Page 90 of The Prince of Power

Ava snorts. “That’s just it. It’s so innate you don’t have to think about it. It annoyed me at first.” She presses her lips together. “Now, I can admit I’m a little jealous. People listen to you. You could do so much good.”

A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Why don’t you try to do good through me?”

Her expression grows wary. “I don’t know if I could. I don’t think I have that kind of power.”

I let the silence stretch between us. “Why don’t you test it? You have nothing else to do. You’re stuck with me.”

“Where would I even start?”

“Tell me what you want from me. See if I give it to you.”

“Okay.” She’s quiet for a while. “You saidI’msafe, and I think I finally believe you. Can you guarantee that for my family and friends? What about Rhett?”

Something flares hot and dark inside me. If I hear his goddamn name one more time from her mouth…

I lean back in my chair. “They’ll be safe if you make sure they’re safe.”

“If I do have any power, I don’t think it’s long-term. I’ve heard people say I’m your pet. I can’t imagine any of this will last.”

I lean forward. “Make it last.”

“Even if I had the slightest clue how to do that, it wouldn’t matter. You’re erratic.”

I shake my head. “I’m consistent. You’d see that if you could accept that you’re in a world with different rules.”

She raises her chin. “And you’re going to tell me those rules. You agreed to at least tell me what you want me for.”

“I did.” I take another sip of my wine. “I lied.”

Her eyes flash. “How dare you trick me yet again.” The words are delivered through clenched teeth.

“Different rules, Ava. I’m consistent in one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“You.”

She narrows her eyes on my face. “You’re being cryptic.”

“No. I’ll tell you now. Your family. Your friends. They’re safe. As long as you’re with me, they’ll be safe. As far as telling you what I need you for… I just can’t right now, little doll. It’s not the right time.”

“When will it be the right time?”

“I can’t tell you.”

She groans. “This sucks, Damian. I hate it. If I could only…” Her expression grows pensive.

I swallow. “If you could only what?”

Her eyes grow unseeing. “I’d like it if I could respect you. At least a little bit.”

Her words are a blade to my throat.

Respect.

Respect is close to love, isn’t it? It’s what people give willingly, without force. And God, I don’t want to beg for it. Not from her. Not from anyone. But isn’t that what this is? This squeezing in my chest? The longing?

That’s what the little girl on the island has grown to symbolize over the years, whether she was real or imaginary. She’s become the longing for acceptance, for joy, for love freely given. I’ve been able to kill that need from anyone else. To cut it out, cauterize the wound, never let it fester. But somehow, I still think of her.

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