“Don’t give me that look,” she said when he took a step back.
“What look?”
“That wounded look. Like I’m holding back from you.”
He lifted a brow. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but not in the sense that you’re stuck in a one-sided relationship where I’m not living up to my part of the deal. This isn’t a relationship. That means you can’t be mad when I won’t bare my soul to you.”
He felt his nostrils flare. “I just want you to trust me. Is that so fucking bad?”
“No, it’s not. And I do trust you. That doesn’t mean I have to expose all that I am to you. And it’s not like you don’t have your own secrets, is it? Do I push you to tell me more than what you’re comfortable sharing?”
“There’s no reason for you to feel uncomfortable sharing things with me, no matter what they are.”
“That isn’t the point, and you know it. You want too much from me.” She narrowed her eyes. “Sometimes … sometimes, I even get the feeling you’re trying to leave some sort of mark on me—not one I can see, but one I’ll feel—so that I’ll never be free of you.”
Because he was. “A part of you will always belong to me. I’m not giving it back. It’s mine now. You don’t need it as much as I need it.”
And he’d take more pieces of her if she let him, Devon thought. God, what was she doing? How could she have thought she could really have a simple, shallow fling with this male she’d grown to care for? There was nothing simple or shallow about what she felt for him. Never had been. And every protective instinct she had was telling her to cut her losses and leave.
Just the thought of it made her chest pang, but what choice did she really have? He’d demand more and more of her, make himself more and more important to not just her but to her demon.
She hadn’t thought there was a chance of the entity ever forming an attachment to him, but she’d been wrong. The threads of an attachment were there already. It liked him, respected his strength, trusted him to protect Devon. She needed to walk away while she still could. “I think we should end this now.”
He went rigid, eyes darkening to flint. “What?”
“I told you, you want too much from me. You’re not a guy who’ll settle for anything less than what you want, and I’m not willing to give you any more of me than what you’ve already had.” And by dragging out this whole thing, she was only hurting herself. “My demon isn’t just possessive of you, it’s starting to become attached to you—I can’t let that happen, Tanner, I can’t. It’s best if we end this now.”
His jaw tightened. “You’re serious?”
Sadly … “I’m serious. We need to go back to the way things were.”
*
Stomach rolling, Tanner fisted his hands. He’d known this would only ever be temporary and that he’d have to give her up at some point. He’d thought he’d readied himself for it. Thought he’d accepted it. Thought he’d be able to calmly walk away when the time came. But as she stood before him declaring that it was over, everything in him rebelled.
His hound roared and prepared itself to lunge. Not to hurt her—no, never that—but to subdue her; to demand her submission; to prevent her from leaving.
They needed to go back to the way things were, she’d said. He couldn’t imagine going back to no longer having the right to touch her, taste her, and take her whenever he wanted. Couldn’t imagine taking a backseat in her life and becoming nothing more than a fucking observer—a mere figure in the background while she chose a mate, set up house, and then later had kids.
And him? He’d have nothing. He knew Devon; knew how deep her loyalty ran. If she took a mate, she’d no longer engage in her little games with Tanner, no matter how harmless he claimed they were. Their banter and flirting would have to end, so he’d no longer even have that much with her. All they’d have would be a strained, awkward mockery of what a friendship should be.
He’d never have suspected that the thought of walking away would hurt so much. His aversion to relationships wasn’t a simple case of commitment issues. Tanner had been alone since he was two-years-old—he didn’t know how to be anything else. The Ramsbrook staff had ensured he was fed and sheltered, but they hadn’t raised him. He’d raised himself, and he hadn’t done the best job of it.
“Alone” was familiar for him and his demon. Felt safer. Meant they didn’t have to rely on anyone or lay themselves bare. But right then, being alone didn’t seem safe to either of them. Didn’t feel comforting. It felt wrong. And his hound was having fucking none of this “going back to the way things were” shit.