Three Hours (Seven Series Book 5)

“Is that all you see when you look at me? Just an ornament?”

 

 

I walked away and sat on the couch, kicking over the chewed-up coffee table with a thrust of my leg. “Every man has looked at me that way since I can remember,” I bit out angrily. “That is the curse of the panther. I’ve spent my entire life hiding from everyone—even myself. You have the freedom to run in the woods. But me? I have to drive to desolate, godforsaken places to let my panther run loose.”

 

“Fuck that,” Wheeler spat, kicking the table even farther away. He knelt in front of me. “There’s no law that says you can’t roam free.”

 

“There doesn’t have to be a law. Imagine if you saw a panther on your property. A wolf you might keep an eye on, but a panther? I’m willing to bet the arsenal would come out. Just look at the panic in your own pack when you brought me here! I’m not free. Even with all the laws and Councils, I’m not truly free. You broke your chains a long time ago, but mine will always be locked. You just can’t see them, but they keep me from a life I’m not allowed to live. Just knowing what I am puts a target on my back. I dated two men who were ancients, and despite all the changes we’ve been through, they couldn’t accept me.”

 

I clenched my fists. Wheeler, still kneeling in front of me, placed his hands over them.

 

“That what you think? Because you’re a panther, no one will accept you?”

 

“How open-minded were you before Austin intervened and forced you to watch me? You’ve always suspected what I am, and that fueled your prejudice.”

 

“Maybe that ain’t about hate. Ever think of that?” He lowered his eyes. “Each time I look at you, I feel guilty because I’m attracted to the one person who should want me dead more than anyone, and I don’t know what the hell that says about me.”

 

I lifted his chin with the tips of my fingers. “How did you manage to sedate my panther?”

 

A solemn smile touched his lips. “Fear. Your kind thrives on fear. I don’t know if you can smell it or see it in a subtle twitch of an eye, but if there’s even a sliver of apprehension, your animal can sense it. The only time you’re trusting is with someone who doesn’t fear you. Someone who isn’t afraid to walk up and handle you—even pat you on the side and be rough. Something I learned in the fights. After a while, I wanted to die. When I made that choice, all the fear went away. The panthers trusted me, even allowed me to nuzzle my face against theirs.”

 

I leaned forward and cupped his face in my hands. “That’s why you carry all that guilt. Getting them to trust you made it easier to kill them and win. It gave you hope that you might get out of there.”

 

Something broke in Wheeler, something so deep and impenetrable that when the fracture happened, it was like a snap of electricity. That was it. I’d penetrated the wall he’d built to hide his dark secrets—the ones that questioned his morals and integrity. Wheeler’s eyes filled with hot tears, and he grimaced, trying to turn away.

 

I didn’t let him. I held his face firmly and touched my forehead to his.

 

“Don’t look away from me. It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, stroking the lines of his face with my fingers. “Stop blaming yourself.”

 

“But it wasn’t right,” he said, his voice cracking. “It wasn’t about survival—it wasn’t an honorable fight. It was murder. They wanted a fighter, but I was a killer.”

 

I pulled his head to my chest and stroked my fingers through his hair. “Shhh. I had no idea. Ben may be the gambler, but you’re the one who wears the poker face. All that anger hiding a man in pain. You deserve so much more than you think.”

 

Wheeler would never admit the truth to Austin. There was honor in a man who fought for his life, but Wheeler had become suicidal, and men who lost the fear of death were capable of unconscionable crimes. But that wasn’t the case here, not really. No matter how you sliced it, Wheeler was still a victim. Despite how he’d won his battles, the only choices he’d had were to live or die. The animals that trusted him died at his hands, and I wondered if maybe that wasn’t the most humane thing to do.

 

It made me think of the animals in the shelters that were euthanized. I’d donated money to make more room in those cages because I didn’t want them to die. But which was the real hell for them: living in a cage or death?

 

My heart shattered as I held this broken man. Wheeler had fought his entire life for his brother, for his family, and for his life. But not one person had ever fought for him.

 

“They wanted to die,” I whispered, threading my fingers through the tufts of his brown hair.

 

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