A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(37)

“Abe.” I wince. How did my relatively inexperienced dating life suddenly become so complicated? “I’m not trying to lead you on,” I tell him, my voice twinging in what sounds like pity. But it’s the truth. I don’t want to hurt him. “You said we wouldn’t end up hating each other.”

He stares into his lap. “I lied. So what is it about him?”

Now I’m uncomfortable. “I really don’t know him, Abe. And I don’t think—”

“Shh . . .” he murmurs, lifting his head. His eyes are dark and deep, and when he starts talking, his voice is silky. “You’re too tired to argue with me tonight,” he says.

The minute the words are out of his mouth, I feel a sudden heaviness, like all my exhaustion hits at once. “Oh, whoa.” I sway, leaning into the couch cushion. Each time I blink, my eyelids stay closed a little longer.

“Come here,” Abe says, taking my arm gently to lay me across his lap. As he brushes my hair back from my forehead, it occurs to me that this is wrong. I don’t understand what’s happening.

Abe takes the knit blanket from the back of the sofa and covers me, taking care as if tucking me in. His fingers begin twisting strands of my hair. “Who is he, Elise?”

“Harlin,” I breathe out, almost like I’m calling for him.

Abe’s hand stops in my hair, and I begin to drift away. The peace of sleep beckoning me. “Let me help you to bed,” he says. I can barely keep my eyes open as he picks me up, carrying me down the hall. Abe murmurs as he walks, the words not quite recognizable. I feel my bed underneath me, the sheets icy and the mattress soft.

Abe slides in next to me, covering us both with the blanket. “Don’t,” I manage to say, even as Abe curls up behind me. He shouldn’t be in my bed. “My dad will be home.”

“No,” Abe says. “He and Lucy will be out until after midnight. Your dad’s car got a flat tire, no cell reception. They’re fine, don’t worry. But we’re alone.”

Even though sleep is the only thing I consciously want, I know inside that this isn’t right. I try to crawl away, but Abe reaches to pull me effortlessly to him, his chest pressed against my back, his lips on my neck.

“Don’t fight,” he says into the skin there. “I just want to talk. Now tell me.” He traces a finger over my temple, down my cheek. “How do you really know that Seer? You’re not his Forgotten. So why is he trying to take you from me?”

I’m confused that Abe knows about the Forgotten, that he uses the same words as Marceline. But I answer him anyway. “I’m not yours to keep,” I respond, my eyelids fluttering closed.

He laughs as if that’s a silly thing for me to say. Then he kisses my hair, my ear, my cheek. “Do you love me, Elise?”

“No.”

He pauses, his grip tightening around my waist. “Do you love him?”

I think of Harlin, how handsome he looked on his motorcycle, waiting for me. The sadness surrounding him that I want to make go away.

“Do you love him?” Abe asks again, his voice smooth and inviting.

“Yes,” I say finally, a smile crawling across my lips. “I love him.”

Abe’s hands slide to my neck, his fingers wrapping around my throat, but not squeezing. His body shakes with the anger radiating off his body, chilling mine. But I’m not scared.

I’m too tired to fight with him tonight.

“Well then,” Abe says after a moment, his hands leaving my neck to rub my shoulders. “Harlin is a dead man.”

CHAPTER 16

I’m in her vision again. I see Onika as she stares down at the city—her blond hair blowing in the cool wind of the afternoon. A smile touches her lips, and it sets me at ease. I wonder if she’s found a kind of peace.

The rooftop door opens, but this time it’s not Rodney. It’s a younger guy, about twenty or so, with short blond hair and a sharp jaw. He’s handsome and distinguished looking in a tan jacket and loafers.

“Onika,” he calls, his British accent twinged with concern. “What are you doing up here? It’s freezing.”

“Is it?” she asks, peeking over her shoulder at him. “I can’t feel it anymore.”

The guy stops, cutting off his walk toward her as if he’s scared. She senses it. “What, lover?” she asks. “Do I frighten you now?”

He doesn’t flinch from her words, only holds her cold gaze. “Yes.”

“I can’t go back, Monroe. I made the choice and the light won’t have me. What do you suggest?”

Monroe swallows hard, kicking at the cement with the toe of his shoe. “I told you not to,” he says quietly. “I told you—”

“Well, it’s too goddamn late now, isn’t it?” she snaps. “Can you not bear the sight of me?” She stomps across the roof, her heels clacking with menace. “Have you stopped loving me now that I’m not your precious Forgotten?”

She stops directly in front of him, but Monroe keeps his eyes downcast.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he says. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved—which is why I tried to let you go. I didn’t want this. I never would have wanted this for you.” He lifts his head. “But I know what you are now. I know what you’ve done, what you will do. I saw you whisper to that woman, heard you tell her to . . . kill herself. She did, you know? I saw it in the paper today.” His blue eyes fill with tears and his hand twitches as if he’s about to reach for Onika, but instead he balls it into a fist at his side. “You did that,” he says. “Can’t you see that you’ve become a monster?”