Page 65 of The Captive and the First Blood Game
“That hardly matters.”
Reyna assessed him. “It makes all the difference in the world.”
“That is where you are wrong. We can’t change the past. It’s futile to even consider it. I am a vampire. I am a murderer. My backstory will not change your mind except to poison you against me.”
“Why don’t you let me make up my own mind about that?”
“When I tell you, it will be a mercy.”
“Mercy?” she whispered.
“Then you will not need another reason to leave me.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Arguing with Beckham about it was pointless.
He would never see her point about his past, and she would never see his. She would wait for him to tell her. She wished he could realize that she accepted him for exactly who he was. She was already aware he had done terrible things before joining the rebellion. It wouldn’t change her mind about him.
They stayed at the rooftop garden until Reyna could no longer feel her fingers or toes. Then Beckham insisted he return her to her room.
“So,” she said, running her hands up the front of his shirt once they returned to her room, “do you have the rest of the night off?”
“A gentleman simply kisses his date good night on the first date.”
“It’s probably a good thing you aren’t a gentleman, then, isn’t it?”
“It seems to be your favorite quality about me.”
“Oh no, I like the brooding, silent, self-loathing the best.”
“Perfect match for your never-ending speech and vibrant optimism.”
“I’d say that I’m leaning more toward realism lately.”
She stripped out of the heavy jacket, gloves, scarf, hat, and thick socks, tossing them all haphazardly around her room. She was halfway through pulling the giant sweater over her head when she felt Beckham’s hands on her waist. They slipped under the material of her black T-shirt and caressed her stomach. She dropped the sweater to the ground, forgotten.
“Fuck,” he growled low.
“I missed you.”
“Every day you were gone, I was out of my mind.”
“Me too,” she whispered.
“I would have burned the city down to get to you.”
“I worried you wouldn’t.” She hated the squeak in her voice at the admission.
“It killed me not to be here when you got back. To not be here doing this.” He dropped his mouth onto hers, and the kiss seared through her. “Cover be damned. Visage be damned. I wanted you, and then when I finally had you, I fucked it up again.”
“Shhh,” she said, pressing a finger to his lips. “It doesn’t matter. You have me now.”
He relented, placing a kiss on her finger. Then, latching a hand around her wrist, he directed the pad of her finger into his mouth. His tongue caressed her and then gently nipped at her. He repeated this on each finger before turning her palm up and pressing a kiss into her wrist.
“Your heart rate has elevated, Little One.”
“Uh-huh,” she said desperately.
