Page 27 of These Monstrous Ties
“Is that your baby?” I blurt out, wishing my voice didn’t shake when I said the words. Wishing I didn’t give a damn. Knowing that I shouldn’t give a damn. Why does it matter? There are way more fucked up things going on here.
He pulls away and I watch the vein in his neck, watch him swallow. He still has my neck in his hand, but he puts some space between us.
He bites his lip and I can’t look away from his mouth. I might actually start to believe he really is the devil himself. Because in this moment, I don’t care what comes next. I don’t think I’m going to try to walk away again.
“I don’t know,” he finally answers me.
I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Now, I exhale and frown, but I can’t bring myself to ask a follow-up question.
He shakes his head, straightens, but keeps a tight grip on me. His brow furrows, a curl falling over one brilliant blue eye.
Down the hall, back from the way we came, a girl moans.
“I don’t know,” he says again. He brings his other hand to my waist, his fingers digging into the fabric of my bodysuit, pinching my skin. He yanks me to him, and I catch myself on his chest, fingers splayed against him.
“What if it is, Lilith?” he asks me, his voice hoarse. I smell that scent that he seems to be made of: Cigarettes and pine. I relish in it. I’ve never smoked, never been drawn to smokers. I have no idea how bad his habit is, but right now, I don’t care. Life is short. Mine was going to be especially short, nineteen years of wasted time. But if I get to the end of those nineteen years on a night like this, they might actually mean something.
“What if it is mine?” he asks me again, brushing his lips against my brow.
I shudder against him, and he pulls me in even tighter. It almost hurts. But I don’t want him to let go.
“Then it is,” I finally answer. “It won’t matter. It has nothing to do with me.” I meet his gaze. “It won’t matter because tonight, you’re not you, and I’m not me. You’re Lucifer. I’m Lilith. We own hell. We can own our own hells, too.”
That must be the vodka talking.
He tips my chin up.
“What if I want to be me? With you?”
I make to turn away, but he grips my face tighter, forcing me to meet his gaze.
But there’s things he doesn’t know about me. Things I clearly do not know about him. And this Lover’s Death shit…
And despite the fact that I just watched a man carve into his own skin and force a girl to drink his blood,I’mthe one feeling insecure.
“You don’t want me,” I bite out. “Not the real me.” I don’t want to keep going down this path. I need to get the fuck out of here. But it’s like I’m frozen in place around him.
His face darkens. He’s angry. “Don’t tell me what I want, Lilith.” He tips my chin up further. “Don’tevertell me what I want.”
“I’m not just a lonely girl looking for a one-night stand, Lucifer.” His grip doesn’t slacken, and my throat is pulled taunt, but I keep talking anyway, making myself get the words out. I don’t even know why it matters, but for some reason, it does. “It looks like you might’ve had enough of those,” I spit, nearly shaking. From anger, from lust, from what I’d planned to do tonight, I don’t know. “And so have I.” His eyes narrow. “I’ve had more one-night stands than you can possibly fucking imagine. I’ve had so many—”
He presses his hand against my mouth. Hard
“Stop talking.”
I part my lips, but he clamps down more, his fingers digging into the side of my face, his palm keeping my words in.
“I saidStop talking.”
I can feel him beneath my own hands on his chest, breathing hard, his heart hammering fast. But my anger rises up to meet his. I just watched a blood ceremony, the first I’ve ever seen, and yet he can’t listen to my sins. My confessions.
He keeps his hand pressed to my mouth, and reaches the other behind him. In his back pocket. It takes me a minute to wonder what he’s doing but then I hear the snick of the blade and see it gleaming in the torchlight when he brings his hand up between us.
I make to step away, but he shakes his head, moves his hand from my mouth and catches my wrist, pressing so hard I feel the bones rub together.
“Not so fast, Lilith,” he purrs, holding up the knife. It’s a short blade but it looks wicked sharp.
I have no idea what he intends to do. Carve up his own skin, like Ezra? His lips are turned up into an eerie smile, the skeleton paint making him seem nearly deranged. And yet I’m glad he’s holding my wrist.
