Page 125 of White Hot Kiss
I sighed. “I’m trying not to think about it. It’s not working. I mean...”
“It’s heavy stuff?”
I cracked a smile. “Yeah, it’s pretty heavy.” Poking a slice of banana around, I shook my head. “Zayne, I...”
“What?” he asked after a few seconds.
Looking up, I met his stare before I lost my nerve. “I haven’t been completely honest.”
“Really?” he said drily. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I flushed. “I am sorry, Zayne. Not because I got caught, but because I know it hurt you and it was wrong. I should’ve trusted you.”
“I know.” His hand landed on mine and squeezed gently. “I was pissed—part of me is still pissed—but it is what it is.”
Hoping he still wanted to breathe the same air as I did after he learned what I’d done, I pulled my hand back and cast my eyes to my now-soupy ice cream. I decided to approach it like ripping a Band-Aid off. “I took Petr’s soul.”
Zayne leaned forward, his brows furrowing as if he didn’t quite understand what I’d said, and then he sat back. His hands slid off the table as his throat worked. Silence hit like a bomb.
“I know you sort of guessed it when I came home and I was sick.” My fingers twisted around the spoon. “I was defending myself. He was going to kill me. I didn’t want to. God, it was the last thing I wanted to do, but he just kept coming after me and I didn’t know what else to do. It did something to him, Zayne. He didn’t turn into a wraith like a human would. He morphed, but his eyes were red. I’m so sorry. Please don’t—”
“Layla,” he said quietly. He grabbed the hand clenching the spoon and gentled unraveled my fingers from around the handle. “I know you did it to defend yourself and it wasn’t something you intended to do.”
“But the look on your face,” I whispered.
He smiled, but it was strained. “I was shocked. Like you said, I suspected something, but I thought you might have tasted the soul. I didn’t know it went...all the way.”
Shame was a pail of rusted nails I’d swallowed. I couldn’t help but feel it, even though I knew that I’d most likely be dead if I hadn’t taken his soul, giving me a reprieve until Roth had shown up. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?”
“Oh, Layla, it has nothing to do with me being disappointed. You defended yourself, and I wish you hadn’t needed to. Not because of what you are.” He kept his voice low. “But because I know how sick it makes you. I hate seeing you like that. I hate seeing you like this.”
Using my free hand, I swiped under my eye. God, I was crying.
“See? You’re blaming yourself because of what you did. And I hate that you’re doing that to yourself.”
“But you said I was better than this.”
He flinched. “God, I wish I’d never said that to you. And you know, the way you look at yourself—it’s partly our fault.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sitting back, he lifted his hands. “We raised you to hate that part of you. Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do. I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure of anything.” He thrust his fingers through his hair. “I do know that I’m not disappointed in you. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. Even if you don’t see the true pleasure of Twizzlers dipped in chocolate.”
I choked out a laugh as I blinked back more tears. “Funny.”
His smile was a little more real. “You ready to get out of here?”
Sniffling, I nodded. We gathered up our trash, and once outside, Zayne draped his arm over my shoulders as we walked to where he was parked. It was good to be like this with him, having that connection again. It did wonders, warming that chilled spot in my chest.
Zayne made sure I was tucked safely in the passenger side before he slipped around the front of the car and got in. It made me smile.
Listening to music on the way home, I laughed as Zayne sang along to a pop song on the radio. He was a lot of things, but a singer was not one of them. As we reached the private stretch of road leading to the compound, he glanced over at me. Something foreign was reflected in those eyes—a quality I’d seen before, but I’d never understood what it meant until...until Roth had come along. There was a swelling feeling in my stomach as he turned his gaze back to the road.
“Jesus!” he shouted, slamming on the brakes.
Something landed on the hood of Zayne’s Impala, shattering the windshield.
At first I thought an overgrown gorilla had escaped the zoo and dropped out of one of the many nearby trees. Then I saw the serrated teeth and smelled the sulfur. I screamed—really screamed.