"I know you won't."
They ate in quiet, Declan's body humming with restless energy that made him want to live in the gym, until he was able to shake it off. He welcomed change, though he wished it was metered out instead of happening all at once.
At least the worst would be over with quickly. The revolution would begin, and he'd claim his mate, all within a span of a couple months.
Chapter Seven: Zoey Cornered.
"You are like a siren, washed up on my front porch."
Zoey heard the voice through the haze of pain, dark and cold. She was freezing! Someone touched her, and warmth filled her, along with a desire so sharp, it made her eyes snap open. She sat.
"That usually works." The Professor was seated in a chair beside her, smiling.
"What the f..." she drifted off at his raised eyebrow. "fudge." Her head pulsed, and her skin was too cold to feel.
"Didn't I tell you not to drink?"
"I had two at the club."
"I took the liberty of reading-" he started.
"Okay! And a few shots of vodka before we left. But that's virtually not drinking for me," she told him and clutched her head. She was on his porch, on the swing where she ended up more than once during her acquaintance with the Professor. "Can I come in?"
"Did you do anything I asked last night?" he asked in disapproval. He moved towards the front door.
Zoey pulled off her heels and checked herself. She was alive. No blood. No wounds. No missing weapons. Vikki must've dumped her off, knowing she had no Eric to go home to anymore.
The Professor was still talking. She stood, wobbled then walked into his house, trailing him to the study. He sat in one of the comfortable arm chairs before a blazing hearth. She sat at the other. There was a tray of tea waiting. With hands as steady as the branches they resembled, he poured them cups of tea. He took no sugar or cream in his while she heaped both into hers.
"Oh, god, Professor." She leaned forward, headache making her nauseous.
"Yes, well, that's what happens when you drink poison in your alcohol."
"What?"
He gave her the unhappy look again. "You've been to how many clubs and bars? You should know better than to drink something you didn't see mixed together."
"You're saying someone tried to kill me?" she asked. The idea made her headache worse. "Pleeeeeeeease?" She held out a shaking hand to him.
"I ought to let you suffer." The words were meant to be firm, but he smiled. He took her hand.
Fire shot through her, making her skin so sensitive, the tightness of her dress hurt. Her breasts and core ached at the sex energy. But it cured her head. She pulled away, aroused and pissed.
"Who would want to kill me?"
"Every Cambion out there. You're now the number one killer of Cambions," he said proudly. "Why don't you have tattoos marking the kills like the others?"
"Eric ..." doesn't like tattoos. she stopped. "Anyway, it's too many to mark now. I'd spend all day at the tattoo parlor. Oh, Eric! He thought I was at the library. I've gotta go!" She rose too fast, and her head spun. Zoey tumbled back into the chair and rested her head against the back.
"We need to put you in finishing school," the Professor said at her unladylike sprawl across from him.
"I need to go! Can you hit me again?" she asked, holding out her hand.
"Eric called this morning. Said he'd send your things here or to Vikki's. I told him here."
She lifted her head. "What?"
"I think you should go over there and face reality," the Professor said, sipping his tea. "I'll see what I can learn about the poisoning in the meantime. Then, when Eric kicks you out, you can come right back here and stay with me."
"Why does that make you happy?" she demanded.
"He's not your type."
"This coming from a man who seduces women for a living?" She rose again, this time more carefully. "What exactly is my type?"
"Someone who can calm that fire of yours. Someone who you'd actually trust," he replied. "You need someone who can balance you out and wring that sex energy out of you, or you'll burn out soon."
Zoey stared at him. "There's nothing wrong with my sex life. It's normal. And I trust Eric. He's normal, too."
"But you are not. You will have to stop pretending one day." He spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather for the next week.
There was too much truth to his words. She didn't want to admit it. She wanted to be normal. She'd dreaded Eric proposing to her. Now that he'd decided to kick her out, she was frantic to regain what stability she'd had. Any thought of being poisoned disappeared as the sense of loss grew within her. She had to get to Eric.
Zoey made it to the hallway before the Professor spoke again.
"You want a ride? Or will you do the ... what do you call it? The walk of shame? The morning after a "
"A ride, old man!" she barked.
He chuckled.
Distraught, she waited at the door for his car to be pulled around. The chauffeur held open the back door, and she vaulted into it. The mile ride back to her home seemed like a hundred.
He pulled up to the apartment building finally, and she launched out of the car.
"Shall I wait?" the chauffeur called.
"No, I think ..." There were boxes on the landing outside her apartment. With a heavy heart, she began to think the Professor was right. "I'll be fine."
Tired, Zoey trotted up the stairs to the door and hesitated. She thought about knocking then strode in. Eric was in the center of the living room, taping up another box. He'd made the effort to fold all her clothing into neat, crisp stacks awaiting their own box. He straightened.
"Hi," she said.
