Bozena and Sveta (Neuripra) (11 page)

His eyes are dark, misting pollen sparks off them, exposing his ire. And that makes me angry.

Why are you picking on me?

Using all of my strength I shove hard into his chest, using the wall to boost myself forward to really push. “Back off!”

“
Why are you angry, Zena? Why are you crying Zena?”

As he speaks he keeps prodding fingers into my chest, and it's beginning to really hurt.

“I'm crying because I hate this. And you're hurting me.”

“
Liar,” shove.

I shove back, both hands to his chest, leaning in, head down, ramming into him. “I'm not lying!”

“Fight me Zena.”

We're raining blows, but I'm ineffectual. It's like punching at a steam engine.

I can't take it, crammed up against the wall again with him looming over me, ready to prod me again. Cracking, I slip down the wall, sobbing something fierce.

He follows me down, catching his weight on either side of my head so he can leer his face into mine, coiling muscles and immobility at me, “I want you to lay into me. Fight me.”

“I don't want to fight! You're supposed to be my safe place,” I stutter, blubbering, breaking down, ashamed at how he's reduced me to tears.

“
Pull my hair, claw into me, come on Zena, fight me.”

“
No!”

“
Coward.”

“
I'm not. Just leave me alone!”

He plants his ass down in front of me, splaying his legs out either side of mine, forcefully yanking me away from the wall to curl up against him on the cold pale tiles.

Arms fold me in and it thunders my heart. I'm afraid. Really afraid. The unpredictability of this situation has me borderline hysterical and expecting the worst. I'm scared that if I relax he's going to do something dreadful and cruel.

Why did he bring me here? Even if I screamed no one would hear me. This isn't fair!

Trembling, rigid in his hold, I wait it out, ready to react, to defend, afraid to close my eyes in case I miss something. Every time his hand comes up I'm expecting it to deliver pain, but it smoothes my hair, and it's beginning to hurt resisting the pressure of his arms forcing me to rest against him.

“
Zena, cry. For all our sakes get angry and cry. Let it out. Please?”

“
Why are you doing this to me? I've done nothing to you,” I mumble against his chest, muffled by the leather and his skin.

A heavy sigh washes over me and he pulls away, his onyx eyes fracturing the light into a million specks of tangerine and gold. They're like black opals that segment light into fire hues.

They're beautiful and passionate, and they don't belong on a monster.

“
I'm not a bully. Baby, can't you see it? You never let anything out and it begins to fester inside you. If you just released it and let it out, you wouldn't be the walking wounded. You'd let enough go to begin the heal. You can't hurt me, so punch, bite, kick, claw, scream, go ballistic, fuck me up. Release the damage, unleash it. I
am
your safe place which is why I won't hit you, and I'll never fucking hit back.”

“
But I love you. I don't want to hurt you. Don't you get that?”

Those incredible eyes swirl with an orange gloss, flaming his irises with sunset magnificence while he stares at me; a faint haze seeping out the edges next to his eyelashes.

“Zena, baby, angel... what you fail to understand is you hurt me anyway, every single time you hurt yourself. I know the pain inside you is eating you alive, and I'll do anything–”

Strong hands clamp my face and apply pressure, his nose inching closer to pour that fiery halo into my own eyes.

“–
Anything
, to ease your suffering. I'd much rather you attack me than the woman I love.”

La-freaq!

It shakes my core, deepening the fissure, widening the abyss, and shame gases out of the black despair inside me and I dissolve into sobs again.

No one loves me. This isn't real. You're just saying this. I know I'm a fucking freak, I don't need you telling me!

When I try to push away, he holds tighter, lifting me in his arms with the strength of his hug, burying his head in my neck, and tears run into my collarbone. His grip is suffocating, but Jesus! Oh Jesus fucking everything. He's crying! He's fucking crying!

God! I suck. I'm awful. I'm poison.

I should go.

Big arms tighten even more and he shakes against me, crushing me to his chest until the shame overwhelms me and I'm crying too.
Again
.

