Yet, maybe it’s better that way.
“What do you want, Isa? To know if I’m crazy? The Mad Son everyone claims I am? The answer is yes. But then, that was never really a secret, was it?”
Feet still glued to the same spot, she shakes her head. “I never believed the rumors. It was your mother who told me about the hallucinations of your friend. Jude?”
Leave it to my mother to perpetuate the very rumors she feared back then. I stare back at Isa, my throat suddenly dry and parched, and I reach for the decanter to pour myself another drink.
“She told me he died when you were very young,” she adds, finally taking a step closer.
Gaze buried in the liquor, I lick my lips, the scent of the bourbon already puckering my tongue, while an image of Jude’s face comes to mind. “It used to be the mere mention of him would incite flashbacks. That awful sound of his screams over the crashing of waves. The look of fear in his eyes when he reached out for me, as the waves swept him to sea. I’d end up blacking out. Don’t even know how long.” I finally take a sip from my glass, letting warm liquid slide down my throat. “If not for the pictures I have from when we were young, I’d wonder if he was ever even real.”
“Why do you say that?”
A quiet chuckle escapes me as I swirl my drink. “I don’t think you want down that rabbit hole, Isa. It’s dark, and there is no bottom.”
“Try me.” The resolution in her eyes is remarkably attractive somehow. Almost fearless.
“All right. Solange was … an affliction of a different sort. Unlike Jude, she never actually existed. Yet, she taught me things that, to this day, are very real for me.” I study her reaction for a moment, waiting for that familiar flicker of disbelief.
Instead, the intensity of her stare speaks of intrigue. Fucking intrigue.
“What kinds of things?”
Forget that I just told her I dreamed an imaginary woman who taught me things, she wants to know what.
“An appreciation for the line that separates life and death.”
“The reason you seek out an adrenaline rush.” It’s not a question from her, but rather my unspoken confession.
“Yes. She taught me breath play and knives.”
If I could crack open her skull right now, I’d probably hear the blare of a warning, telling her to run.
“You still see her? This Solange?”
“Only when my head is in a messed up place.”
She looks away, still fidgeting. “I put you in that place. When I asked about your son.”
I don’t answer that. “This is why I warned you to stay away. Welcome to my crazy.”
“Your mother said she tried to help you.”
With a snort of laughter, I tip my glass for another sip of liquor, needing the buzz, all of a sudden. “Yes, she tried to help me. By putting me in a place that sought to cure my sexual deviances. The only thing they managed to cure was my desire to live.”
Frowning, she shakes her head and crosses her arms. “I don’t care. I don’t care that you have hallucinations. I don’t care that you like knives, and whatever else they considered to be crazy. None of that matters to me.”
What the ever-loving hell is wrong with this girl?
“While I appreciate your sentiments, this is the universe telling you to walk away.” I polish off the rest of my drink and set the glass on my desk. “Heed the warning.”
She lurches toward me, but stops herself. “I don’t give a damn what the universe, or anyone else, thinks. I make my own decisions.”
Her tenacity is something else. If I wasn’t so caught up in the humiliation of her having seen one of my little episodes, I’d take her against my desk right now. “Leave. You’ll be grateful I spared you the heartache later.”
“What heartache?”
“Of knowing I’m the kind of selfish bastard who will fuck you before I push you over a cliff.” I don’t want to do this, but this girl is as stubborn as they come. The truth is, I don’t have the courage to watch her fall apart, when she realizes that Blackthornes aren’t designed to whisper sweet words and fall in love. We annihilate, and revel in the aftermath of destruction. My mother is a fine example of that. My father could’ve left her, but the sadistic bastard got off on watching her slow death. The whole purpose of Schadenfreude is to prove that level of bastardry is genetic, and it’s clear I’ve not been spared, so why would I subject Isa to that? A teenager who has her whole life ahead of her. A whole slew of broken hearts and true love.
“So, what happened in the courtyard earlier …”
“Was fun.”
“Fun.” The lack of humor in her voice is telling of the rage and confusion that must be clamoring inside of her.
I want nothing more than to sweep her off her feet like the white knight she’s probably dreamed about since she was a little girl, but to what end? So she can be as miserable as my mother? As miserable as Amelia was? Like a bird trapped inside a box with no holes to breathe.
Gaze lowered, she shakes her head. “I don’t get you, Lucian. I want to, but I don’t.”
“You’re not the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
“So you … you want nothing to do with me.”
That couldn’t be farther from the truth, but I answer with more lies. “I want to do a number of things to you, but that’s all, I’m afraid.”
“And what if I was okay with that?”
This girl. This excruciatingly beautiful, exotic girl who has my dick ready to tear through the zipper right now.
“I’d think you were a very foolish girl.”
Lips pressed together, she nods. “Well … you’re not the first, and I doubt you’ll be the last.” She finally backs herself toward the door. “For the record? Aside from the mishap with your mother, tonight was the best night of my life,” she says, and she spins around toward the elevator.
Every muscle in my body is wound tight, listening to the evidence of her retreat. The ding of the elevator. The sniffles. The sliding of the doors. My opportunity to have her slipping out of my grasp.
The moment she’s gone, I pour myself another drink, hand trembling with fury.
This is my curse. The legacy my father left behind, of mindless sex and misery.
I raise the glass for a sip, teeth grinding inside my skull, but slam it against the desktop so the liquid splashes out onto the wood.
Screwing my eyes shut, I succumb to the visual inside my head. The look of ecstasy on Isa’s face, her legs wrapped around my body, her moans echoing off the walls.
I need her out of my system, out of my head. Every waking thought is wrapped around this girl, strangling my opposition, begging me for one taste. One touch.
I want the forbidden. I want the one thing that irritates me more than anything. The one thing I shouldn’t want.
Isa.
Chapter 40
Isadora
A soft tickle down my leg rips me out of dreams, and I slide the blade from beneath my pillow, kicking my feet back. In the blackness of my room, the knife hits something, and I keep it propped there while scrambling for the lamp beside me. The chain brushes my fingertips, and I give a hard yank, the darkness blinking to light.