"You're letting the cold air in."
She closed the door and leaned against it.
"Dressed for the library." His gaze swept over her.
Zoey glanced down, face growing hot as she realized she'd left in jeans and a sweater and returned dressed like a tramp. She glanced towards the mirror, horrified by the sight of her runny makeup.
"Is this ... is this because I freaked out yesterday?" she asked quietly, motioning to the boxes. "Because I really didn't mean I wouldn't marry you. Just that I needed "
"To think, I know," he said, anger in his voice. "That wasn't the reason."
"Then what, Eric? I thought things were going well until last night," she said, confused. "What have I done? Whatever it is, I'm sure I can fix it."
"If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?"
"Of course."
"How many men?"
She stared at him. It was a loaded question. "You'll have to be more specific." As soon as the answer left her mouth, she knew it was the wrong one.
"So, it's true." A look of pain crossed his features. "You've been cheating on me."
"No. Absolutely not," she said quickly. "I never cheated on you."
"What do you call this?" He whipped out his phone and handed it to her.
She stared at it then glanced down. It wasn't the same dress. It was the one she'd woken up in yesterday morning, after the night she couldn't remember. Someone snapped a picture of her making out with someone she didn't remember, in the middle of a trendy club she didn't recognize. She swallowed hard, trying to figure out how to explain it while struggling with why she didn't remember the interaction.
"Tory recognized you and sent this to me."
"Did she see what happened next?" Zoey asked.
"What?"
"I mean, this doesn't prove I cheated on you. So I kissed some guy."
"You kissed some guy." He repeated in disbelief. "After lying to me about the library and not coming home at all last night." His hands shook as he took back the phone. "I was ready to spend my life with you, Zoey."
The hurt in his voice crushed her. "We still can," she said. "I swear to you, Eric, I never slept with any of those guys."
"Dear god," he whispered, paling. "How many?"
"Well ..." she tried to remember an approximate number. If she was the number one Cambion killer, that meant she'd beaten Vikki's record of 560 in a year. Had she made out with all of them? Mostly, yes, she admitted.
"How many fucking men did you make out with while lying to me about being at the library or in class?" Eric roared.
Taken aback, she was quiet. He flung the phone and threw his head back, staring at the ceiling.
"A couple hundred," she lied.
He gasped.
"Okay, maybe a few hundred. I really don't remember."
"Why were you ... wasn't I enough for you?" he asked, the heartbreak in his voice making her eyes water.
"Eric, I swear, it was business, not personal, and I never slept with any of them," she insisted.
"Get out." The words were a whisper.
"No, Eric, please let me explain. It has nothing to do with how I feel about you. I meant to tell you-"
"There is nothing you can say that will fix this," he said. "Nothing, Zoey. There is no possible excuse you can give me as to why you were making out with other men! It's completely unacceptable behavior!"
"I didn't sleep with them."
"I don't care! You and I were a couple. That meant we weren't sleeping around, making out with or kissing other people!"
She hadn't really thought of it that way. She'd sworn not to cheat, which meant sleeping around. The rest...well, she took some pleasure in it. But it was still a job. Her throat tightened. She didn't know what to say. He seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
"Get out. Please." There were tears in his eyes, and the words were choked.
This was real. He was breaking up with her. For the first time this morning, Zoey understood what was happening. There was no fixing this. There was no going back to how things were yesterday.
"I'm sorry, Eric. I know it doesn't help. But I do love you. If you...change your mind, just call," she said lamely. "I don't want my job to come between us."
"Your job didn't come between us. Several hundred men did."
She swallowed hard and nodded. In that light, she was a shitbag. She fumbled for the doorknob and opened the front door, unable to bring herself to look at the photo collage next to the entrance. Outside, her new life was cold, wet and miserable. She wanted the warm, gentle life inside the apartment.
The Professor's car waited. Somehow, he knew she'd be coming back. Maybe because he knew where she belonged, even if she refused to believe it.
With a deep breath, Zoey left the apartment and returned to the Professor's car. She wanted to sob herself to sleep and wake up somewhere else or to beg Eric to take her back. The look on his face revulsion was too much for her. He thought her the lowliest person on the planet. It didn't help how she handled his proposal.
Eric was too good for her. He deserved someone better. She'd always known that, but she'd never wanted to let him go. He was all that kept her feet on the ground.
"Welcome home," the Professor called as she walked into the house a few minutes later.
"I'm gonna take a shower and go kill things," she replied, trotting up the stairs to the second floor.
"Dimitri called. Vikki is in the hospital. He didn't have his channel open last night and had no idea until I told him about you."
Zoey stopped, heart dropping. "Is she okay?"
"He got there in time. She'll be fine. Looks like she got poisoned, too," the Professor was thoughtful.
"Dimitri is a dick. Why didn't he know she was in trouble?" Zoey demanded, furious for more than one reason.