“You’re perfect,” I say, gazing over the gardens. Perhaps I could plant flowers that smell as sweet as her, to bring a smile to her lips.
My shoulders slump as I exhale heavily, knowing I can’t avoid this conversation any longer. I want her to see me as a good male, someone worthy of her. But she’ll soon turn away in disgust or fear when she learns the truth. I don’t know what’s happened in her past, but I firmly believe it was something unpleasant. I couldn’t bear for her to look at me that way.
“It’s not you,” I say.
“Then it’s you?” she says. “Because this sounds like a classic ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ breakup line. I’ve heard it before, and it sucks. I just want honesty and...” Her voice breaks. “Someone to trust.”
I whirl to face her, striding to her side in two long steps.
“It is me!” I exclaim. I wince, hearing the echo of her words in my own.
I hold out my hands toward her, staring at them.
“My hands bring death.” The confession is choked and hoarse. After a lifetime of secrecy, revealing myself fully is terrifying.
“Well, that’s ominous,” Elana says. But instead of recoiling, she cradles my larger hands gently in her own. As strong and capable as I am, I can’t stop them from trembling within her soft grasp.
“They look like very nice hands to me,” she says kindly, stroking my calloused skin. I tense as I imagine her doing the same elsewhere, my claws lengthening reflexively at her touch.
“I didn’t know you could do that!” she says, bending my fingers experimentally, oblivious to the bloodshed these weapons have caused. How many lives have I taken with these hands? How much blood have I spilled over the cycles?
“You don’t understand, Elana. My hands... I’ve...” I heave a weary sigh. Must I recount every gruesome detail? “I am Volscian. My people live outside Galactic Federation space, on the planet Latium.”
She merely blinks up at me. Most civilized beings would draw back in fear by now, but she shows no recognition of the term Galactic Federation or Volscian. Just where does my strange mate hail from? Her world must be so very distant.
“Many consider us lawless barbarians,” I say, waiting for her rejection. My heart pounds so hard it echoes within my skull.
Elana merely gazes up at me steadily. Her little pink tongue darts out to moisten her plump lower lip. The sight stirs a primitive urge within me to simply take her and claim her irrevocably. However, she deserves a choice. She deserves better.
“I’ve lived a hard life, much of it on the streets. I quickly learned to fight, or else lose what little I could scrape together.
“Oh, Sutek!” She squeezes my hand compassionately. “No one can blame you for doing what you had to do to survive.”
Her words strike me like a punch, knocking the breath from my lungs. How can she forgive my barbaric youth so easily? She can’t absolve what I became, what I chose to do.
I shake my head, bewildered by her ready acceptance. “I became very skilled at violence, Elana. I was attacked by a nobleman’s son once. His guards nearly beat me to death. The only reason I lived was that the very same boy stopped them.”
Elana’s mouth opens, but I press on. “That boy was Prince Rist. I owed him a life debt.”
Elana gasps. “Wait a moment. Rist—the guy I just met—is a prince?”
Is she already considering him over me? He would make a far better partner than a wretch like me. I flinch at the thought of my beloved Prince claiming my Elana. But isn’t that the ultimate purpose of this conversation—to show her I’m not worthy?
“Rather than imprison me in the dungeons or a prison planet, Rist took me in. He had me fed, educated, and trained. Soon, I was being groomed as his personal fighter—the best. I loved it, Elana. For the first time in my life, I had purpose: to protect the man who showed me mercy. So when the first threat appeared at court, I didn’t hesitate to follow orders and ‘neutralize’ him.”
“You killed someone?” Elana asks faintly, gripping my hands tightly. Finally, understanding dawns.
If she walks away now, I won’t stop her. I can only pray my confession doesn’t ruin Prince Rist too—he’s worked so hard to make this hotel a refuge for others like us. My confession could destroy everything.
“Every time a threat appeared, I dealt with it. It’s who I am, Elana—a killer. I’m an assassin.”
I stare into her eyes, desperately seeking a reaction. But her face is closed off.
“Is that why Rist has horns? Because he’s a prince?” she asks instead.
I open my mouth, only to close it. That’s not the response I expected. Horns don’t magically appear because one is royal—all males grow them. Maybe I expected her to flee or to rage at my lies. Instead, she asks about another man. Jealousy constricts my chest. The very thing that shows my strength and virility...
“They cut mine off,” I say, my voice cracking with shame and despair.
