Magical Midlife Battle （Leveling Up, #8）(93)

“Or just a bunch of handy people.”

“Or that, I guess.” She leaned into him a bit, rocking her weight from his stomach to his chest, pushing his back harder into those nails. “What is your game here, Tristan? Why are you trying to cut me out of this team? Are you holding a grudge for some reason, or have you gone back to thinking I’m some sort of sprite who wants to cut out your heart?”

“Not a sprite. A beautiful deathwatch angel with hidden talents she is oblivious of.” A devious smile curled his lips. “I like this side of you, little monster. It’s a pity, what with your dreams of fluffy clouds and tire swings, that you can’t see how beautiful it is. But make no mistake, you will cut out my heart. Or rip it out…and keep it as your own. And I will let you do it gladly, at your leisure.”

She showed him her teeth. “You didn’t answer my question.” With one hand on his shoulder, she shook him a little. “Why are you trying to cut me out of this team?”

The glimmer left his eyes, seriousness taking over. He studied her for a long time, his expression patient, his eyes open all the way down to his soul. Something inside her tightened up before a blast of fear shuttered the feeling.

She leaned toward him a little more. “Answer me,” she ground out.

“I’m not. I’m getting my hands dirty so that yours can stay clean.”

She frowned at him, surprised by his answer. “What are you talking about?”

“I see your pain, Natasha,” he murmured, pulling at the ropes a little, straining his hands to get closer to her. “I see your scars. I can’t fix your past, or erase it, but I can smooth out your future so that you have time to heal yourself. I can do for you what you’re trying to do for Brochan. I can take over the darkness in your life so you can walk in the light. I’ll be the monster of nightmares so you can step out of the shadows. So you can finally pursue the perfect life you seek. It is within my power to give that to you, and it is my pleasure to be of service.”

She shook her head, her knife hand starting to shake. “I don’t understand. We’re all in this mess.

Why me? Why are you singling me out? Because you think I’m pretty?”

“I do think you’re pretty. Very. And I think you’re fun and funny, ruthless and smart, broken and haunted. You strike me as a woman who’s given plenty of handouts but not received any. Well, now it’s your turn. I can do all of that for you. If you’ll let me.”

She shook her head again, a rush of emotion coming to the surface. “I don’t believe that. Tell me the real reason.”

“Listen, Natasha—I handled this badly. I’m man enough to admit that. I was trying to help, and an insightful woman with a penchant for surliness—”

He cut off for a brief moment as his body started to shake.

“Ow,” he said, and then started laughing, jubilant and carefree despite being tied up and stuck to nails with a knife to the eye. “Sorry, the scene at the bar went…very differently than how I’d imagined it going. Niamh and Sebastian—”

His laughter was louder this time, completely unabashed.

“I’m actually glad you weren’t there,” he said, a tear slipping down his cheek, “because you probably would’ve had it figured out in minutes, and it was a lot funnier how it went down. I needed the entertainment.”

He sobered, and given she didn’t really know what he was talking about or what to say, she just held the knife as still as she could.

“I’m not trying to cut you out of your team, Natasha,” he said, and she hated how erotic her name sounded coming from his lips. Dark and sexy and so gloriously smooth. “I’m trying to shield you. I remember your tears. Your self-loathing. It haunts me in the same way your past haunts you, whatever happened. I understand the darkness you feel. I understand the things you’ve been made to do—and the way they stick with you. The way you hate yourself for your willingness to do them over again. I know because I’ve lived it. I continue to live it. I’ve made peace with my morally gray life. I thrive in it. But you don’t, and it’s not in me to ignore your pain. Not when I can help you. But I…now realize…that you need to make that choice for yourself. I can shield or even hide you. Or I can stand by you if you want to hold people at knifepoint or ambush them on their doorsteps. Whatever you need, I can give it. Let me.”

Tears ran down her cheeks, and the knife shook so badly that she pulled it away.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, that self-loathing he spoke of pooling within her. “Why would you offer that to me? Why me?”

He shook his head, his eyes seeming to drink her in. “My reasons are my own.”

She blinked, dislodging another tear. “I don’t deserve—”

He ripped his hands forward and down, an incredible show of strength. The cord caught, too strong for him to break, but the pulleys couldn’t handle the pressure. They pulled from the wood,

clanked through the rafters, and fell to the ground, freeing his hands. He unstrung the loosened rope from his neck and discarded it before touching a thumb to her lips and letting the other arm fall around her.

“No more of that,” he told her, lifting his head a little, his breath smelling like chocolate. “No more talking about not deserving something good in your life. I don’t know what happened in the past, Natasha, but the woman I see now is strong and courageous and caring. You constantly look after Sebastian, you build up Brochan, you guard Jessie’s back—”