Page 35 of Donovan
His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched, like he was fighting some internal war. Then his expression changed. Lust, hot and consuming, bled into something colder. Something horrified.
Declan jerked away from me, so fast it was like I had burned him.
“No,” he spat, shoving himself off me.
He paced a few steps away, his hands gripping his hair, his breathing uneven.
"Declan,” I began.
"No." His voice was sharp, almost frantic. "This was a mistake."
I pushed up onto my elbows, watching as he turned his back to me, shoulders heaving. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
I saw the way he was breathing hard, the way his chest rose and fell like he was barely keeping it together.
"Declan," I tried again, softer this time.
He spun to face me, and the look on his face stopped me cold. Rage. Not at me, at himself.
"I don’t deserve this," he said, voice rough and unsteady. "I don’t deserve you.” His jaw tightened, as if swallowing his words. "I’m a monster now, Donovan."
His hand shot up, raking through his already disheveled hair, before dropping to his side again, fingers trembling.
"I almost—" He exhaled sharply, like he was afraid to say it.
But I already knew. I had seen it. The way his body tensed. The way his lips parted just slightly, his pupils dilating, his gaze locked on the blood on my lip.
He wanted it and it was killing him. Declan turned away again, his shoulders hunched, like he was bracing for impact.
Like he expected me to agree. To say he was right. That this was a mistake. That he was too far gone, but I didn’t, because I knew Declan.
I knew the way he thought, the way he tore himself apart from the inside out and I refused to let him go down that road.
I pushed off the bed, ignoring the dull ache in my body, and stepped toward him.
"Declan."
He flinched, just barely.
I exhaled, my voice quieter this time.
"You didn't hurt me."
His laugh was harsh, bitter.
"Not yet."
"Not ever," I corrected.
He didn’t turn around, but I saw the way his shoulders tensed, like he wanted to believe me but couldn’t.
I took another step forward, close enough to touch him, but I didn’t. Not yet.
"Declan," I said, firm this time. "Look at me."
For a long, stretched-out moment, he didn’t move. Then, finally, slowly, he turned.
His expression was tight, conflicted, angry, but underneath it, I saw something else. Something vulnerable and scared.
