Page 94 of Thirst
It wasn’t until Demon slinked up beside her, brushing against her leg, that I saw her ease.
“Salut, belle,” she murmured in French, crouching to rub the small white devil behind the ears.
Demon—who usually treated me like furniture—melted against Nyx’s leg, purring like they’d been soulmates in another life.
Nyx glanced up at me. “What’s her name?”
“Demon.”
“Ah, a perfect name for une belle chat.”
“She’s Brien’s. She ignores everyone else except Twilight.”
“You’re particular, aren’t you, pretty cat?” Nyx combed her fingers through Demon’s soft fur.
The cat leaned into her, eyes slitted.
“She likes you,” I said.
“Mm.”
“Cat’s got good instincts.”
Nyx flicked me a look. “Better than some people.”
I winced. “Sometimes you don’t listen to your gut because your head’s telling you something else.”
She just shrugged, eyes fixed on the garden. The moon cast shifting shadows over her beautiful, off-beat face—her long cheekbones, her full mouth, the diamond in her nostril—like it couldn’t decide what version of her to show me.
“Look,” I told her, “I’m sorry it came to this. But I’m not sorry for getting you away from that bastard. Maybe I wanted to use you—fine. But only to protect my friends. What’s his excuse?”
Her fingers stilled in Demon’s fur.
“You can’t even put your name on your own art,” I said. “You’re hiding the best part of yourself from your own father. That’s fucked.”
A beat passed and I thought she wasn’t going to say anything.
Then she met my eyes. “I wanted him to love me. I kept thinking if I was only good enough, worked a little harder…” One corner of her mouth lifted in a self-mocking smile.
Something hot and ugly twisted in my gut. I’d been there, been in her situation, but I’d gotten out by joining the Maritime Syndicate. She hadn’t had that option. She’d been stuck in that SOB’s sticky web.
My voice came out a low growl. “And you’ll never be good enough, will you?”
She briefly closed her eyes. “No.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said. “And I would’ve taken you away from him for that alone. Even without the history between him and us. If that makes me the bad guy, fine. Hate me. Because I’d do it again.”
Her gaze lifted to mine. “I don’t hate you,” she said, so quiet I had to strain to hear her.
I stared down at her, fighting the urge to haul her against me and claim what my instincts already knew was mine. But it was too soon. Push now, and I might lose what little ground I’d managed to take.
“So where do we go from here?” I said.
“I don’t know.” She rose, chin lifting that fraction that always sparked something primitive in me. Not fear. Defiance. A reminder she was her own woman, with her own agenda.
“I’m still your prisoner, even if the cage is more comfortable. You’re still using me as bait. Maybe you don’t need me to get to my father, but you haven’t let me go. So you tell me.”
“I have to see this through. We both know that.”
