his words hurt. Even when they cannot be true. “You’re just trying to push me away. Tell me,” I order, stubborn all of a sudden. I feel like a bumbling mess. Not myself. Every instinct screams at me to retreat, but this is an unacceptable, obvious lie. “Tell me that you’re not in love with me,” I challenge. “That you don’t want to be with me.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m sorry,” he says, dispassionate, with a hint of condescension. Some pity. Sorrow. “I think you’re very attractive. And I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoyed—” His voice almost breaks. “I enjoyed fucking you. And I wish you the best, but. . . .” He shakes his head.
I open my mouth, hoping for a good comeback, only to find that I cannot breathe. And then the worst of it happens: Lowe wipes the back of his hand where, if I could cry, a tear would streak my cheek.
The pain of his rejection is a fist around my heart.
“I see that this was a mistake,” he continues. “But it’s for the best. You don’t want to be tied to someone like me. You should be free.” He almost stumbles on the last word, but recovers quickly. “And from now on, you and I should probably be apart.”
“Apart?”
“I can find another place for you to live.” His eyes are trained on a spot behind my shoulders. “You’re getting the wrong ideas, and I frankly don’t want you to—”
A phone rings.
His eyes dart away, annoyed, but when he steps back from me, it’s a reprieve. I stare down at my feet, tuning out the soft conversation that ensues, trying to breathe through the crushing cold lodged behind my sternum.
I was wrong.
I misunderstood.
I was mistaken, and he isn’t—he doesn’t . . .
“I’ll be right there.”
Lowe hangs up. When he addresses me, it’s with his usual calm, as though our conversation never took place. As though nothing between us ever took place.
“I need to leave.” He adjusts his jeans.
I nod. With difficulty. “Okay. I—”
“I’m going to have someone come pick you up and take you back into Were territory.”
“It’s fine. I can just—”
“It’s dangerous,” he interrupts flatly. “So no, you can’t. You may persist in not caring about your safety, but I . . .” He doesn’t continue. Just looks and looks and looks at me, and the silence between us grows intolerable.
“Okay. You can let yourself out. I’m going to shower and get changed.” I head blindly toward my bedroom, but barely manage two feet before a strong grip around my fingers stops me in my tracks.
I don’t want to turn to him, but I do. And tremble when he leans in to kiss my forehead. He inhales once, hard. I feel his lips move against my skin into what feels like three short words, but probably isn’t. For a second I wonder if maybe I was right after all, and my heart soars.
Then he pulls back, and it collapses on itself once again.
“Go,” he orders, and I do. I’ve had enough of this careless, cruel brand of honesty for tonight.
I walk into my room and don’t wait for him to leave before I close the door behind me.
CHAPTER 26
He is being kinder to her than to himself, and hopes she can never realize it.
There was never a bed in this apartment. I was happy in the closet, and whenever Serena stayed over, she made do on the couch. For the first time in my life, though, I wish I’d done the Human thing and bought something soft to fall on.
As it is, I settle for sliding to the floor and spending way too long with my forehead on my knees, trying to regain my bearings.