It was as if he twisted helplessly in a powerful storm, relying on a woefully inadequate tether to anchor him to solid ground. He’d had this feeling before, this desperation for human touch that mirrored hers. He’d learned to guard himself against it. The crushing rejection on her face when he pushed her away shot suspicious pain through his chest. It steeled his resolve. “I won’t let you whore yourself to me in return for false affection!”

Her hurt boiled over into rage. “Why? You did it for all those other girls! You did it, then you killed them! Why not me?”

“Is that what you want?” Now that he’d touched her skin, heard her soft moans in his ear, the thought repulsed him. Perhaps he had more in common with those needy girls than he’d wanted to admit.

“I want to get it over with!” She flailed her arms and legs like a child having a temper tantrum as she screamed in frustration and despair. “I’m dead already! I just want to get it over with!”

Cyrus paced at the end of the bed, his heart hammering his ribs. How did one deal with humans when they lost control like this? In the first hours after he’d become mortal again, he’d felt panic and terror. He’d prayed for death. He knew her pain. If he could take it from her, he would.

In the weak moonlight that lit the kitchen area, he spied a block of knives on the counter. As soon as the Mouse was dead, he would have peace again, inside and out. No more doubting himself, no more fighting this frightening new humanity.

His anger dried up as her own temper subsided into small, childish sobs, and he felt like a monster again. No, monster was too strong a word. Craven. That described him better. Craven, to cower before such a formidable opponent as a weeping woman.

“Don’t cry.” He said it harshly, but he knew it was not a command she would obey. Cursing, he wrapped his arms around her shaking body and pulled her close, as if he could absorb the pain radiating from her.

“I’m just sick of waiting,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “I’m so scared, and I’m sick of waiting.”

He held her until dawn, though she’d cried herself to sleep much earlier. As sunlight filtered through the small, basement windows, the stupidity of his actions came crashing down on him.

You’re pathetic. It was his father’s voice, not his own, that echoed through his head. Look at you, staying at her side like a whimpering puppy.

As much as he hated the voice, he knew it was right. There was no room for his conscience in this place.