“You are. You’re jealous.” Tendrils of satisfaction and delight wafted from him. Perhaps even a twinge of wonder. “Let me take McCadden past the veil, and I’ll return the key to you. I’ll adore every inch of you again.”
Her heart leaped. Careful. “What if I…lost the key? Or something.”
He stiffened, his satisfaction, delight and wonder dying a swift death. “Did you?”
“I…you…it doesn’t matter! Not until you remove the cuff. As soon as you do, I’ll adore every inch of you.”
The muscle beneath his eye jumped again. “My answer is…no.”
He’d hesitated. She was making progress! “I think your measuring stick is disagreeing with you again.”
“It is,” he hissed, only to jut his chin.
“Remove the cuff. I’ll make you so glad you did.”
“I…no.” His voice hardened. “I don’t trust you enough. And I don’t wish to hurt McCadden any more than necessary. I raised him, Viola. He’s my brother, yes, but he’s also my son. He’s felt worthless most of his life, and his experience with you didn’t help that. For me to choose you over him, even temporarily…I can’t do that to him.”
The demon swooped in, whispering her deepest fears. Unlovable. Unwanted. Forsaken. Just as Brochan had once proclaimed.
Her shoulders rolled in even as she fought to maintain a cordial expression. Another strike. Her bottom lip trembled.
Brochan rubbed the tattoo on his arm and frowned. “Viola—”
“Not another word from you. I’m thinking.” Or rather, masking her reaction. She reclined fully, lying flat and peering up at the vaulted ceiling. She would give this male one more chance. Just one more. She’d come too far with him to stop now. Besides, secret parts of her longed for his unconditional acceptance. The same way she’d once longed for her mother’s unconditional love.
Why did she always pick the hopeless cases?
No, no. Not hopeless. Not yet. “Let me verify I understand you correctly,” she said. “Your brother hates me, so you won’t touch me. You make him feel worthy by making me feel unworthy. Yes?”
He stiffened, released her, and scrubbed a hand over his tired features. “Haven’t you done the same to countless others?”
“Haven’t you learned from my mistakes?” she snipped, blinking away tears. Two could play the blame game.
A growl rumbled from him. “I’ll never pass your test, Viola.”
“We can’t know until I actually test you. But I can’t test you until you admit your great love for me.” Bitterness seeped into her tone. “Besides, I’m not offering forever right now. Only a limited-time, too-good-to-miss opportunity to spend more time with me.”
“Time, yes,” he rushed out with an eager nod. “Just give me more time. You wear the cuff while I figure this out. So much has changed. I must unravel the particulars before I act.”
“You misunderstand.” Once her tears had dried, she eased to her feet. “Remove the cuff, or I’m done with you.”
His tortured gaze searched hers, and he repeated, “Just give me more time, kitten.”
Kitten now. Her favorite endearment paired with a final denial. Things began to shatter inside Viola. Scabs sloughed off internal wounds, leaving them raw and oozing. Strength drained, and her limbs quaked.
Even still, she smiled brightly. As she used to smile for her mother. “Of course. More time.” She patted his cheek. “Take all the time you need. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check on Fluffy. We wouldn’t want him to pee all over your shoes in the closet, would we? Not again.”
Brochan clutched the arms of his chair again as if to stop himself from reaching for her. “Viola. Goddess.”
“No. Nothing more needs to be said. Goodbye, Brochan.” She strolled from the throne room as if she hadn’t a care.
He didn’t call her back.
McCadden waited just outside the doors, his body vibrating with fury. Had he listened in? He stared at her as she passed him, silent.
Somehow, she maintained her casual façade all the way to the bedroom, where Fluffy played his two favorite games in unison: Zoomies and the Floor is Lava, bouncing from one piece of furniture to another at breathtaking speed.
She shut and locked the door, even knowing Brochan had only to flash to enter. Her pet sensed her distress and leaped into her arms to nuzzle and comfort her. “We’re blowing this joint, darling.” She kissed his face and set him down. “Be a dear and fetch Mommy’s ax.”
He raced to the duffel bag she’d hidden under the bed, then returned with a small, golden ax in his mouth. She dropped to her knees and petted his head, cooing words of praise before claiming the weapon.
A plan formed days ago. A good one. Brochan would never be able to find her.
She’d meant what she said.
This was goodbye.
Chapter Eleven
Brochan anchored his elbows on the tabletop and bowed his head, resting his brow in his upraised palms. Had he just made a grave error?