Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“I know.”
“Why are we fighting? There’s evil out there; I can feel it. And I need to stop it. I need you to be on my side.”
“I am on your side.”
“Are you?” Her breath hitches.
I have to lay the truth of myself bare, or I’ll lose her forever. “If anything happens to you, Inara, it would destroy me.”
I can’t apologize for locking her up. It seemed the best way and I’ll do it again if I have to. But I am sorry that I broke the fragile bond between us. “I lost control.” I search for a way to make her understand.
A good dom needs to have a handle on himself at all times. So does a serial killer, or things get sloppy; you make mistakes that leave your victims alive and leave clues for you to get caught. I know this. I’ve been careful and never had a problem until now.
Inara destroys all my control. It would be easier if I didn’t care about her. But the monster in me wants to possess her completely and won’t accept anything less than full access to all of her—body, her mind, and trust.
She’s my greatest weakness.
“I haven’t allowed myself to. . . feel things. For anyone. It wasn’t safe. But I can’t stop myself from feeling things for you.”
Silence. She doesn’t ask me what I feel for her, and I’m grateful. I don’t have the words for it now.
“I felt something, too. But now I don’t know if I can ever trust you.”
“Please,” I murmur, knowing I don’t deserve another chance. I’ll need to prove myself, prove that I can give her what she needs.
“I should go now.”
“No,” I say, my panic rising. The monster wants to break down the door, but if I give into violence, it’ll prove to her that I’m out of control again. I’ll lose her forever.
I’m trapped. The words burst out of me, full of fear. “Don’t leave me. Inara, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll make any vow. Just, please. . . don’t leave me now.”
* * *
Inara
* * *
I can hear Rex’s desperation through the door.
“Don’t leave me.” He sounds like a little boy lost to a nightmare.
And isn’t that all we are, two orphans struggling through life, keeping everyone at arm’s length? Why would I expect him to be healed of his trauma when I’m still carrying around mine?
We are the same. And I would do anything to keep him from feeling this pain.
I wrench open the door, and he’s standing there, a few inches away, in an elegant suit that does nothing to hide the coiled tension in his muscles. His hair is mussed like he’s been running a hand through it.
He faces me, and even though his lingering gaze tells me he longs to touch me, he doesn’t move.
I stand in the doorway, clenching the doorknob. I should be running away from him. He’s made himself my enemy.
But then his cologne reaches me, and I sway on my feet. I’m tired of fighting. So very tired.
“Inara,” he says, and I can’t hold back any longer.
I go to him, close enough to feel his warmth wash over me.
Still, he doesn’t move.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, and I suck in a breath. I didn’t expect the respectful question, and it is everything. In this moment, in this familiar room, we’ve rewound to the time when we were just two scene partners on the brink of something exciting, something necessary. Carefully negotiating so we didn’t harm the fragile connection growing between us.
“Yes,” I whisper and let him envelop me in a hug. I tuck my head against his chest.
“Are you okay? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” His hands roam over me. He puts some distance between us only to check for wounds, for blood.
“I’m okay. No one touched me. I opened the door and just couldn’t. . . I got overwhelmed.”
His lips press together. I can sense his latent anger, like an atomic bomb ready to be unleashed. But I know it’s directed at the killer, not me.
“I’m okay,” I repeat and lean in to hug him again. This time, his arms come around me slowly, almost reluctantly. He cradles the back of my head.
“You scared me.”
I can hear the fear of a lost little boy in his voice, and it melts me. But we both scared each other. “You locked me up. I had to escape.”
“What possessed you to go to the townhouse?”
“I wanted to check on it. If the killer dropped the letters there. . . ” I thought I’d get a psychic impression, and I did. I just didn’t expect it to be so overwhelming. “He’s fixated on me. There was a bird feeder, and I used to like watching the birds. He must have poisoned them all and put them in the house—” I’m shaking, babbling, letting all the poisonous fear leach from me.