Page 33 of Illusory

In that moment, I wanted to hurt him the way he’d hurt me—to stick it to him for disappearing on me last night and every night since his sire had made him shut his emotions off. I wanted him to know that he couldn’t just walk out on me, to abandon me and expect to find me in a heap of tears on the floor, waiting for his return. But most of all, I just wanted to know whether any of that even mattered to him anymore.

WhetherIstill mattered.

He settled beside me at the kitchen island, his body and presence too close and overwhelming. “I’m sure you were nothing short of spectacular. We both know your heart is nothing if not resilient.” His penetrating gaze roved over me from head to toe as he sidled in close to my ear with a whisper, “Some might even call it fickle.”

I winced at his underhanded insult and then turned to glare at him, anger riding my blood as my face landed within an inch of his. “When did you become such a grade-A fucking jerk?”

“I like to think I was just born this way.”

“Screw you, Dominic.”

“By all means.” His dark, rapt eyes flicked down to my mouth as his body remained close enough that I could almost taste the hostility rolling off him. “You’re more than welcome to.”

But it wasn’t just hostility there. There was fire and fury and resentment and something else there, too. Something that simmered my blood and heated my chest despite his callous words. Just like that night in the basement cell, it muddled my mind and made me want to do crazy things like eviscerate the miniscule gap between us and kiss him, to beg him to tell me he still loved me the way he did before.

But I wasn’t sure how he would respond to any of that. I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Not of myself, or him, and definitely not of his feelings for me, and that alone made me keep myself firmly rooted in place. Nothing about his demeanor felt familiar to me. Nothing about his words felt comprehendible. It all just felt…wrong.

And I still had no idea where the hell he had disappeared to last night.

Uninvited thoughts of him cozying up with some random bloodwhore whirled through my mind then and curdled my stomach like spoiled milk.

Refusing to allow him to see the distress on my face, I reared back and steeled myself, smothering down the painful storm inside me and instead, focusing in on the waiting jar of peanut butter. Because if I couldn’t know where he stood anymore, then I wasn’t going to let him get a read on my cards either.

Flattening the slice of bread, I dug out a scoop of peanut butter and started buttering it. Aggressively.

He stood there for a few beats, watching me intently as though I were doing something incredibly groundbreaking with the bread. I resisted the urge to squirm under his unrelenting gaze.

“Can you not do that?” I finally snapped, scraping out another hefty scoop of peanut butter and slapping it onto the bread.

“Do what?”

“That,” I gestured in his general vicinity without meeting his eyes and then scooped out another knife full of peanut butter, piling that one on, too.

“You seem rather worked up tonight, angel,” he stated conversationally, as though making an observation about the weather. “Are things not going well with Romeo? Have youtwo not kissed and made-up yet?”

My jaw clamped shut as I shot him a withering stare. He certainly knew how to cut me where it would hurt the most. “That’s low, Dominic. Even for you.”

Lowering his gaze, he slid both hands into his front pockets, eying the butterknife that had stilled over the bread. “It was a genuine question,” he said, meeting my eyes again, his expression cool and passive.

That was such bullshit. You don’tcasuallythrow out a question like that. It was a loaded gun and we both knew it. “Well, in that case, I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that he’s still not speaking to me.”

“And why would that make me happy?” he asked flatly, but he was watching my lips as if he were waiting on bated breath for my answer.

“Are you saying it doesn’t?” I challenged, dropping the butter knife and then turning my whole body to face him. “Would you prefer that wehadkissed and made up?”

It felt like a lifetime before he answered me. “I’m not sure that my preference on the matter is a factor anymore, nor am I sure that it should be.”

I tried to connect the words, to force them to make sense to me, but I was too tired and hungry and daft to accomplish the feat. “What the hell does that even mean? It’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Please tell me that isn’t the full extent of what you’ve eaten today.”

“What?” I jerked back from the sudden case of whiplash he’d just given me.Was that…was he…concerned about me?Feeling flustered and even more confused, I picked up the butterknife and piled on yet another scoop of peanut butter. “I think you should leave,” I said evenly, having just decided it then.

“But I haven’t even told you why I’m here yet.”

“Oh, and here I thought you just came to dazzle me with your shining personality,” I smarted, digging out another knife full of peanut butter and spreading it roughly. In the midst of my aggressive buttering, I’d pressed down too hard with the knife and accidentally ripped a giant gash down the middle, causing half the peanut butter to smear onto the kitchen island. “Fuckingmotherfucker!”I hissed crudely and then threw the knife down onto the counter, having had just about enough of this day and everything in it.

“Another pet name for me?” he asked teasingly.

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