“You’re not a bad man.” She said it with fists clenched by her side, tears glassing her eyes.
But she didn’t know. Or maybe she simply didn’t believe him.
“I am, Grace.”
“Jared—” She stopped herself, looking even more frustrated. “Is that even your name?” she demanded. She was starting to get angry, which speared something inside him. He expected it, but it was a blow all the same. And the pieces of him were threatening to come apart again.
“Yes,” he said heavily. “Jared. Last name River. Not that it matters.”
“It matters to me!” She stomped toward him on those small, delicate feet, and he found himself backing up in equal measure. As if he were actually afraid of her touch. Which he was—if she got any closer, he might give in to another of those scorching hot kisses. And then he would come completely undone. He could feel the threat of it pulling at the threads of his being—his sanity—with red-hot pinchers.
She reached him anyway, stopping just before touching him. “Jared River, you killed people in the war.”
Her words stabbed straight into him. “Yes.” It was becoming hard to breathe.
She was blinking rapidly, determination on her face. “You said you were a sharp-shooter. Which means you looked through your scope and saw their faces before you killed them.”
He couldn’t help wincing with the pain. “Yes.”
“You did your duty.” Her voice softened, but her eyes were drilling into him.
And he could finally see what she was doing. “It doesn’t matter if it was my duty. It doesn’t matter if it needed to be done, or if there were lives saved because of it. None of that matters, Grace.”
She edged toward him. “All of it matters.”
He shook his head, hands up, fending her off. “No. It doesn’t. Because in the end, all that matters is what I’ve become. I’m a thing, Grace. A thing that knows how to kill. I’ve used every shifter sense I have, all the training the Marines gave me, and I used it to hunt people. And kill them. It used up everything that I have. Everything that I am. It’s all I’m good for anymore.” Avery had said as much to him. And even if she had never said a word, he would have still known the truth of it, deep inside. There was nothing left of him anymore.
The war had dug deep and emptied him out.
“That’s obviously not true.” She gestured between them, but he didn’t know what she meant. “You’re here, doing this, trying to convince me to do the right thing. What happened in the Marines… you did what you had to.”
“That’s no excuse.” Now he was angry. Why couldn’t she understand? Why wouldn’t she just let it be? She should leave him to his frozenness, his hardened shell—it was the only thing that held him together.
“It’s not an excuse—it’s the truth.” She edged even closer, dangerously close. Close enough to reach out and kiss, but he’d already done that, and it had almost destroyed him.
“You don’t want me, Grace. I’m not good enough for you.”
She shook her head, and the tears were coming back again. He hated seeing them, even as they baffled him.
“The truth is, I’m not good enough for you,” she said. “You’ve served your country, doing something brave and dangerous, even as it tore you apart. You sacrificed everything inside you for a cause greater than yourself. You’re brave and selfless in a way I can only wish I’ll be, when my turn comes.” The tears were sliding down her cheeks, and he could hardly stand it. His wolf—the one good and decent part of him still left—was howling at him, ready to tear him to shreds for not going to her. For not doing everything he could to wipe away those tears.
“Grace.” He could hear the begging in it.
She closed the gap between them and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. “I want you like I’ve never wanted any man in my life,” she whispered.
She pressed her soft lips to his… and his body unlocked. He pulled her delicate form against him, all sweet softness and blueberries-and-cream scent filling his head. His mouth devoured hers, his wolf demanding even more. His hands were everywhere, skimming the thin lines and soft curves and delicious heat of her body. He lifted her from the floor, her small body melting into his, her toes barely kissing the floor as he carried her quickly backward to the bed. His wolf was howling to fulfill that fantasy of hers—throw her to the bed and ravish her body—but he hesitated, holding her while hovering at the edge of the mattress. If he made love to her, he couldn’t possibly kill her father. And assassinating the Senator was something he might yet have to do. He couldn’t have one without losing the other… but at this moment, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. Because she was making him feel alive—dangerously, gloriously alive—and that might pull apart all the pieces of him… but there was nothing on earth he wanted more.