Jillian stiffened. If the man was going to leave her, she was going to make certain it hurt like hell. She narrowed her eyes, shooting him a wordless challenge to be brave, to fight for their love. He averted his face.
"Thank you for these days and nights, lass. Thank you for giving me the best memories of my life. But say goodbye, Jillian. Let me go. Take the splendor and wonder that we've shared and let me go."
Her tears started then. He had already made up his mind, had already begun putting distance between them. "Just tell me, Grimm," she begged. "It can't be so bad. Whatever it is, we can deal with it together."
"I'm an animal, Jillian. You doona know me!"
"I know you're the most honorable man I've ever met! I don't care what our life would be like. I would live any kind of life, so long as I lived it with you," she hissed.
As Grimm backed away slowly, she watched the life disappear from his eyes, leaving his gaze wintry and hollow. She felt the moment she lost him; something inside her emptied completely, leaving a void she suspected she might die from. "No!"
He backed away. Occam followed, nickering gently.
"You said you adored me! If you truly cared for me, you would fight to stay by my side!"
He winced. "I care about you too much to hurt you."
"That's weak! You don't know what caring is," she shouted furiously. "Caring is love. And love fights! Love doesn't look for the path of least resistance. Hell's bells, Roderick, if love was that easy everyone would have it. You're a coward!"
He flinched, and a muscle jumped furiously in his jaw. "I am doing the honorable thing."
"To hell with the honorable thing," she shouted. "Love has no pride. Love looks for ways to endure."
"Jillian, stop. You want more from me than I'm capable of."
Her gaze turned icy. "Obviously. I thought you were heroic in every way. But you're not. You're just a man after all." She cast her gaze away and held her breath, wondering if she'd goaded him far enough.
"Goodbye, Jillian."
He leapt on his horse, and they seemed to melt into one beast—a creature of shadows disappearing into the night.
She gaped in disbelief at the hole he'd left in her world. He'd left her. He'd really left her. A sob welled up within her, so painful that she doubled over. "You coward," she whispered.
* * *
CHAPTER 22
ronin inserted teh key into the lock, hesitated, then squared his shoulders firmly. He eyed the towering oak door that was banded with steel. It soared over his head, set in a lofty arch of stone. Deo non fortuna was chiseled in flowing script above the arch—"By God, not by chance." For years Ronin had denied those words, refused to come to this place, believing God had forsaken him. Deo non fortuna was the motto his clan had lived by, believing their special gifts were God-given and had purpose. Then his "gift" had resulted in Jolyn's death.
Ronin expelled an anxious breath, forcing himself to turn the key and push open the door. Rusty hinges shrieked the protest of long disuse. Cobwebs danced in the doorway and the musty scent of forgotten legends greeted him. Welcome to the Hall of Lords, the legends clamored. Did you really think you could forget us?
One thousand years of McIllioch graced the hall. Carved deep into the belly of the mountain, the chamber soared to a towering fifty feet. The curved walls met in a royal arch and the ceilings were painted with graphic depictions of the epic heroes of their clan.
His own da had brought him here when he'd turned sixteen. He'd explained their noble history and guided Ronin through the change—guidance Ronin had been unable to provide his own son.
But who would have thought Gavrael would change so much sooner than any of them had? It had been totally unexpected. The battle with the McKane following so quickly on the heels of Jolyn's savage murder had left Ronin too exhausted, too numbed by grief to reach out to his son. Although Berserkers were difficult to kill, if one was wounded badly enough it took time to heal. It had taken Ronin months to recover. The day the McKane had murdered Jolyn they'd left a shell of a man who hadn't wanted to heal.
Immersed in his grief, he'd failed his son. He'd been unable to introduce Gavrael to the life of a Berserker, to train him in the secret ways of controlling the bloodlust. He hadn't been there to explain. He'd failed, and his son had run off to find a new family and a new life.
As the passing years had weathered Ronin's body he'd greeted each weary bone, each aching joint, and each newly discovered silver hair with gratitude, because it carried him one day closer to his beloved Jolyn.
But he couldn't go to Jolyn yet. There were things yet undone. His son was coming home, and he would not fail him this time.