Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
He added, “Besides, if I disclosed this to you, then you would have asked about Maksim, forcing me to continue my lie to you. I don’t want to lie anymore.”
“What about your becoming the vor? Don’t you think that’s a decision we should have made together?”
“You might have talked me out of it, though I can see no way around it.”
“You didn’t even give me a chance to come to the same conclusion? I’ve surprised you before. I’m not il logical—well, except for being with you.”
Pain flared in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want your opinion. But I know that the more I talk to you, the more you will expect me to.”
“You’re right. I would have liked for you to tell me at least the most basic things about your past!”
“Maybe I haven’t wanted to reveal these things because I know it will drive you away! The more I want you, the more I dread this. You’ve seen my dread.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Each night, I’ve been tempted to talk to you. A couple of times I came so close. Then, in the morning I would curse my stupidity, my weakness.” He turned away. “I’ve never been so weak with another. And maybe . . . maybe I blamed you for making me feel like this.”
“Like what?”
He whirled around on me. “Like I’ll die without you! And if my past drives you away, then where does that leave me? Fucking dead ! So why have I also been feeling the need to tell you of the past? It makes no sense!”
“That’s your excuse for your coldness?” After every blissful night, he’d awakened even more resolved to shut me out, blaming me because he’d almost folded? “Let me get this straight. You’ve been a dick to me because you wanted me more than you did before?”
He didn’t deny it.
“God! Again, you’re not giving me a chance. You’re driving me away by not talking to me. You know what? I—give—up. If you dreaded every time I asked about your past, you’re really going to now that I’ve stopped.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you get to keep your secrets.” Fresh tears spilled down my face. “I don’t want them anymore!”
“You want me to confide in you because you think it will fix things in me, heal me. It won’t!” Voice rising with each word, he said, “I will always have these shadows inside me!”
I yelled back, “Damn it, Sevastyan, I never wanted the shadows to disappear—I wanted them to be our shadows!”
His lips parted, eyes filled with bafflement.
“I wanted to know you; not fix you.”
He recovered enough to say, “And what if these shadows show you that you can never have what you want of me? That my past makes it impossible for me to offer you the future you crave.”
I dashed tears away with the back of my hand. “What kind of future do you think I want?”
“A life with a good man.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“But a man is defined by his past,” he said. “Which means I’m a killer. I always will be. There’s nothing I can do to erase that for you. No matter how hard I work or how much I sacrifice, it follows me and always will. How do I keep it from tainting you?”
“I already know about your occupation. I accepted it. I’ve seen you kill twice. Is there more?”
He shot to his feet, pacing again. Why would he answer that? If he equated his revelations with the end of our relationship, he wouldn’t. Not unless he accepted that it would end if he didn’t tell me.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me! I never told Paxán these things, and he came to trust me. To love me. Why can it not be the same with you?” Sevastyan was angling for his own self-preservation. “Why can’t you just pretend my past is a blank void?” Under his breath, he said bitterly, “That’s what I do.”
“I can’t pretend. I have to know.”
He stabbed his fingers through his hair, yanking at the ends. “Natalie, I need you . . . I need you not to know me. And still stay.”
“I swear to you that will not happen.”
He dropped his hands. “Goddamn it, it must!”
I shook my head, my tears drying. “Sevastyan . . .”
He faced me and stood motionless, as if awaiting a gallows drop.
“. . . I’m already gone.” I rose to dress.
He clutched at his throat as if starving for air. “Don’t speak like that!” He lunged forward to clutch my shoulders. “Look at me. Look at me!”
His eyes appeared full black. “I will tell you that I’ve killed many sons, many fathers. I started at the age of twelve.”
I held my breath.
“The first father I killed was my own.”
CHAPTER 44
Sevastyan’s admission rocked me. Not only because of what he’d said, but because of the shame emanating from him.
He released his grip on my shoulders. “Say something, Natalie.” He was waiting for my disgust—and he had zero doubt he would receive it.
Little as I knew about Sevastyan, at least one trait had been made clear: his unwavering loyalty toward those he loved. Considering that he’d been only twelve when this had happened, and he’d hinted that things had been bad with his alcoholic father, I had to believe he’d been defending himself. “Your father must’ve left you no choice.”
Sevastyan did a double take, seeming shocked that I hadn’t run from the room. “How can you say that? Did you not hear me? I’ve just confessed to . . . patricide.”
“I saw how you were with Paxán. You would’ve been devoted to any father who was worthy of it.”
Sevastyan sat at the foot of the bed, then stood abruptly, only to sit once more. The pain inside this man! Some mechanism deep within is broken.
“Tell me the circumstances.”
Narrowing his gaze, he bit out, “I got my father to the top of the stairs in our home, looked him in the eye, and pushed him, knowing he would likely die.”