I couldn’t keep her.

Sex for me would forever be tainted. It was better for everyone if I abstained for the rest of my life. If I had to choose between pleasure and insanity or celibacy and forgetfulness, then I would choose a blank memory each time.

In a couple of years, all of this nonsense would be forgotten. I wouldn’t remember a girl with strength in her arms and seduction in her eyes. I wouldn’t recall her name or how her tongue felt on my cock.

She would be yet another hollow void inside me, keeping me safe from my past.

Get it over with.

Pushing to my feet, I curled my hands.

No more procrastinating.

Today was her last day. No more favors. No more surviving.

I’m done.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WHEN THE DOOR OPENED, I knew something had changed.

There was no lust in his eyes. No food in his hands. No challenge or dominance in the way he stepped over the threshold.

There was only acceptance, grim determination, and a coldness that slinked through the air and settled like frost upon my skin.

“Get up.” He waved his hand as if through sheer will he could levitate me to my feet.

I sucked in a breath at the emptiness in his tone. His long hair hung damply to his shoulders. His bare feet were dusty and smudged, while his slacks were stained with pollen and wherever else he’d been. His chest was naked, revealing glistening sweat and the undeniable scent of a male who’d been physically active.

Pushing to my feet, I dropped my gaze to his hands. One looked bruised with a fresh scab that’d barely stopped bleeding. On instinct, I stepped toward him. “What happened to your hand?”

He grunted and backed up. “Doesn’t matter.” Stepping aside, he pointed at the open door. “Ladies first.”

Undiluted fear injected into my veins. “Where...where are you taking me?”

His forehead furrowed, and he shook his head as if his patience regarding me had run out. “You wanted sunlight. I’m giving you sunlight.”

I didn’t move. “You’re taking me to a bedroom upstairs?”

He swallowed, his throat moving with sinew and power. “No.”

“To the library?”

“No.”

“To the living room?”

“No.” Crossing his arms, his nostrils flared. “Move. We’re running out of time.”

Goosebumps prickled and stayed on high alert as his biceps bunched. He attempted to look unruffled and unaffected, but he’d forgotten I could read him well. And beneath his masked deception lurked the truth. The jumpy adrenaline. The twitchy need to get whatever this was over and done with.

He hasn’t asked for a sexual favor. He hasn’t given me the option to serve and survive another day.

More ice layered the frost already on my skin.

He’s finished with this.

With me.

How I knew, I didn’t fully understand. Was it in the torment in his eyes? Was it in the tension in his body? He’d changed, and there was no hint of the man who’d fed me, almost kissed me, and sometimes showed a heartbreakingly vulnerable pain buried deep within.

This man was locked and chained. His silvery scars seemed to shimmer in the light, bringing forth persecution instead of pleasure.

I backed against the wall. “On second thought, I’ll stay. Tomorrow, once you’ve gotten some sleep, perhaps—”

“Not tomorrow. Today.” He snapped his fingers. “Come.” Striding toward me, he bared his teeth. “You only have two choices. Walk out of here by your own free will or be dragged out by your hair.”

I froze. My eyes tangled with his, searching, seeking, desperately trying to understand where our little deal had gone wrong. “Did I do something to offend you?”

He chuckled blackly. “Of course. Your very presence offends me.”

I flinched. “Yet you came quite happily by my hand...and my mouth.”

His eyes turned dark; his brow lowered. “Two mistakes I’m about to rectify.”

“I’m not a mistake. I’m real. I’m human. I have a heartbeat. A home. A family!”

“And I used to have those things.” He shrugged. “Didn’t stop bad things from happening to me.” Reaching out, he grabbed my wrist.

I snatched it out of his hold. “Don’t touch me.”

“Then do as I say.” Stepping away, he pointed at the door again. “Move.”

I moved.

If only to give myself time to figure out what the hell had happened.

Keep him talking.

As I stepped from the cell, my back crawled as he followed on my heels. Glancing over my shoulder, I asked, “Where did you go before? I was prepared to do what you asked. I ate the food you gave me and I’m grateful. I’m grateful enough that I would’ve pleasured you—”

“Enough.” He winced and worked out his bruised and bleeding hand.

“What happened?”

He scowled. “I was reminded of something.”

“Of what?”

“Of why I like to live alone.”

“No one should live alone. I live alone, and it sucks.”

He looked up, catching my stare. “I should. I did. And I will again.”

My heart lurched. “What does that mean?”

He didn’t reply, waiting for me to scale the steps before pointing down the hallway to the kitchen. My knees quaked as I went where he directed. Common sense told me it’d only been a few days since I’d entered this house, but somehow, it felt as if a year had gone by. As if the kitchen was an old friend and the threshold was a hug from the last piece of safety I’d ever know.

“Get outside.” His anger pushed me forward.

As my socked feet stepped from inside to out and daisies crushed beneath my soles, the scrape of metal on stone ripped my head around.

Oh, shit.

“Hey...wait.” I held up my hands, backing away as fast as I could. “Please. You said you wouldn’t. You agreed.”

He hefted the heavy shovel in his hands. “I agreed to a day-by-day basis. Yesterday, it pleased me to keep you alive. Today, it does not.” The tonelessness of his voice petrified me.

It was as if he’d buried every part of himself that made him care. He looked trapped. Utterly, horribly trapped and controlled by things he couldn’t break free of.

Even now, even when faced with my murderer, I suffered a pang of sympathy.

I spread my arms as if to embrace him—cruelty and confusion and all. “You want to be alone again? Okay. Fine, I’ll leave. Right now. You’ll never have to see me or anyone else again.”

“You’re determined. I’ll give you that.” He squeezed his eyes closed as if my voice physically hurt him. “But you’re not leaving. Not by your method, at least.” Opening his gaze, he pointed the shovel in my face. “Now, walk. Get away from my house.”

My heart tripped over itself in panic. “Please...whatever your name is. Please, don’t do this.” God, why hadn’t I pushed for his name? Why didn’t I try harder to connect with him? He needed connection. He needed something.

He needs help.

“Walk.” Striding toward me, he pushed the edge of the shovel into my chest. “Enjoy the sun. Look upon my valley. Don’t spend your last moments begging.”