"Have I...?" He whispered again, fragile in a way that made my stomach twist, made my pulse spike in my throat. "Ever fucking hit you?!" His voice rose, furious and raw, shaking the walls around us-and vibrating through me, like it could set me on fire from the inside out. I averted my eyes, shaking my head. No. "Then why do you always cover away in fear when I get too close? Why do you expect me to hurt you when I've never laid my hands on you?" His teeth were clenched, jaw tight, yet there was something more in his voice than anger-something human, something unbearably close, like it was threading into my blood, my skin, my pulse. He was right. And I knew it. I wasn't afraid of him. Not really. Hell, I deserved punishment-for the blood on my hands, for the lives I'd shattered, for the guilt that clung to me like a second skin. Dany. The other half of me haunted me, her little face, her little voice, the promise of vengeance twisting through my veins. My vendetta came first. It had to. Every step, every decision, every second-I couldn't let him know who I truly was. Not yet. If he did I would never be free. And sooner or later, I had to go.