Page 63 of 'Til All the Seas Run Dry

“I’ll make her an offer she cannae refuse.”

“You’d threaten her?” Jory hissed, dropping her fork with a clatter.

“Threaten her?” Callum reared back, horrified she’d even suggest it.

“You said you’d make her an offer she couldn’t refuse to sell you the patent. Will you threaten her? Glamour her? That technology could save millions of lives, Callum. You?—”

“Jory,” he said softly. “I mean to offer her so much money that her great-grandchildren will be wealthy.”

“Oh,” she whispered, more a gust of breath than a sound.

“Aye. We mean to pay her handsomely for the patent and then manufacture it ourselves.”

“But—”

“And we plan to bottle and sell it for vampire consumption and use the profits to fund manufacturing and distribution to hospitals and emergency personnel. For free.”

“Oh.” That sound again. Shock. She wasshockedthat this was his plan.

“You believe me capable of threatening a woman to force her to give me her life’s work and intellectual property? Then you believe me capable of using that technology for nothing but my own profit, that I would think nothing of everyone it could help?”

How many times had he gone away, using his body as both a weapon and a shield, to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves? How many times had he turned down work because he didn’t trust the motivations or care of the man who would have hired him? How many times had he joined her in rescuing lost baby creatures or bringing baskets to ailing villagers?Helping to birth the lambs and then tirelessly searching for them when they strayed? And yet he was right. Shehadbelieved him capable of selfishness. All because he had been capable of— he couldn’t finish the thought.

“Callum, I—” She swallowed.

“Is that truly what ye think of me?”

She didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. That was that, then. If she truly believed him capable of such monstrous behavior, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change her mind. There was no point in wasting time. There was no point in getting his hopes up. There was no point in any part of this farce he’d insisted upon.

The owner of the restaurant flitted by at that moment. “Are we ready to order another course? Or perhaps look at the dessert menu?” they asked in a reedy voice.

“Nay,” Callum said with a rasp, his emotions, his hurt, clogged and strangling in his throat. “Just the check, please.”

Jory stared at him, her food forgotten, her wine forgotten.

He left a gratuity of one hundred percent and stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Shall we?”

She nodded.

Callum helped Jory shrug into her wool coat, making an effort not to touch her, and then led them out of the restaurant, holding open the doors to both the building and the car, which was parked right out front. He climbed in. Suddenly, picking a restaurant an hour away felt like the most foolish decision he had ever made in his life.

He gripped the steering wheel and turned on the radio, not caring what station was on. Classical. Fine.

“Callum, I’m sorry,” she said, twisting her hands in her lap.

“’Tis nae your fault,” he said, his throat feeling thick.

He’d been a fool to believe that she could get over her distrust of him, her resentment. The worst part was that he couldn’t blame her. He’d nearly destroyed her.He thought he had.

She didn’t try to talk, and before long, they were pulling into one of the parking spaces behind her building. He turned off the car, and the silence was sudden.

He would get out and open her door, he would walk her up the steps to her own door because, despite what she might think of him, he was a gentleman. He would assure her that he would see the sealskin delivered to her as soon as possible. And he would say goodbye. Forever. He couldn’t picture another path forward.

But long moments passed, and she didn’t unbuckle her seatbelt.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“’Tis nothing.”