for him to make use of the crude seat fashioned on a stone ledge across the stone room he’d called home for way too long, and to walk a little around the room.
“Just eat.”
He should be thankful they were now on speaking terms. For the first two months of his captivity she’d treated him to a cold silence—and a blinding headache each time he tried to talk to her.
Or attack her.
He chewed on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then forced the food down his throat. “You know, one day we’ll have a proper meal together, Red. I’m thinking filet mignon and a glass of fine wine.”
“I’m thinking I’d rather hang myself up by hooks in my eyelids than spend one evening with you,” she said, folding her arms and leaning back against the stone wall. He watched as she crossed one long, slender leg over the other. Again, something curled inside him, something he resented, but couldn’t fight. Yeah. Five months, no sex. It screwed with your brain, making the most unsuitable woman seem compellingly attractive. Desirable. Sweet. He met those frosty green eyes again. Maybe not that sweet.
He needed to get out of here. He wanted to get back to work. Being alone with his thoughts was depressing. Too much time to think, to remember. To grieve...to regret. Ugh. He needed to work, otherwise he just sat here in this cold, dank little hole with only his memories and Steve to keep him company. At the thought of the rat he’d befriended, he broke off a portion of his sandwich and tucked it into his jeans pocket for later. She watched his movements, but just like every other day, didn’t query him. Probably thought he was squirreling away afternoon tea. He almost laughed at the suggestion of decorum and propriety in this misery. He took another bite of the sandwich, and chewed slowly, drawing their time together out. She glanced pointedly at her watch, and he grinned.
“If this cuts into your day, Red, you could always release me,” he suggested smoothly. “Just think—you wouldn’t have to spend so much of your culinary talents on me, such as they are. You wouldn’t have to stand and wait, watching me chew every bite...wouldn’t have to watch your back every second you’re down here. Set me free, Red.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of this conversation?”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a conversationalist after being in the dark for so many months.”
Her gaze flicked around the cell. “You brought this on yourself.”
His gaze dropped. Yes, well, he couldn’t argue with that. “Why don’t we start over?” He smiled, calling on his customary charm he knew worked so well with the ladies.
Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened from the wall. “You tried to kill me. There’s no starting over.”
Except for this lady.
He sighed. “How long can you hold a grudge?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Aren’t you bored with this yet? Isn’t it exhausting, keeping me fed and watered, dreaming up new tortures? All that effort...”
She smiled, but it wasn’t a warm, friendly smile, and she stepped closer. “Oh, I still post hate mail to my first ex. That’s since second grade.”
He eyed her. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“Look, I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say it?”
“If you mean it, only once.” The remark was quietly spoken, and gave him pause. Her green gaze was blazingly direct. He ate the rest of his sandwich, forcing the gooey mess down his throat. Her gaze dipped to his throat, then lower, before it flickered away. Not quick enough that he didn’t notice it, though—or the faint bloom of color in her cheeks.
Interesting.
He lifted his hand to indicate the gloomy room. “Trust me, I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Yeah. You’re sorry you’re stuck here. That’s what you’re sorry for.” She turned back to the door, halted, then faced him. “You tried to kill me,” she said, her voice low and shaking with anger.
He held up a finger. “No, I just wanted to destroy your shop,” he corrected her.
Her eyes rounded. “With me in it.”
He winced. “Yeah, well, that was my bad.” He did feel guilty over that. Just a little. Not that he’d let her know.
Her lips firmed, and he focused on her mouth, those full, pouty lips that were pressed together so tightly. “You torched my apothecary. Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me? Or my clients? I have had to turn away people in need because of you.”
He snorted. “Please. You create more damage than you know with your little witchy-woo spells and potions. I spend half my time cleaning up your messes.”
She tilted her head back, her vibrant red curls a blaze of color in the gloomy, torchlit cell. “Oh, that’s right. You’re their doctor.”
He’d have to be blind and deaf to miss her contempt, particularly when she talked about the shadow breeds like some stinky mess she’d stepped in and needed to wipe off her shoe. He smiled dryly. “I’m getting this vibe that you’re not really into the shadow breeds.”
Her smile was brittle and tight, and she stepped away from the wall, strolling slowly toward him. “Werewolves, vampires, shifters...your kind,” she said, casually lifting a hand to indicate him, “you all deserve to die.” She said it so matter-of-factly, he almost didn’t take offense. “You consume humans, with little or no regard for our lives. You all behave as though we are of no consequence, and yet you think the problem is ours when we arm ourselves against you.” She shook her head. “Hypocrite.”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m the hypocrite? You talk as though we’re the only ones capable of evil, yet you create the cruelest weapons for your precious humans to use against the breeds. Do you have any idea what your wolfsbane tisanes do to the intestines, to the stomach or throat? You think we are cruel, yet slipping a toxic corrosive to a living being is all in a day’s work for you.” As a shadow breed healer he’d seen the horrors humans had subjected the shadow breeds to, and had made it his mission to help them. “You’ve held me here for months, starving me of light. That’s the cruelest torture for one of my kind, yet you stand here and spout righteous indignation when you are guilty of doing the same yourself.”
“You are so deluded. You are here because you tried to incinerate me.”
“You’re fine,” he retorted. He still couldn’t figure out how that had happened. “I didn’t even singe you.”
“Only because I had defenses, not because that was your intention,” she snapped, stepping closer. This close, he could see the rosy bloom of anger high on her cheeks.
“And I’ve been paying for it ever since. Let me go. Let me get back to my life, to my work.” Hell, what had happened to his clinic in all this time? Had his brother, Ryder, stepped in? Or did it lie in ruins? Despite what everyone thought, he did care about the business, about what they did. Well, what he did. He had been surprised to discover what his father had been doing... His work was the only good thing about him. If he didn’t have his work, then he really was the selfish, destructive bastard everyone claimed him to be.
He’d be just
