Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“It’s always him, Wolf. It’s what he does.”
“So that’s it? You’re leaving me because you think he’s coming for me next?”
“I’m trying to protect you.” My voice cracks. “Not ruin your life. Not drag you into mine.”
“Protect me?” He stands abruptly, anger blasting off him. “I’ve survived things that would snap most people in half. Stop trying to guard me like I’m fragile.”
“Not fragile.” I lift my chin. “But you’re not invincible. And Jag—”
“He would never kill me!”
“He killed Gavin!” I stand, too, breath shaking. “Gavin was his lover. He knew Gavin had fallen for him, and he killed him anyway. What do you think he’ll do to you once he realizes you—” I bite down on my trembling lip.
“Once he realizes what?” He presses into my space, the air between us boiling.
I look down at the phone in his hand then back at him. “Once he realizes you want him and me.”
“That’s not—” His eyes flash with hurt, anger, and possession all tangled together. “That’s my problem, not yours.”
“Dammit, Wolf.”
“You want to leave me? Then give me a reason that isn’t Jag.”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Because I don’t have another reason. Not one that holds up.
He sees it, feels it, and makes a wicked growling sound that vibrates my bones, terrifying in its certainty. “Then you’re not leaving.”
“You can’t keep me here.” I cross my arms.
“No.” He puts his face in mine, his breath hot on my lips. “But I can be very persuasive.”
“Why?” I retreat, dropping my head in my hands before meeting his feral blue eyes. “Why are you fighting so hard for me? You can have anyone you want. Men, women, whoever. I’m not your fairy tale princess. I’m a disaster. I can barely keep my life from setting itself on fire.”
He stares at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“I’m a fucked-up mess.” My hands fly to my hair, tugging at the roots. “A messy, unwanted orphan who aged out of the system. No parents. No friends. I’m in no place to be good for anyone. I need to get my shit together before I even think about being with someone.”
“How?” His expression twists. “I don’t see it. How are you fucked-up?”
I freeze, my lungs buckling. “I was eight when my mother was killed.”
He blinks. “I was eight when I killed mine.”
Regret punches me so hard my stomach pitches. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Shouldn’t have thrown my pain down between us like a challenge. My mother was stolen from me. His was a monster he had to stop.
I search for the right words to take it back, to fix it, but the compassion in his gaze tells me he understands what I meant.
He looks down at the purple robe draped around him. Her robe. A shadow crosses his eyes, and something decisive and final settles there.
Before I can ask, he reaches for my hand, his grip determined. He doesn’t give me a chance to resist as he leads me downstairs, each step creaking under our weight, the guest house quiet around us.
In the living room, he kneels before the fireplace, flicks on the gas starter, and watches the flames catch.
“Your mother loved you,” he says quietly. “You had that, even if only for eight years. That makes you whole, Dovey. Not damaged. Lucky, even.” He stands and sheds the robe. “I never had a mother.”
My eyes sting as he begins to shred the robe, ripping it into strips and feeding the pieces into the fire. The flames accept it hungrily, devouring the fabric and its history.
“Let her be gone.” He stares into the blaze, watching the purple scraps curl inward as they burn, crumbling into blackened edges and ash. “Let the past be done. Let this be the start of something else.”
I swat at the wetness on my cheeks, fighting the sob trapped in my throat.
He turns toward me, arms outstretched, standing in nothing but his scars and tight black briefs, nothing to hide behind now, nothing to shield him from being seen.
“This is me. Bared. Exposed.” He raises that strong, square-cut jaw. “Take a good, hard look.”
“Wolf.” The sob wins, choking my breath.
“Do it! Look at me!”
God help me, I do.
The firelight paints him in molten shadows, every angle sharpened, every scar highlighted. He towers over me by a foot, all lean muscle and long lines. The defined shoulders, arms mapped with veins, sculpted chest and abs, and solid power in his legs.
He looks both dangerous and vulnerable, half-wild and wholly human, staring at me with a challenge and a question in his gleaming eyes.
An achy pressure climbs my throat, swelling through me until my skin feels too tight to hold it.
“No one’s ever gotten this close.” He floats closer. “Tell me what you see. The truth, Heart-thief. You know me better than anyone.”