Sobbing together, I'm a wreck; living, breathing, carnage. Crying for reasons I don't even know, other than I can't bear the pain of knowing he hurts when I hurt. I love him. I never ever want him to hurt like I do.

He lifts his head to stare into my eyes, tears glossing his cheeks, his irises now completely saturated in gold fire, “I do love you. Never ever doubt it. Not ever.”

The kiss he thrusts on me is hard, relentless, full of need, pain, fear, anger, desire.

Like me.

And I push back with my lips, with all my strength, needing to be closer, to make this better. To make
us
better.

Choking back the sobs, burying it deep inside me, I mute emotions and throw caution to the wind. Choosing his seductive touch over the fear of pain, I weaken into the desire his nearness and masculinity stoke in me.

His thumb is rigid under my chin, shoving it up, locking my mouth to his, his hoarse voice slipping into my thoughts,
Tonight is ours. You are going to be naked inside out before the sun comes up. Tonight you will cry, sob, scream, and sigh, in every pain and pleasure imaginable, and when I'm done with you, you will either hate me, or finally understand how fucking much you mean to me.

Please stop crying
, I think back.

Then stop breaking my heart. Let me in. I can help you.

I have no answer to that, and I don't care because his kiss is burning a hole through my soul. I've never needed anyone as desperately as I need him right now. To make the confusion fuck off, to show me we're okay.

The answer to my thoughts is the loud ripping of my shirt when he tears it straight down my back, yanking it forward around my shoulders and imprisoning my arms in the sleeves.

“I've got you now,” he says, breaking the kiss and sounding like a god about to unleash wrath.

He wraps the freed material around my wrists and I'm immediately aware how stuck I am, and how freaking cold it is.

Shit!

Chapter 12

Božena
:

“Would you trust me? We're about to put the fun back into dys
fun
ctional,” he says, using his wicked lustgod voice.

Pulling me up with him, he rolls his shoulders when he releases my bound wrists, teasing me by unbuttoning the first button on his waistcoat.

In disbelief I meet his eyes with my gaze. What game are we playing tonight?

He rolls the other shoulder, a mischievous smirk hooking his mouth, undoing another button, alternating shoulder rolls with undone buttons, slowly stripping, smiling his rock star smile, then he unhooks the final black metal button, twisting shyly and slipping it off with his back to me, letting it fall with a dull thud.

My mouth goes dry at the sight of his muscular back, with its deep ridge of shadow where his spine hides. He bulges, ripples, like waves swelling on the high seas the muscles pump up and roil with his movement, but all I can focus on is the scar on his shoulder.

He took that bullet for me. When his brother Ryan held me hostage during my pregnancy, he wanted to protect me, help me, and Ryan shot him for being outspoken.

I still don't get that.

I know I was hallucinating badly and crazy with fever, but I still can't fathom why Ryan would shoot his own brother, because of me.

All Sveta did was become a husband inside a second, keeping me alive, holding me, giving me comfort when I was dying inside, lifting me when I was too weak to breathe, bathing me, nursing me... loving me.

Why? Why do I doubt him? He's proven himself over and over from the first day we were alone.

Stepping forward, I softly flatten my palm over the scar, leaning in to place a grateful kiss on his skin.

I'm sorry, Sveta. I'm sorry I'm such a handful.

He twists, catching my hand and taking it to his lips, pressing a loving kiss into the lines of my hand, staring soulfully into my eyes from way up there.

He's so tall and fabulous I should be worshipping the ground he walks on, not battering him for everything he says or does.

I'll take a hundred bullets for you
, he whispers hotly into my head.

When Jowendrhan bit me, and I lay broken and out of my mind on a bathroom floor in a hotel room, Sveta saved my life then too. I thought I dreamed of Sveta when he came in, bit open his own wrist, and gave me the stabilizing blood from his body to drink.

I'm awkward with my hands tied together, but I use the hand not held in his to softly touch the stubble in front of it.

