Knox watched the uncertainty dance over her beautiful features. If he wasn’t mistaken, he was finally getting through to her. She looked as if she was beginning to better understand lycans, and if that was so, she was probably also feeling a bit torn about some of the things she’d done in the past.
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
She looked at him with her pale blue eyes, and all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her, taste her, breathe her essence into his soul, where she would remain for eternity.
“Do what?” she asked quietly.
“I already told you, chances are, until me, all the lycans you’ve come across have been rogue. An ancient would never try to hurt you, nor would one be easy to take out, as you’ve found out.”
She watched him, and anger colored her cheeks as her brows drew down and her full lips pulled into thin, straight lines.
“So what am I supposed to do when I come across one of your kind? Wait to see if he wants to rape me or take me home and protect me before killing him? Or maybe I should just say, ‘Hey, I’m Rose. Are you a rogue or an ancient? Just wondering because I didn’t know if I should kill you or not.’”
He understood her logic, but she was missing the point altogether. She shouldn’t be hunting lycans at all.
He got sick to his stomach when he thought about how many times she’d exposed herself to danger, and how long she’d been doing so.
“How about you don’t put yourself in that position to begin with? There is no reason for you to do so.
There are others like me who are working to bring our race back under control and instill the ones who have strayed with the honor we pride ourselves on.”
But something was driving her to do what she did, and he wanted her to trust him enough to tell him. He knew, better than most, that the only way to heal old wounds was to deal with them head-on. The worst thing to do was submerge yourself into the dire muck of desire for revenge. There was never a satisfactory outcome for revenge. Revenge only bred more contempt and anger.
“Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Why you hate us so badly.”
Chapter Seven
Rose had vowed never to speak aloud of it again after Russell, but it might be her only way to gain Knox’s trust so she could escape. Unfortunately, she couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that wanted to tell him, confide in him what had happened, what had hurt her so badly. To share it with someone was a luxury she’d never had, and to talk to someone who wouldn’t think she was crazy, someone who would understand her story, someone who knew that lycans were real was an opportunity she never thought to have.
But if she told him, she’d be connected to him forever. A small part of her that she’d never shared with anyone would be his, and she’d feel . . . vulnerable. Yet it came full circle to getting him to trust her so she could make her escape. The problem was she wanted to trust him as well. But would she feel right about duping someone whom she trusted? That’s when she realized she didn’t just want to trust him—she needed to.
After that thought occurred, she refused to contemplate the why of it any further.
“Where did you send that bastard that attacked me?” She watched the hesitation play across his handsome features and wondered if he’d lie or simply flat-out refuse to tell her.
When he cringed, the scars running over his face puckered a bit more, and she sympathized with the pain he must have endured from the injury, but then she realized that those scars should have healed if lycan lore were true about shifting being able to heal wounds. She watched as he carried his empty plates to the sink, rinsed them off, then carried her own over and followed suit.
“I sent him to a place up north called Sanctuary. There is a pack up there led by ancients who run a reformation program for rogues.”
While he hadn’t given her an exact location—“up north” could mean northern Michigan or Canada, for all she knew—he hadn’t lied to her, or at least she didn’t believe he had. She nearly laughed. Had she expected him to give her an address? Her gut told her Sanctuary was in northern Michigan, and she hoped to check it out soon for herself. When he turned, she stared at the scars again, and he ran his fingers over them.
Her fingers acted before her brain could stop them, and reached up to smooth over the lines one by one.
He sucked in a breath at her touch, and she jerked her hand back once she realized what she’d been doing.
“Sorry.”
“You can touch me anytime you like, Rose. But don’t do so unless you really mean it.”
His eyes glowed. Her stomach did a funny flop before heat settled between her thighs, she took a step back, and swallowed hard.
“Why did they not heal?”
“I got them when I was younger. I was knocked unconscious for three days, and by the time I shifted, for some reason the scars remained. It happens on occasion, rarely.” He shrugged. “Guess I was one of the lucky ones. And, Rose, I know what you’re doing.”
“Huh?”
“You’re stalling. Please, tell me why you hate my kind so much.”
He followed close behind when she made her way to the living room. She sat on the dark brown leather sofa, and he sat beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his thigh next to her. She opened her mouth to explain several times, but the words lodged in her throat, refusing to surface. When he laid his hand over hers where it rested on her leg, she felt comforted by his touch. She didn’t want to feel comforted by him, but her body gave her no choice in the matter.
“My friend was murdered by a lycan. Now you know.” Her stomach churned, and she took a deep breath to calm the roiling that threatened to toss up the wonderful dinner she’d just eaten.
He slowly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and even though she knew he was doing it to soothe her, a spark of desire shot through her. His fingers were long and strong, the knuckles dusted with golden blond hair. They were hands made for fighting. They were hands made for loving, and she fought the urge to close her eyes and revel in his magical caresses.
“I think there is a bit more to it than that.” He leaned closer and tucked some stray hairs behind her ear.
“While the taking of a friend in itself is enough to spark a need for revenge, it usually does not keep that fire of anger lit indefinitely.” He leaned closer still. “Tell me.” His whispered words were so close to her ear, his hot breath fanned across her cheek.
Suddenly, she found herself pouring out the whole ordeal that had taken place that night with Russell and the horrible, ill-fated party she and Tammy had gone to. When she was done, she was surprised to find she was crying. Twice in one day now, and she never cried. Strangely, instead of being flooded with the turmoil of sadness and anger she thought she’d feel at telling someone, an eerie calm settled through her. The deep glow in Knox’s eyes said effectively—no words needed—that he was ashamed and angered by what his kind had done.
“I’m sorry. This is why we are trying to get the rogues under control. You should have been protected, along with the other girls, not brutalized. I cannot tell you how much your suffering pains me. I know you are still having a difficult time believing me when I say we are not all like that, but it’s true. I would never harm you or another who carried the scent. Neither would many others I know. I wish I had found you back then, before all of that happened. I would have never let the rogue hurt you or your friend. It’s a tragic loss for you, and for three of my brethren who will never have the opportunity to know their mates.”