Jared closed the bedroom door behind him, then without a word, he shucked off his jacket and drew her into his arms. He held her tightly—so tight that all the tension stringing her body released at once, and she just sagged into him.
“It’s okay,” he said softly, his hands in her hair, gently stroking the back of her head and holding her in the secure cage of his arms. “It’s over. You’re all right now.”
“Jared.” She buried her face in his chest and bunched up his neatly-pressed dress shirt in her fist.
His hand on her stilled, and she could feel the muscles in his arms flex around her, tensing up.
She lifted her head to peer up at him. “What am I going to do?”
He was speechless, looking down at her with dark eyes that were no longer hard. His lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, but then he loosened his hold and stepped back.
He still kept his hands on her shoulders. “Those men in hoods weren’t shifters, Grace.”
“I know.” She let out a breath, glad he was still holding onto her. Somehow it felt like he was the only thing keeping her up. “It was obvious my father hired them. To shift blame. To stir up the crowd. Probably to make the news as well.” Her shoulders sagged with the weight of that truth—that was what had knocked the final, buzzing shock into her. She hadn’t been afraid of the attackers. She’d been afraid to look the truth in the face—the whole thing had been an obvious manipulation for her father’s political gain. It was a stinging indictment, more than almost anything else she’d seen or heard so far.
Jared squeezed her shoulders. He didn’t say anything, but there was relief on his face.
“What am I going to do?” she repeated. “It’s like there’s suddenly a war, and I’m not sure what side I should be on.” She pleaded him with her eyes—she needed him to tell her, again, why it was necessary for her to come out. Why she had to abandon everything in her life—everything her life was supposed to be—and fight this thing her father was doing.
“You know what side you belong on, Grace.” But his voice was gentle, kind.
She shook her head, needing more. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about those experiments? About my father being involved? For all I know, you’re just… just making things up! Trying to convince me to betray the Senator—to ruin him by coming out as a shifter.” Because that’s what it would be—a PR disaster, only this time, it would be an intentional one. A self-inflicted wound that would take down her father and his plans as well.
Jared’s calm expression warped into concern. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Grace.”
“I don’t know that!” She wrenched out of his grasp because tears were glassing her eyes, and she was ashamed of them. She turned away and strode across the thick, cream-colored carpeting to the wall of windows on the far side of the room. Her bedroom was a host of barely-concealed lies—the contradictions that lay just under the skin of her life. The gymnastics trophies from when she was a girl stood proudly on her shelves—she’d always been unnaturally strong, in spite of her slender frame. Because she was actually a wolf. Her bed’s deep purple spread was neatly tucked in, mocking her with the fact that she was twenty-five years old and never had a man in it. Because she was a shifter. The framed pictures of her and her father meeting important politicians, from the time she was a little girl, all the way up to meeting the Secretary of State last month. She was the politician’s daughter. His protégé. She was the goddamn campaign manager for the state’s most anti-shifter politician. And she was a shifter.
It was all lies. And it was all going to crumble down around her and bury her along with him.
She felt Jared’s presence behind her, all warmth and strength. She envied him in that moment—knowing who he was with such conviction. Having strength enough for her to borrow. It wasn’t that she thought he was lying to her—far from it. She just didn’t know if she had the strength to face the truth.
“Grace…” There was a ripple of pain in his voice, and it tore through her. “I don’t know how to convince you that I’m telling the truth.” She could hear the plea in it, and that—that vulnerability—was what forced her to lift her chin and turn to face him.
Because this brave, strong man was one of the shifters who would be hurt if she didn’t do what was right.
“I believe you,” she whispered, her lips barely moving as she stared up into his dark eyes. “But I’m afraid.” She blinked back the tears. “I’m ashamed to say that, but it’s true.”