“Then hold me. Just for a little while. Until I fall asleep again.” The words themselves weren’t a question, but his heart heard the quiet query behind them.
“Anything you want.” He would deny her nothing. She let go of him so he could place the empty glass on the nightstand. Instead of crawling in the bed with her, he picked her up. She nestled her face against his chest, and his heart banged extra hard trying to get her attention. A contented sigh slipped from her lips, and he felt more light and carefree in that moment than he had in his entire life. He sat in the chair directly in front of the fireplace.
The fire had burned down to a few low flames, deepening and lengthening the dark, but still putting out a bit of warmth.
“A girl could get used to having a big, strong man carrying her around.” Her words were a sigh.
“A guy could get used to having a beautiful lady to carry around.”
She laughed, the sound lovely in the same way birdsong enchanted the ear.
“Are you flirting with me?” One of her hands stroked his chest.
Christ. Was he flirting with her? Was he—Cain Killion, son of the man who’d tried to kill her—flirting with her? Hell yeah, he was. Wrong or not. “Are you flirting with me?”
“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I had anyone to flirt with that I’m not sure what it is anymore.”
“I think you’re a natural.” He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “You’re doing better today. I was worried about you.”
“You’re so sweet. I haven’t had someone to worry about me since my family died. Did you know my family died?”
Everything good and warm and happy dissolved. He didn’t want to hear her talk about this. Not this. This was too soon. Too close to the bone. Too close to the blood. Too close to his own dark urges.
“They were murdered. By…by…by Killion.”
Everything inside him kicked like a reflex at the name.
“Why am I talking about this?” Her voice hitched. “I never allow myself to think about it. Forgetting is good therapy. But I’ve never really forgotten how my parents screamed before he slid his blade into their throats.” Her voice took on a monotone quality. “The sound of their blood pumping, spritzing, dripping onto the floor—I can’t escape it. Or the way Killion stared into my brother’s eyes, caressed his cheek, ran his hand through his hair—almost as if he loved him—just before he cut out his throat. And when he turned to me, his blade dripped the blood of my family on my neck. The warmth of it startling and sickening and strangely comforting. I had been scared watching them die, but I wasn’t scared anymore. I wanted it. I wanted it over.”
His body had turned to stone. His heart a mausoleum of sorrow. His lungs twin pillars of shame and guilt. That she would confess her most horrific moments to him… She obviously didn’t know who he was. And now was not the fucking time to tell her.
A pained whine issued from her mouth, growing in volume to wailing, then leveling out at full-body weeping. She shuddered and shook against him, the force of her sobs startling in their power. Her face mashed against his chest, her tears wetting his shirt, his skin.
Life had been perpetually unfair to her. He ached for the pain she’d endured. The pain she still experienced. And the pain she would experience when she recognized him. Because he knew. Knew she’d be afraid of him. And all of this—holding her, flirting with her—would be nothing but a memory.
“Shh…shh… I’m right here with you.” He didn’t bother with bullshit words. He stuck with the facts. He was here. With her. Period. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly to him, hoping that by some strange osmosis she’d be able to absorb his strength.
How long she cried against him, he didn’t know and didn’t really care. He’d sit here holding her for a hundred years, if that’s how long she needed to grieve. When the last of her sobs subsided, she stilled against him, sniffling and snuffling every once in a while.
“I… Wow, sorry about that. I don’t normally go all crybaby. Maybe it’s the meds.” She pulled back to look at him.
His lungs latched down tight, refusing to let in any air.
The last of the firelight caught the wetness on her face and lashes, causing her tears to shimmer like melted gold.
Her gaze roamed over him. He couldn’t remember what he should say to soothe her, to reassure her. Words seemed inadequate. He tried to tell her with his gaze that he meant no harm. That he wasn’t his father. And for a moment she seemed to understand. Then her eyes widened and rolled in their sockets like a frightened foal. She bucked away from him, all the force of fear in her movement. She landed on the ground—nearly in the fireplace—a grunt of pain shooting from her mouth. Mindless in her fear, she scuttled back from him, placing her hand near the glowing coals.
“Careful.” He reached for her, to get her away from the fire before she hurt herself.
She screamed, the sound no canned movie scream but filled to bursting with genuine terror.
He went statue still, arms still outstretched to her.
She pushed herself away from him, further and further until she huddled in the far corner of the cabin, gasping for air like she’d been holding her breath for too long.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t said a word. Had been paralyzed by her reaction. If he was the crying kind—which he wasn’t—he’d have felt like having a good old-fashioned water party. That look on her face was something he’d never wanted to see. That was why he’d never sought her out. He’d known what was left of his soul couldn’t handle it.
And he’d been right.
His stomach contracted. He grunted from the unexpected pain of it. All the humiliation of lost hope rolled up his throat. He tipped forward in the chair, opened his mouth, and dry heaved. His innards seized and spasmed, refusing to release him as he gagged on self-disgust.