Page 69 of One Winter Knight
Chapter Sixteen
Saoirse
I slammed the door behind me and stomped to Fiona’s room. Throwing open the door, I closed it hard, and threw myself onto the bed, then screamed into her pillow.
What the fuck, Dusty?He might as well have told me that he loved me with all that shite about me deserving love, and being fine with my job, and what had he said?
I will eviscerate them in song. I will use my music to set the world on fire for you.
What did that even mean?
At the same time, while I’d had people offer to end someone for me, I’d never had someone offer to end them withmusic.
It was actually quite sweet. Especially because Dusty, for all the haters, was a pretty clever lyricist.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I yelled into the pillow, tears pricking my eyes.
Regret consumed me. Not for what I should be regretting, which was sleeping with Dusty.
No. It was what I’d said to him after. Not the conversation we’d had before, which was necessary. My reaction. The shouting.
The way he looked at me like I’d stabbed him in the chest with my knife and twisted it.
“Hey.” Fiona sat on the bed and started rubbing my back. “What did the doors do to make you upset?”
“Dusty can’t take a hint,” I snapped.
“Well, stop hinting, and tell him outright to stop. Is he existing too loudly for you? Want me to have Carlos talk to him?” she soothed, her candy cane scent enveloping me, as she continued to rub my back.
“No. That’s not it.” I made an annoyed noise. Yes, he existed a little loudly for my sensibilities, but I know he didn’t mean it, and it wasn’t usually entirely unwelcome.
“I see. What did he do? He must have done something for you to yell at him like that.” Her voice was low and nonjudgmental.
He’d done about as much as the door. Well, outside of being too understanding about me being an assassin and my concerns.
“How much did you hear?” I said softly.
“Enough. What did he do to be called aridiculous musician?I’m asking in earnest, because so far he’s been nothing but sweet. But you know him better than I do.”
“He thinks he can love me,” I blurted. That’s what triggered me. Guys like him weren’t for women like me. I was a killer. I was ruthless. I was an O’Halloran.
Why couldn’t he not be so understanding for once?
There was no room for softness in my life. Fiona was enough of a liability without introducing a civilian.
Not to mention he was an alpha. They were judgmental motherfuckers.
Even if he was genuine, I barely deserved Fiona’s love, let alone his.
Still, there really was no need for me to shout. I could have simply left it at,I can’t do thisand slammed the door.
But I’d chosen my words specifically to hurt him. Maybe if hehated me, he’d leave me alone, and I wouldn’t have to ponder the tough questions he brought up.
Dusty, the oversharer, had told me many times about how he’d clawed his way to where he was now, trying to make it with a sound that didn’t quite fit industry niches. He was quirky–and society wasn’t quite ready for an alpha like him.
Not to mention, smaller, skinnier alphas often got shite to begin with, especially if they didn’t fit thetough alphastereotype.
He was strong though, both physically and mentally. I’d never admit it, but I’d even learned a few moves from sparring with him. Which we’d done on one of ourI’ll make it up to yousessions, where we’d gone to a big, extreme fighting league match, then gotten to spar in the actual ring.
