Chapter 30

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Ah, classic.

Briar

Allowing Rowan to micromanage a date was a bad idea. I should have been more specific about what I wanted. Which was a quiet restaurant meal with enough normal people to witness a very casual sort of conversation, ending with mutual understanding and agreement.

Rowan and I cannot continue like this.

I let this situation between us get out of hand, and it needs to stop now.

Or…maybe it needs to stop right after this horrible, no good, rotten movie…

"That's a lot of blood," Rowan murmurs beneath me, since I am currently using his entire body for emotional support in this empty theater he decided to rent out. Hand to his chin, he looks like a sexy scientist, analyzing the guts and gore on the massive screen behind me. "She should already be dead."

Shuddering as screams fill the dark room, I bury my face against Rowan's chest and breathe in the safe, rusty scent of him. "I hate you," I whisper.

He chuckles. "No, you don't."

Those three soft words belong anywhere but here while some deranged murdering spirit derived vaguely from mythology strings people up in trees for no feasible reason. "You've done this on purpose. You're the worst."

"I assure you your full-body reaction leaves me genuinely shocked."

The music pounds, tempo heightening, and my heart lurches up my throat. Gunshots. More screams.

"Look, Briar, they're shooting the incorporeal being now, as though that will work." He rubs circles into my back. "Often, I find the realistic display of human idiocy to be the most disturbing factor in these sorts of films."

"Why do you like horror movies?" I whisper.

"They're funny."

"Funny?"

"And predictable." His chest fills, and his arms solidify around me before he whispers, "How I've missed holding you."

My heart—which is currently unstable at best—stumbles around where it's lodged in my throat. He's a monster. An absolute monster. He plotted this. How dare he deduce that I was ready to officially break up with him and make it impossible to separate myself from him?

The shrill, piercing sound of the thing's harrowing call sends a prickle all the way up my spine. "Rowan, I want to go home. Now."

"No."

"Please."

He kisses my temple. "Absolutely not. I've never enjoyed myself more."

"Rowan…" My voice is weak, wobbly, all the things it never should be, least of all in front of another person.

Purely conversational, Rowan says, "To think a cliché movie date could be so fun."

I am going to cry.

Broken, I plead, "Please, Rowan. I don't like this. Take me home now. Please."

He chuckles—it's a deep, alluring, wicked sound—and it turns my spine into jelly. "Baby, it's okay." His fingers slip through my hair. "You're overreacting."

He's actually gaslighting me right now.

He thinks this is hilarious.

"You are morbid. And dreadful. A-and the worst." I sniffle. "I'm never going on a date with you again."

His finger traces down my spine, and I never want to leave. Never. "Uh-huh," he murmurs, breath skimming through the strands of my hair. "What do you think they use to make the entrails? All CGI? Props?"

He is a complete and utter monster.

"There's miles of the stuff. It has to be CGI, right? Where would they store such a large prop?" Absently, he kisses the top of my head. "Just remember who between us wants to keep fingers in jars."

"Fingers are cute. Entrails are gross." Being hunted is terrifying. Supernatural monsters have no humanity to exploit. Horror movies are built around hopelessness. Even if you do everything right, even if you win, there's still a bad ending.

Life is a horror movie, and I hate bleak reminders.

"You are a true mystery, princess."

A blood-curdling scream pierces through my skull, so I cover my ears and curl closer.

Lifting one hand off my ear, Rowan says, "When you think about it, the people are in the wrong here. Nobody knows about the monster, so it's not leaving its territory. It's not like it's trying to destroy mankind. They invaded its woods. This reaction to uninvited guests is perfectly justified."

"That is the most introverted thing you have ever said. Could it not have asked them politely to leave?"

"They saw blood on the trees and kept walking."

"They were lost! It could have given them directions!"

Rowan lets loose the fullest laugh I've ever heard escape him. "If I'm ever lost in the woods and I see blood on the trees, I'm turning around. Clearly, toward the blood is not back to my campsite."

I whimper. "This was a bad idea."

"This was the best idea." His thumb settles low on my back, circling each dimple through the tight fabric of my dress.

I chill. Thoroughly.

Humor lilts in his tone, positively heinous. "Are you falling apart for me, Briar?"

"Shut up. How much longer do I have to endure this torture?"

"It's almost over. Everyone's almost dead. All we're waiting on now is the eerie sensation that we're next."

I swear, grip his shirt, and bury my nails through the fabric, into his scarred abdomen.

His fingers tuck beneath my skirt, against my thigh, and I straighten, loosening my grip in his flesh.

"That's right. Behave," he murmurs. "I can feel the prick of your nails in about seventeen different places, which, no, is not any kind of deterrent."

I am going to kill him and string his entrails up in the trees around The Giungla. Then, I'll keep a cute jar of his fingers in my room and then…and then… I bury my face against his neck, listening to the chorus of terror blaring in the darkness swallowing us up.

I missed him so much more than words can express.

