They'd certainly butted heads in the past, but he'd also been there when she'd dreamed of Caleb with blood all over him and was certain she'd seen his death, and Dane had comforted her then as well. He seemed to run hot and cold with her, though for the most part he treated her with indifference and kept his distance. That was why she'd been so shocked when he'd taken over her protection when all the women were locked down because of the possible threat to the entire organization.
Some of her confusion must have been evident in her expression, because he gently wiped away her tears and said in a soothing tone, as if he were trying to calm a wild animal, "You screamed during your dream."
At the stark reminder of the dream still raw in her memory, her face became a mask of sorrow.
"Was it a nightmare?" he asked quietly.
"Nightmare" was a code name for the lingering horror of her time in the hands of a madman who'd tortured and raped her and would have killed her if Ramie hadn't been able to give Caleb information on where she was being held. As a result she'd been rescued, but not before her soul had been destroyed by a monster.
She lowered her head and shook it, tightly squeezing her eyes shut. "I saw someone murdered in cold blood."
"Who?" Dane demanded urgently.
"Not one of ours," she whispered. "I don't know who it was." She beat her hand on the mattress, anger mixed with helplessness sharpening her fury and frustration. "I've never seen her before in my life! Why have a dream of some poor unfortunate woman who will soon die if I can't do anything to stop it?" she said in a shrill voice. "I hate it, Dane. I hate this stupid ability. It helps no one, but it tortures me because I know what is to come and there's not a damn thing I can do about it!"
Dane carefully pulled her into his arms again and rubbed his hand up and down her back as she beat her fist against his shoulder in frustration and grief.
"I know, baby. I know. I'm so sorry you have to endure this on top of so much else," he murmured against her ear. "I wish I could make it go away. But you need to know this, if you don't understand anything else. What happened to you before will never happen again. I-we-will protect you. Always."
She sighed. "I know, Dane. I believe you. I know my brothers blame themselves and it hurts me to see them shoulder that blame. It wasn't their fault and I've never blamed them for what happened. I wish they could see that for themselves. They still look at me with pain and guilt in their eyes. They've become overprotective as a result and they hover constantly. I feel so terrible, like I'd sound ungrateful or heartless, for wanting to ask them how I can forget and get past what happened when they can't."
"Then you should tell them exactly that," Dane said against her hair. "This isn't about them, Tori. You should say and do exactly what makes you feel better and what will make you heal. You aren't responsible for their sense of guilt. They love you and worry about you. We all do. But you should just be honest with them. You're all hurting, but no one will talk about it and avoiding it isn't the answer."
She sighed again. "How did you get to be so wise, Dane?"
He stiffened in surprise and then laughed, though there was no amusement in his voice. "I'm far from wise, little one. In fact I've done some pretty stupid things in my life."
She knew better than to pry. Dane was one of the most private people she knew, and she was surprised he'd opened up this much. She wasn't about to do anything to push him away. Nor would she ever admit her true feelings regarding him. Humiliating herself wasn't very high on her priority list and she thought Dane saw her as a spoiled, ungrateful little rich girl. He'd probably pat her on the head and be amused by her "little crush" on him.
"Let me get you one of your pills to help you get back to sleep," Dane said, pulling away from her. "It's only one in the morning and you need more sleep, Tori. You're running on fumes and if you don't start taking better care of yourself, you're going to collapse."
She opened her mouth to tell him no, that she didn't want another damn pill, but he held up his hand and silenced her with a look. Then he took the bottle from her nightstand, shook one of the pills into his hand and offered it to her with some water.
She blew out her breath in frustration but didn't argue-what was the point? He didn't understand. He'd never understand. She hated to sleep because it was the only time she felt truly vulnerable. When she was either plagued by nightmares of the very real events of the past or haunted by things yet to come that she was helpless to change or stop.
To her shock, it was as if she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, because he cupped her chin after she'd swallowed back the pill and their eyes met.