Page 65 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
She swallows loud enough for me to hear it in the deathly silence of the room. “I found a book on herbs, and it said I could mix two specific herbs in a tea to make a sedative. I found them in the kitchen. I made the tea and gave it to you so that I could steal the key out of your pocket and get my phone from your office.”
Quick, shallow breaths. She tricked me. I curl my hands into fists and press them into the counter until my joints whine in protest.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go this way.”
I whirl around, and when she sees the look on my face, she backs away and bumps against the island.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t say it.” I point my finger at her. “Do not fucking say it.”
Tears spill over the rims of her wide, red eyes.
I can’t think.
As I prowl out of the kitchen, I hear her sob.
The sound ricochets between my ears even as I try to chase it away by slamming the door so hard it jerks on its hinges.
The dark colors of my bedroom swim before my eyes. What have I done?
I rake my fingers through my hair and review the sorry facts. She’s cleverer than I gave her credit for. No one’s ever managed to knock me out with a cup of tea before. The funny thing is that my little game to get her out of her funk worked. She got her win. I just never expected her to make a mess out of me in the process.
A vise wraps around my heart and squeezes it with a deathly grip. For days, she’s been testing my will. I offered to be her teacher without a proper appreciation of what being in close quarters with her would do to me.
Being around her, touching her soft, warm skin for hours at a time, seeing those full lips part and speak and tremble…Fuck me.
Instead of obsessing over her every detail, I should have been thinking about how I could get out of the commitment I made to her.
But I convinced myself that my restraint would hold. And it did.
Until tonight, when she turned it into glass and shattered it at my feet.
Leaning my forehead against the wall, I thump my fists against it.
Life is irrational. I’ve always known this, but somehow, I’ve managed to navigate its irrationality for thirty-three years. Thirty-three years of schemes, plots, close calls, and tragedies.
And yet it seems my compass has finally broken.
The needle’s stuck, and it’s pointing in a single direction.
Martina.
The only woman in this world I categorically can’t have, and yet it’s her that I crave.
I never thought I’d be so drawn to innocence. That’s what it is, isn’t it? She bleeds it through her every pore—a cocktail of youth, inexperience, and strength that’s fatal to a rotten man like me.
I push off the wall and drag my hand over my face. If Damiano ever finds out, I’m done. The favor won’t materialize. And fuck, I need that favor. I need it because it will free me from the burden I’ve carried ever since I entered this world.
I have to be the one to kill Sal.
Damiano has to let me do it, even though it will put him at risk. If anyone finds out, his claim will be questioned, but no one will find out. I’ll make sure of it. I don’t want the fucking throne. I just need to be the one to squeeze the life out of that son of a bitch.
Resolve hardens my spine. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to get this situation back on track, just like I always do.
The remnants of the tea-induced fog clear from my mind, and with it comes a sinking sensation.
She was crying. I left her therecrying.
