He went to her, sinking to his knees in front of her. Never would he have imagined making himself vulnerable this way to any woman, falling to his knees in front of her, but now it seemed natural. He didn’t even have to think about it. Whatever it took, so long as she understood.
He closed his hands over hers, holding tight. “He might have just been doing a job the way you did. I can see how you would relate to him—hell, I can practically relate to him too. All of us, we’ve all done things we were told to do by people we trusted, and all we can do sometimes is hope that the people we trust are worthy of our trust. He believed the wrong people the way you did, but there was one crucial difference.”
“What’s that?” she choked out, clearly fighting back a wave of emotion.
“You had a change of heart. You let your conscience tell you something was wrong. You didn’t ignore it. You did what you thought was right in the end—at your own risk. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, easily, more than once. But you listened to your heart, and you did the right thing. That’s the difference.”
“But he was sorry.”
“He was only sorry because he—” Dammit, he’d come close. He almost said too much. “Because he thought he saw a wolf. I don’t know. Like I said, he had too much smoke in his lungs, in his head. Maybe I hit him a little too hard. I don’t know.” Sure, that sounded believable. It was just as good an excuse as any.
“Right.”
“He was afraid. Terrified. There’s a big difference between being sorry because you know you’re about to be punished and really being sorry. One of the many things I learned from my parents,” he added with a chuckle.
“The wish I had pearls of wisdom from my parents,” she whispered.
Would he ever learn to stop saying the wrong thing at the wrong time? “I know, but if they were here now, they’d probably tell you what I’m telling you. You did the right thing in the end. You’re not like him. You’ve got to believe that.”
“Do I?” Her gaze lifted, her eyes shining bright thanks to the tears swimming in them. “How? How, after everything is done? I don’t deserve forgiveness. I don’t deserve a nice life. This house? It’s as far away from me as the moon, even farther. I’m not a normal person. I’m not right. And now, I really don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. How am I going to move on from this?”
He leaned in, letting her fall against him. She looped her arms around his neck, hanging on him, weeping brokenly.
She might as well have sunk a red-hot poker into his chest for all the pain her tears caused him. He held her close but gently. He didn’t dare hold her too tight for fear he’d scare her off.
This was about her, about what she needed. She needed the simplicity of his comfort, his presence, nothing more. And he was content to be there for her to lean on, to cry against, to let her soak his shirt with her tears if that was what she needed.
“We’ll figure something out,” he promised, stroking her hair. “We’ll figure something for you to do. You’re young, you have your whole life to look forward to. Now, you can be free.”
“But how?” she wailed. “How, when I’m not free of them? Not really. They’re still out there.”
“They won’t be forever,” he promised. “We’re going to see to that. That’s where this ends. I know it. I feel it. We’re going to put a stop to them, and we’re going to be able to live our lives. All this time, we’ve been hiding from them, hoping they thought we were dead. Now, we can’t fool ourselves into thinking they believe that. We can either keep hiding, go someplace else and bury our heads in the sand, or we can fight them. We’re going to have to fight them soon. We can’t keep living like this—shutting out everyone we care for, all because we want to protect them.”
“I’m so scared,” she confessed, barely audible against his shoulder.
“I know,” he whispered, holding her just a little tighter than before. “I know how you feel.”
“Stay with me?” She pulled back, looking up at him so frightened. Tear stained, swollen, red-faced. “Please. Just share the bed with me. I can’t sleep alone tonight. I’ll never get to sleep by myself.”
She had no idea what she was asking. This wasn’t some come on, some clumsy attempt at seducing him. He’d been through enough of them to smell them a mile away.
She asked because she was truly in pain, terrified, betrayed, questioning everything she thought she knew. Even her own body, the only thing in life that really belonged to a person had been used by somebody else without her knowledge. It made sense, asking him to spend the night with her.
His wolf, on the other hand, didn’t care much for that sort of logic. His wolf wanted the opportunity to be alone with her, to be in that intimate of a situation. He had ideas of his own, ideas that Zane knew he would spend the rest of the night fighting against.
It would’ve been hard enough on the other side of the hall, knowing she was asleep mere yards from where he rested his head.
What was he supposed to do when they only had inches between them?
There was no way he could refuse her, not when she clung to him the way she did. Everyone wanted to feel needed like their presence was the elixir that could cure anything. He wanted to be her protector, her savior. If he had his way, she would never have to worry about another thing for the rest of her life. He would help her find a way through the past into a new future.
But first things first. He had to make it through the night without giving in to his baser instincts.
“Okay,” he relented with a shrug. “If it would make you feel better. So long as you don’t keep me up with your snoring.”
It was a calculated risk, but his instincts were on the money. He shocked her out of her tears, out of her trembling. “I don’t snore!” she gasped, her weeping forgotten.
“Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t!”
“And how would you know? Have you ever recorded yourself?”
