Page 74 of Fate of a Faux

“I can’t keep you.”

Moisture blooms, fogging my vision, but I swallow past it. “I know.” And I do.

I know more than he does that he can’t. For whatever reason that I’m here, I know that even if there was a smidge of him wanting me, me being me and who I am means that could never happen.

Does he know who I am? Who my father was? Is that why he said that?

He whirls me around then, gripping my upper arms as anger builds along his brow.

“Lord Deveraux...” I trail after a moment.

His lip curls and he shoves me away.

A portal appears and then I’m falling....

I scream, my head spinning with one hundred different colors that aren’t on the palette before I'm back in my room. Well, my temporary room.

Instantly, I'm hit with a strange sense of loss. My hand darts out to grip the wall as I take in a deep breath. When anxiety spins around my stomach like acid, I rush to the bathroom.

I don’t know why, but tears fall down my cheeks and I swipe angrily at them.

What the fuck do I have to cry about?

“Get a fucking grip, London!”

I turn on the shower, heading back to the room to grab a pair of pajamas, but come to a complete stop when I find Knight now standing in the center of my room, his chest heaving.

Fear licks down my spine, but it's followed by something else. Something I don’t want to admit.

“I can’t keep you,” he repeats angrily, but with each word, deep creases frame his features. “I don’t want you.”

I nod, eyes trapped in his as he grows closer until he’s right in front of me.

“I fucking hate you,” he rasps.

A sharp pain forms behind my ribs, but as I look at him, it fades.

It fades because ... he’s lying.

I can see it, smell the sour stench his words left behind, but even if I couldn’t, I would know. I can sense it plain as day. I don’t know how, but I can, and I would bet my life on it.

Knight Deveraux doesn’t hate me.

He doesn't hate you because he doesn’t know you...

“Yes, baby. I do.” Torment bleeds from his words and he steps closer. “More than you fucking know.”

My brows crash. “How did you—”

My words are cut off with the sharp bite of his kiss.

I gasp, but all that does is give him the opening he clearly craves. His tongue dives into my mouth, searching, fighting, and he growls, tearing me closer.

“Kiss me back,” he demands.

I want to, but I shouldn't.

“Kiss me back...” This time it’s a desperate plea, one stronger than my will.