He frowned. “Blake talks too damned much. And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Are you sure? I’m a good listener, and this is a judgment free zone. You can talk to me about anything.”
Exhaling, he stared out at the scenery, avoiding looking at her. Maybe… maybe it would help to get an outsider’s perspective. The only person who knew anything about the situation was Blake—who apparently liked to gossip like an old woman. Oh, he was sure the other Enforcers had caught on to his changed moods, and possibly even to the fact that he avoided using his gift. They were too sharp not to have caught on. They just hadn’t said anything.
As much as he didn’t want to let on that he had any kind of weakness—especially to her—he still felt an urge to spill his guts. He wasn’t sure where it came from, but it was strong. Strong enough that he wasn’t sure he could resist.
Still not looking her way, he inhaled deeply, having a hard time believing he was going to do it. “Do you know what my gift is?”
“Something about forcing shifts, right?”
“That’s part of it, yeah. The full extent is controlling them. I can control whether a person shifts or not—whether that’s from human to animal or vice versa. And, of course, forcing the shifts when needed. It’s a useful gift in battle, and the main reason I was accepted into the Enforcers to begin with.”
“I’m sure there are other reasons—”
He shook his head. “No, really. The ability to fight, in human and animal form, is needed, of course. But the main requirement is having a powerful gift. Something that adds value to our abilities, something that makes capturing the bad shifters easier. