Page 61 of Orc'd At A Wedding
"No."
The single word hits me like a physical blow.
"No?"
"No." He runs one hand over his face, and I can see the exhaustion in the gesture, whatever internal war he is fighting. "You think you want this now, Bliss. You think you understand what you are agreeing to. But you have known me for two days. You do not know what my life actually looks like. You do not know the people I work with, the situations I am regularly placed in, the level of violence I am exposed to on a routine basis."
"Then show me."
"I cannot."
"Why not?"
"Because the moment you see it, you will realize you made a mistake."
I peer at him, and I feel something cold settle in my stomach, something that feels uncomfortably like understanding.
"You think I'm going to leave you," I say quietly.
He says nothing.
"You think I'm going to see your real life and decide I don't want it anymore. You think I'm going to walk away the second things get difficult or dangerous or inconvenient."
"Yes."
The honesty of it is somehow worse than the fear.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to scream or throw something or grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he sees reason.
"So instead of letting me make that choice," I say, "you're making it for me. You're walking away first so I don't get the chance to hurt you."
His expression doesn't change, but I see the flicker of something in his eyes, something raw and unguarded that confirms everything I just said.
"Olog." I step toward him, reaching for his hand. "I'm not going to leave you."
He pulls his hand back before I can touch him.
"You cannot promise that."
"Yes, I can."
"No." His voice is flat. "You cannot. You do not know enough about me to make that promise. You do not know what you are committing to. And I will not allow you to bind yourself to a future you have not fully considered simply because you are caught up in the emotional intensity of this weekend."
"The emotional intensity—" I stop, my mouth hanging open, because I genuinely cannot believe what I'm hearing. "You think this is just adrenaline? You think I'm confusing fear and relief and stress with actual feelings?"
"I think," he says carefully, "that you have been under an enormous amount of pressure for the past forty-eight hours, and I think I provided you with a sense of safety and protection that you have not experienced in a long time, and I think it is entirely natural that you would develop an attachment to that feeling."
I laugh.
It's not a nice laugh. It's the laugh of a woman who has just been told her emotions aren't real by a man who claimed her as his mate less than twelve hours ago.
"So last night," I say, my voice shaking, "when you gave me your knife and told me you were courting me and canceled your contract and said I was yours, that was what, exactly? Atemporary delusion brought on by the stress of dealing with my family?"
"I was not thinking clearly."
"Neither was I, apparently."
I turn back to the suitcase, grabbing the rest of my clothes from the dresser in one violent armful, and I shove them in without looking, my vision blurring.