She bit down on her lip, her brows knitting together over the bridge of her nose. “I don’t snore.”
“Whatever you say. Hey,” he added when she pulled back a fist like she was preparing to hit him. “It’s not loud or obnoxious, but it’s there. I’ll record you if you want.”
“No,” she sighed. “That would be creepy.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He got up before she could punch his shoulder, turning his back to her to hide his smile.
It was going to be a long night, for sure, but at least she wouldn’t fall asleep crying. She went to the bathroom where she washed up while he stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers. This would be the second time in the same evening that he’d settled in to go to sleep. Hopefully, he’d be more successful this time.
“Hey, that’s my side of the bed,” she announced upon entering the room.
“It’s my bed,” he reminded her. “And I didn’t hear you call aside.”
She stood over him, hands on her hips. “I always sleep on the left side. Always.”
“Isn’t that funny? So do I.”
“Come on,” she whined, shoving him. Granted, she would’ve done just about as well to shove a brick wall, but he guessed she had to try. “Please?”
“You’re very pushy, you know that?” he grumbled, moving himself over to the other side of the bed. He was farther from the door now, close to the window. He would’ve preferred to shield her body with his just in case someone burst through the bedroom door, but he guessed that was a chance they would have to take.
She crawled into bed still wearing her T-shirt and jeans—he asked, “Are you sure I can’t get you something more comfortable to sleep in that doesn’t reek of smoke? I have shorts, sweatpants, you name it.”
“Okay,” she murmured, sheepish. “I went nose-blind to the smoke, I guess. I hope my hair doesn’t stink like it too much.”
It did. “It doesn’t,” he lied.
When it was clear she wa
s not about to get out of bed to give him a clear way to the dresser, he rolled over on his side and walked around the bed muttering various curses to himself. She was as stubborn as a mule. “What? Are you afraid I’m gonna steal your side of the bed when you get up?”
He was only kidding, though a glance in her direction told him he’d hit the nail on the head. She covered her mouth in a vain attempt to hide a smirk. He rolled his eyes. “You’re such a child.”
“I like this side of the bed! And I don’t trust you.”
“I’ll withhold comment,” he growled, wondering just how her mind worked. She trusted him with her life but not with her side of the bed. He tossed a pair of sweatpants her way, a T-shirt he knew would hang on her like a sail. At least it was nothing sexy, nothing that would highlight the curves of her body. If anything, she would look more shapeless thanks to his clothes. Maybe he wouldn’t wrestle with an erection all night after all.
And he kept telling himself this even as she sat up and started to pull her shirt over her head. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, turning away. “Give a guy a little warning.”
“What? You’ve never seen a bra before?”
“Yes, I’ve seen plenty of them,” he sighed. Did she really have to make this difficult? Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? If she had even an inkling of what was going through his brain, she would’ve died of embarrassment, and so would he.
“So? What’s the big deal?” He heard her changing, noted the lowering of her zipper, the sound of denim being pushed down over her hips and thighs. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Okay, all set.” He heard her settling in, heard the quilt being lifted, adjusted. Only then did he feel safe to turn around.
She’d already taken a pillow from under her head, bunching up in front of her and wrapping her arms around it. He decided not to ask why she did that since there really wasn’t any reason to ask. There was something she had to protect herself from, wasn’t there? No big surprise. She felt safer that way.
Still, she noticed him glancing at the pillow as he walked back around the bed to the side on which he didn’t want to sleep. “I started when I was little,” she explained.
“What? What did you start?” He settled in beside her, at the very edge of the mattress to give her as much room as possible.
Though really, he knew it was more an effort to keep their bodies from brushing against each other in the night. There was no telling how many times he’d be able to brush against her without the wolf getting in the way.
“Sleeping this way. Holding the pillow. I used to put myself to bed every night, and I needed something to make me feel like I wasn’t so alone. I didn’t have any stuffed animals—not after I turned five or six anyway, and we moved, and a box of my things got lost. So, I would hold my pillow and talk to it.” She pressed her face to it for a second, growling into it. “That such a dumb thing to admit.”
He laid on his side, facing her back. It would’ve been so easy to reach out and touch her, to draw her in and mold his body around hers in a protective embrace. He longed to do that, enough to make him ache.
He didn’t trust himself. Who knew what would happen if he gave in to that urge? Something they couldn’t turn away from. Something that couldn’t be undone. He couldn’t put her in that position.
Even as he wished he could put her in any number of positions.
“It’s not dumb,” he whispered, the room dark now. “It’s brave. You were so brave. A brave little girl who did what she had to do to comfort herself, to protect herself. How could I ever think that was dumb?”
She didn’t say anything for a long time—in fact, he assumed she’d fallen asleep. Some people were like that, so certain they would never fall asleep until it overtook them when they weren’t looking.