Which makes everything else that has to happen today so much harder.

Peeling myself away from him by just a few inches, I find his eyes and discover they're one hundred percent centered on me. He's not even watching the movie. He's just watching how I react to the horrid combination of it and him.

The sensation of him consumes me whole. His body, beneath me. His breath, on me. His fingertips, tracing the hem of my dress. His thumb, circling the dips at the base of my back.

He looks drugged.

A shriek interrupts my daze, and I jolt.

Lazily, his gaze glides from me to the screen, then back to me. "Credits." His hand on my thigh skims up to my face, cups my cheek, and teases a lock of my hair around his finger. "You missed all the good parts."

I don't think I've ever seen him more delighted.

"You're loving this, aren't you?" I hiss.

"Immensely."

"Bad pet."

"Good princess." He kisses my forehead, and my stomach erupts—packed full of butterflies.

Huffing, I cross my arms and plop against his chest. "I'll never sleep again."

"Oh no." He cuddles me. Horrid creature. "What a travesty."

"I expected a nice date. Maybe the zoo."

"Too hot. Are you aware you're wearing all black?"

"Iced tea and perusing shops downtown."

"Nothing more romantic than capitalism."

"I agree."

His teeth flash in the credit light when he grins.

Something in my chest pinches.

He's genuinely thrilled to be here—with me. These past two weeks must have been awful for him. And now, because things have gone so wrong and left me unexpectedly vulnerable, he thinks I've chosen him.

When I haven't.

When I can't.

Taking a deep breath, I stand. Before he has a chance to follow, I slam my boot against the backrest, by his head, and lean in close. "Just so you know, I'm firmly grounded in reality. Nothing real scares me."

Eerie calm holds his expression in a vice grip. "What's all this? Are your control preferences acting up again? Don't you know control is an arbitrary concept essentially absent in a healthy relationship?"

"Are you suggesting we have a healthy relationship?"

"On the spectrum of my past affairs, it is among the most high-functioning."

I stare at him, eyes narrowed. "We don't use functioning labels anymore. They're a terrible indica…"

He tilts his head back, blissful, and watches me connect the dots. Like a jerk.

Refined, I mutter, "There's nothing more annoying than someone who's self-aware."

His hand locks around my ankle and squeezes. "Does standing like this give you a false sense of superiority, princess?"

"None of my senses of superiority are false. Thank you very much." I lean in deeper. "I'm just showing you how flexible I am, pet."

Rowan's cheeks tint in the dim yellow hue of the side lights as they brighten. "Impressive. But the only thing you're really showing me, is your underwear."

"Deal with it."

Eyes firmly on mine, he puffs a laugh. "Trying to."

Graceful, I mutter, "You thought I liked horror, didn't you?"

"Sincerely."

What an unhappy accident.

All of this is.

I thought I'd given myself enough time to come to my senses, but now that we're back together, it's as though Rowan's possessed every fiber of my being. I'm floating. And no exorcist could hope to unweave our cells.

Slowly, I lift a finger to his cheek, trace the cut of his bone to his ear, and circle the shell.

His throat bobs. He whispers a breathless curse.

I have never seen anyone so beautiful.

Every line around his eyes. The more-defined creases between his brows. The darkening gleam in his irises. The way his pupils swallow them up the longer he watches me peruse him.

He's…in love with me.

The truth hits me solidly in the chest, sending my heart thudding painfully into my ribs. I pull my hand away, free my ankle, and step back. Standing in the narrow space between our row of seats and the row just below us, I wash cold, flesh prickling.

He's in love with me.

Since…when?

How deep does it go?

I've told him the horrid truth about me. He knows I fabricate everything to suit each person I meet. I win people over with lies. I'm as fake as they come.

So much so, I'm not even sure I exist.

I shouldn't have opted to make this so elaborate—yet again. From the start, Rowan's been simpler than all my schemes. He would have appreciated a direct conversation without any fanfare. And I should have given it to him. Except…except I was scared.

I was terrified that if I tried to end anything just the two of us…I wouldn't have been able to do it.

Because…maybe…I don't really want to.

Before I get a chance to sort through what that thought means, Rowan stands, grabbing my hand.

A spark of heat shoots up my arm.

Turning on his heel, he drags me after him.

"What are you—"

"Our date's not over. I still have two and a half hours, so I'm going to feed you now."

My heart thunders in time with each harsh click of my heels. "Rowan, slow down. Please. We need to talk. I don't know about all this. I'm in over my head and…"

"Okay." He reaches the exit doors. When he shoves them open, the blistering sun sears my eyes.

"Okay?" I stammer as his pace doesn't slow. "Okay, what?"

He stops abruptly, and I ram into his back.

Squinting, I locate the sculpted angles of his handsome, handsome face as he twists toward me. Burning light bathes his form, turning everything beyond him into sheets of paper white. "You're in over your head." He cups my chin roughly in his hand. "That's okay… So drown."