Oh, but that certainly got a reaction. He laughed again at her obvious fear and discomfort. "Oh, we were never good with warm and fuzzy, you and me. That's part of what I loved best about you. We didn't have to waste time on all that romance bullshit, no pretending we were in love. Or at least I didn't. But you..." he cocked a brow at her. "You fancied it was something special didn't you?"
Suddenly very angry without quite understanding why, Peter pushed her harder up against the wall then, barely holding in the inhuman growl. "You thought you could own me. Everyone else could look and touch and fuck around, but you were the special one, is that it? You thought I could be yours, and when you realized I never was, you were so fucking bitter." He couldn't stop the flood of words, didn't even want to. He knew they'd hurt her, and he wanted them to. He didn't even pause long enough for her to respond. "It was my fault you died, but you wouldn't hold that against me. Just that I found someone new to fuck around with after you'd gone, as though I hadn't had other lovers, as though I hadn't the right to fuck whoever the fuck I fucking wanted to. You were so fucking jealous of him. Because I fucking chose him."
Abruptly, he stopped his tirade. Blinking, he realized his fist was buried in the brick next to her head where he’d punched the wall in his fury. He sneered, reigning the rage back, feeling fangs withdraw once more. Tugging his fist back, he could feel the broken brick scraping his skin, and put his bloodied hand up to his face to lick the blood away, his eyes never leaving Ginger’s face.