tand him?”
That was part of it. A small part of it. But it was the easiest place to start. It would be better to keep this as straightforward as possible. For both of them. “Yes,” he ground out.
Her gaze swept the laboratory. “Before you try to wipe him out?” she whispered. “So you can take notes, complete spreadsheets, and draw your conclusions prior to cutting out half of what you are? You’ve been so careful to keep him locked up inside, now you want me to help you draw him out? Why?”
Frustration rose up. “What choice do I have? Do I want to be a fucking monster? Hell, no. None of us do.” He looked at her, holding nothing back. “But the antidote development is going nowhere. If I can’t cure us, the only other option I have is protecting them.”
She stared at him, silent for a long time.
“You could help me—”
“Help you? Is that why you brought me here? To test your antigen on me? To cure me?” Her words were flat. “If it kills me, at least I’d die for something you believe in.” She frowned up at him. “Versus something worth dying for.”
“You can’t believe that?” The vein in his head throbbed, tightening. “You don’t believe that?”
“No?” she asked.
“You are too important to me.” What the fuck did that mean? He wasn’t sure. And, the look on her face, told him she wasn’t happy with his response, either.
Her brows rose. “Because I have answers you want,” she whispered, pulling her hands from him.
“Yes, you know things I don’t. I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that doesn’t matter. It does.” He cleared his throat. “It’s more. And you know it. You feel it. I’m supposed to happy about the connection that’s forming between us? That having a weakness is okay?” he countered, refusing to give in to her. This was ridiculous. He would keep on fighting, for both their sakes. Even if she didn’t approve.
“I am not your weakness.” Her eyes narrowed. “You fight what you are. You deny your instincts and your power. That is your weakness. What is between us would make both of us stronger.”
Her words rolled over him, tempting him. She had no idea how she made him feel. She saw him as she wanted him to be—a wolf. Damn her, but she made him want it. All of it. The mate, the wolf, the pack. Her, at his side. It was right. Strong and vital. He pushed out of his chair, furious with himself. And her. “It’s that easy? I give in to this and everything will make sense? You believe that?”
She was on her feet, eyes flaming, and hands fisted tightly. “You stupid man. Give in? My mate would see me as a prize not a burden to be endured.”
God but her fury was glorious. His gaze lingered on the scar bracketing her left eye—tattooed with a crescent moon. The only scar on her face. He wanted to trace the scar, kiss the corner of her eye, slide his fingers through her short, silky locks, and let her scent drown him. It was all he wanted. Now.
“You insult me then stand, silently, staring?” Her anger only fueled his hunger.
“That was not my intent,” he managed, stepping closer. “You push and push—”
She braced herself against his chest. “Because you are a fool.”
His hands gripped her wrists… The thrum of her pulse beneath his fingertips. Her scent wrapping around him. “I am,” he ground out, before crushing her against him. He released her wrists to clutch her hips. There was nothing hesitant about him. The need to have her wound about him was all that mattered.
“You think I’d have you now?” She raged, wriggling against him. “You cannot have me.” She pushed out of his hold. “You don’t deserve me.”
He released her, instantly stepping back. She was right. He didn’t deserve her. There had been panic in her eyes, fear. And it unleashed a tidal wave of self-loathing. Whatever sensations she experienced with him, fear wouldn’t be one of them.
“I want to leave.”
“I’ll call Mal,” he managed, feeling like an ass. They’d formed some sort of truce on the flight there—one he’d shattered in the span on five minutes. She rattled him, deeply, stirring shit that he wasn’t prepared for. The need to touch her. The blinding sense of ownership. What the fuck was that about?
He didn’t know how or why she was tied to all of this. Items that spoke to her—items he’d collected, undeniably drawn to, over the years. Somehow he’d known they were important. It was getting harder to dismiss her whole fate theory as a pile of shit when everything seemed to indicate she was right. They were, in some weird cosmic way, together for a purpose.
Could he buy into that? Accept that she was essential to his wolf and to him?
He cleared his throat. “I’ve got some work to do here before I can leave.”
She nodded, tearing her gaze from his and turning her attention to the specimens that lined every shelf and counter space in the lab.
He texted Mal, then sat at his desk, straightening the piles of paper with unsteady hands. The numbers and notations on the page were blurred, his attempts to focus failing. What would she do if she knew what he was thinking? That she’d broken through his resistance and made him feel something for her.
“Tomorrow,” she said, coming to stand by his desk. “One item at a time.”