“Thank you,” she whispered, curling up into a tighter ball than before, and before long, her breathing went even, slow.
The first time she snored, he couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first thing Aimee noticed on opening her eyes was the quiet. It was so, so quiet. Peaceful.
For so many years, she’d lived in apartments in big cities. Philadelphia, New York, Washington. And in the morning, way before the sun rose, the sounds of the city would start filtering through her consciousness. Cars, street cleaners, people on bikes ringing their bells to signal their approach. She would hear music coming from those cars, people talking on their phones. Even when she lived four or five or six stories up, she would still hear them.
She got used to it to the point where she was able to take a nap with the windows wide open, living on the second floor, in the middle of Friday night. The entire world would pass beneath her windows, and she could sleep soundly on her sofa.
Preparing for a job, usually. Yes, she could even sleep soundly before a job.
Her eyes opened slowly, taking in her surroundings.
Or rather, the person sleeping in front of her.
When had she rolled over? When had she dropped her pillow? Sometime during the night, obviously, though she remembered doing neither thing. She never woke up this way, practically lying on her stomach, her head turned to the side. Hands under the pillow. No, this wasn’t like her at all.
At the same time, she was more comfortable than she could remember being in ages. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break that perfect comfort. It was like the mattress was hugging her body, the pillows hugging her head. The quilt was just heavy enough to make her feel secure.
But nothing made her more secure than the presence of the man sharing the bed with her. It was so sweet, him agreeing to sleep with her. Clearly, the request had made him uncomfortable—she’d put him on the spot; it was clear. But he’d gone along with it anyway because he’d known somehow it would make her happy.
Or at least, it would make her sleep, which it had. She had no clue what time it was, but she knew she felt rested—really, truly rested.
Zane was on his side, facing her. She watched him, fascinated. Even somebody as big as him, as imposing, as threatening when he wanted to be, was practically cherubic while he slept. Years had disappeared from his face, turning him into a little boy.
Granted, a little boy with massive muscles and stubble shading his cheeks, but a little boy just the same.
She smiled to herself, imagining him as a little boy, the little boy whose parents never let him watch TV, who always made him read books instead. There she was, assuming he was stupid, all brawn and no brains. Looks could deceive.
Did they miss him, his family? She couldn’t imagine how they wouldn’t. His mother had put so much love into this home, right down to the last detail. How could she not want to see him now? Aimee wondered how many times a day she thought about him and how long it had taken for the thought of him to not bring tears to her eyes.
Maybe that still hadn’t happened. Maybe she still got a little teary whenever she thought of her lost son.
It was all so mixed up. She couldn’t help but think about her own mother when she thought about his.
The worst part about it was she didn’t know what happened. It was the uncertainty that hurt the worst. A tear ran down her cheek, soaking into the pillow, and she was glad he was asleep and couldn’t see it. She’d already cried more than enough in front of him.
It didn’t embarrass her to be emotional with him. In fact, now that she thought about it, she realized it felt natural. It had actually felt good to let go of the things she’d held inside for so long.
Last night wasn’t the first time she’d ever asked herself what she was supposed to do with the rest of her life. She’d known her lifestyle wasn’t exactly sustainable, that the time would come when being sent on one assignment after another would eventually be too much. She would wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, sweating, having dreamt of turning fifty, sixty, and having nothing to show for her life but a long list of kills. What
Zane had seen and heard as she’d cried her eyes out was the culmination of years of worry, fear, guilt.
He stirred, his brow creasing like he had a thought that made him unhappy, but it smoothed out again right away. She was glad. She wanted so much to reach out, to touch him, even something as simple as brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Thick, chocolatey brown hair, soft, shining. He really was so beautiful.
And she was still thinking that when his eyes opened, meeting hers directly right away.
“Good morning,” he murmured, grinning sheepishly. If he thought there was anything weird about waking up to find her staring at him, he could at least pretend there wasn’t.
“Good morning.” This was awkward. Whenever she’d woken up in a man’s bed before—sure, some had woken up in hers, though that was rarer since she rarely invited people into her world—one of them or the other had always been out of bed before the other one woke up.
What was she supposed to do now?
The first thing she did was cover her mouth with her hand, horrified. “My breath probably stinks.”
“It’s not terrible. And neither was your snoring.”
“You’re so lucky it would be a dumb idea to kill you,” she sighed, rolling onto her back. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed—even though she had to pee. It wasn’t urgent, so she stayed in place.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Starved,” she groaned.
“I can’t imagine what we have downstairs, but there’s a little out-of-the-way diner down the road. I think we’d be safe there if you’d be willing to take a chance.”
“Sounds good to me,” she smiled. This was nice. She could almost let herself imagine this was her life, sharing this home with him like they were just two normal people, unbroken, free to live the way they wanted to live with no threat hovering over them and no past keeping them apart.
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