“I was in from the minute you opened your eyes and looked at me in that alleyway; I just didn’t know it yet. So if you think I’m done with you, sweetheart, you’re wrong. I’ve barely gotten started.”
Suddenly he is my hero, and that means my instincts to trust him were right. It also means I have to trust my instincts about that box and that gun. “I need to go underground. If you can lend me money—”
“No. You stay with me. I’ll protect you.”
“And who’s going to protect you?”
“Sweetheart, I have nine lives and I’ve only used four.” He links our fingers. “Come with me.” He starts to move.
I dig in my heels. “No. No. Stop. Please.”
He turns back into me, his hands rubbing my arms. “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”
He’s right. I am. “Not because I’m cold. I can’t stay here. There are things—”
“You can and you are. End of subject.”
The command in his voice hits a nerve in some deep, dark part of me, and I do not like it. “Are you protecting me or keeping me prisoner?”
His eyes narrow, yellow flecks of heat in their depths. “I’m not the man who hurt you. I’m the one who’s fucking keeping you alive, and I can’t do that if you aren’t with me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“ ‘Plea
se don’t be him,’ ” he says, quoting me again. “I understand fine. You can’t get past the fear that I’m him. I’m not him.”
I grab handfuls of his shirt. “I know you’re not him,” I hiss. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you and you wouldn’t listen.” I drop his shirt and try to scoot away again.
He’s still not having it, his hands bracing my hips, his legs shackling mine. “Who is he?” he says, his tone hard.
“I still don’t remember.”
“Yet you suddenly know he’s not me.”
“I never thought he was you.”
“Bullshit.”
Adrenaline is buzzing through me at this point, and I don’t even try to contain my anger. “Bullshit yourself, Kayden. You still aren’t listening. You’re attacking. So hear this. I have to leave. In case you still don’t get it: I have to leave.”
His fingers close around my wrists, grounding me in a way I don’t understand, his tone a soft caress that is still stronger than I feel, as he promises, “I’m listening now. Talk to me.”
His voice is silk, his eyes warm, and the contrast in this gentleness and the wolf that would kill for me undoes me. My eyes and chest start to burn and I lower my head to his shoulder. He releases my hands, his settling on my hair. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“It’s bad,” I whisper.
His hands come down on my head and he lifts it, forcing my eyes to his. “I’m no angel, just like I’m no hero.”
“And yet you’re trying to save me.”
“No ‘trying’ about it. I am going to save you.” His thumb strokes my cheek. “Tell me.”
“I think I killed him. At the very least, I tried.”
To his credit, he doesn’t so much as blink. “The man in your flashback?”
“Yes. The man in my flashback. I had a gun, Kayden.”