“
Zena, I may be an asshole, but I'm not a liar. I will always be here for you because you are my chosen mate. I pledged to love you and can't undo that, and don't fucking want to.”

“
Why? You could have anyone, why me?”

“
Stop it. Stop with this endless self-deprecation shit. Why can't you just accept that there's someone for everyone on this planet, and for me you're that someone.”

“
I'm broken! Damaged. You're just going to end up hurt!”

“
I know!” he yells back, twisting to show me the bullet scar again. Pivoting back, he glowers at me, “It didn't stop me! Nothing can stop me loving you, but death. Got it?”

La-freaq. He oxidizes my blood. He makes me nuts! I want him, and don't, in equal measure. It's a struggle inside me which doesn't make sense. I crave him, but also hate myself for needing anyone, for exposing myself to more avoidable hurt.

I'm fine alone, why can't lovers just be playmates instead of fucking soul mates?

Releasing the palm for my face, his grip presses firmly into the skin of my chin, tilting my focus up to stare into his eyes, “Because you need love. Everyone does. You deserve more than what you allow yourself. You're starving inside because you force yourself to stay on the emaciating love diet. Your heart is anorexic because you never feed the fucking thing.”

Wow, that's a corrosive statement.

Staring up at him, I've had enough. “Fuck you Sveta.”

“I'm not criticizing you. It's an honest statement. It's the truth, and you're only angry because the truth bites like a bitch.”

“
Don't hold anything back. Get it all off your chest and lay the blame at my door. I didn't make false promises and I didn't offer more than I was willing to give. If who and what I am isn't good enough for you, then fuck you. Take me home right this second because I won't stay where I'm unwelcome. You're asking for something I can't give and no amount of bullying is going to get it. So fuck you very much.”

His eyes narrow, bleeding out honey-gold vapor, and the grip on my face tightens just enough to betray my truth bites like a bitch too.

“Have you ever considered therapy?” he says, in a tone so flat it feels dangerous.

“
Yes. I've had therapy. As you can see my bad attitude is inherent. There's no fix for me Sveta. Take me as I am or fuck the hell off.”

Again he moves so fast my stomach drops into my ankles and my heart pumps with immediate labored ache.

The sound of jade beads scattering across the kitchen floor rattles my calm facade. Without so much as blinking, he broke my necklace.

His expression is dangerous as he says, “Fuck you and your proudly jaded attitude. It's all fake armor. Stop hiding from me Zena. I know who you are, I've been inside your head. I was with you when you were dying and I read every single thought bleaching your mind into faded numb. I was there! Stop lying to me!”

“I am not lying.”

“
Yes, you are. Why do you hurt so fucking much when you think I've left you for someone else? Because you love me! It won't kill you to show it, to be vulnerable with me! For shit's sake Zena, I can't prove it any more than I have. I'm loyal, constant, I give you everything you need and ask for, and you give me a handful of charity back. Maybe the 'fuck you' should be laid at your door. All you do is fuck me, how'd you like it if I fucked you back? You wouldn't. Own that!”

While he's speaking, he has me constantly back pedaling with his advancing bulk.

I'm now in a doorway and kinda afraid to turn around.

It takes me half a second to notice the room has lights which just magically switched themselves on, and he's shepherding me toward a bed.

His
bed.

That's all we need really, is to work off this negative energy with some life affirming endorphins.

Sex is like running a mile, or something, they say. It's a full body workout and is supposed to make you happy.

Maybe that's why I like sex so much.

“Does it really make you happy? Or is that just one more lie you tell yourself so you can live with the guilt of what you put me through?” he says, hooking my focus back to him.

The expression on his face is murderous, angry, volatile.

I've never seen him like this and it makes me more than jumpy, it forces me back up to the mental ledge overlooking sobbing hysteria.

He does a weird movement with his hand and the lights dim, fading slowly.

The advancing dark closing in around me is foreboding.