Darknight(104)

My heart started to thump painfully in my chest, but I forced myself to sound calm as I replied, “What isn’t?”

“This. Us.”

I inhaled, then turned to face him. He was still standing next to the dining room table, one hand resting on top of his jacket where it hung over the back of the chair. The puffiness from his bloody nose was gone, but there were bruised-looking shadows under his eyes. Even so, he was so beautiful it hurt me to look at him.

Or maybe that wasn’t why it hurt.

“I know it’s been hard, but — ”

“Hard?” A short laugh, one with absolutely no humor in it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Bad enough to lose my brother, to inherit his power and this clan and everything that goes along with. But then to have to look at you, to see what you did every time I look into your eyes — ”

Something was blocking my throat, making it hard to speak. A monolith of unshed tears, like a wedge between me and sound. But somehow I got the words out. “You said you understood why it had to be done.”

“I thought I did understand. I thought I’d be — well, not okay with it, but accepting. Or something. But I can’t.” He pushed a hand through his hair. It had been cut only the day before, so it wasn’t quite as unruly as it normally would have been, but he still managed to make it look more or less disheveled. “I look at you, and I see him dying. I can’t get the image out of my mind. And I think the only way I might ever be able to is if I don’t have to look at you.”

Cold, so cold, as if every single icy day of that bitter winter had somehow commingled and invaded both my body and soul. At least I didn’t have to worry about crying now, because that cold had completely frozen my tears. “Are you telling me to leave?”

“I’m — shit. Yes. Maybe. I need some time. I need to not be around you for a while.” He wasn’t quite looking at me as he said this, but I didn’t know if that was simply because I reminded him of Damon’s death…or because he didn’t want to see my pain.

“Fine. I’ll go.” I couldn’t meet his gaze, either, not and maintain my dignity. I walked past him and went up the stairs, taking them one at a time, slowly, deliberately, wondering whether there had always been so many of them. First to the guest room, to retrieve the duffle bag and the suitcase I’d brought with me from my brief visit to Jerome, and then over to our room — Connor’s room — to pack my things. My gaze fell on the concho belt he’d given me for my birthday, and that lump in my throat seemed to double in size. I choked, and shoved the belt toward the back of the drawer. No way was I taking that with me, not when it would remind me of him every time I looked at it.

A side trip to the bathroom to get some toiletries and other odds and ends, and then I was packed. I heard feet out in the hallway, and saw Connor standing there.

“What?” I demanded. “I’ll be out of here soon enough.”

“No, it’s not that — ” The words stumbled and fell over themselves. I could see the guilt in his face, as if he knew he shouldn’t be doing this but couldn’t stop himself. “I mean, I can take you home.”

Oh, no. No way. Sitting next to him for more than an hour as he drove me back to Jerome? Not going to happen…especially if he thought by doing so he could somehow assuage his guilt at abandoning me. “It’s all right. I’ll call someone to get me.”

“But — ”

“I said it was fine.” I picked up the suitcase and duffle bag, and pushed past him so I could go downstairs. My purse was still sitting on the dining room table, so I slung that over my shoulder, and then pulled the green wool coat Marie had bought me out of the closet. I’d put it on later, after I was out of here. I didn’t want to delay for even the minute it would take me to put down my purse so I could button up the coat.

When I shut the closet door, Connor was standing in the hall. “You should really let me take you home.”

Anger flared in me then, a heat that began to melt the ice in my core. “I don’t want any favors from you, Connor Wilcox.”

And I marched to the door, opened it, and let myself out. When I was about halfway down the corridor that led to the street, I realized he wasn’t going to come after me. Holding back tears, I went out to the street, then paused for the briefest moment, looking up at the apartment. I saw a pale, sad face at the window, and realized it was Mary Mullen, staring down at me. She lifted a hand in farewell, and disappeared.

It was dark by then. Across Route 66 was the Amtrak station. It seemed as good a place to go as any.