What do they mean?
And why, why do they hurt?
My blood rushes through me, pounding in my veins. My heartbeat drums in my ears, pulsing in my head and behind my eyes. And I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
My throat is swelling. I’m sure I’m about to burst. Retches clawing up my chest, threatening to choke all that’s left of me.
I need air. Something to take this away. I can’t bear it. I can’t survive it.
Yanking the closed curtains down from the window, I try to pry it open. But the weathered paint has stuck it shut, and it’s suffocating. I’m a prisoner in this place and my body and my heart.
I’m his prisoner, and I never wanted him to let me go. I never wanted to be free. And it’s killing me. Slowly smothering me with everything that’s left of him.
Chapter 17
RYAN
I manage to catch Fleur just as she collapses, falling straight into my arms. And like all the other times I’ve had to hold her or support her, I’m surprised by how light she is. I don’t know why I find it so shocking given how small and slender she is. Even her belly—from what I remember of Arabella’s—is tiny.
I swallow down the uneasiness that comes with that thought. That baby should be here, now. And if she were, none of this would be happening. Not like this anyway.
“Are you feeling okay?” Sitting Fleur on the edge of the bed, I peel her off me.
She feels warm. Desperation bleeds from her every pore as she claws at my skin. Her puffy eyes rove over my bare chest, lingering on my neck as I pull away. The need to put distance between us is so great that my blood thunders through me.
But the urge to come closer as she traces the lines of my tattoos is greater.
Fleur is soft and warm. Everything inside me is screaming to stay away.
She’s not meant for you. Lucian’s words echo between us while her fingertips smooth over my wound, and she’s coming closer.
Milky skin and chocolate eyes. I don’t even like her. Not like that. But she’s gasping my breath into her lungs, her short, sharp exhales like the richest honey on my lips.
Stay away.
Don’t fuck it up.
I won’t. Except as I pull back, her lips graze mine. And then everything stops for that one infinitesimal moment. Nothing exists apart from her frenzied lips on mine, hard and needy and rough in their sore, bitten state.
Her hands try to find purchase on my bare flesh while her lips pull at mine, asking for more. And I can’t give it to her. Not because I don’t want to. My entire being is ready to swallow her down unlike nothing I’ve ever had.
I’m ready to fuck everything I’ve ever loved and known, but she’s not mine. She’s not meant for me. And I’m not a traitor.
Leaning away, I sit back on my haunches. I watch her need morph into confusion and then guilt. Her eyes darken as though her lights have finally gone out, and I wish I could be the man to bring them back. But I’m not. I can’t be.
That thought alone is dirty treason to the promise I made to my brother. My friend.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. Her eyes are still shining over the tattoos on my neck. “I shouldn’t… I-I’m sorry.”
I’m not sure who she’s apologising to. Herself, me or…or him.
The likely chance that it is to him makes my anger flame. Fuck, I know her apology is to him, and it makes me despise him and all he’s done. All the ways he’s hurt her. With good reason or not.
“Fleur…” What the fuck do I even want to say?
I didn’t see this coming. Never saw any of this happening. I don’t even like her.
I don’t even like you, I repeat as I look her over.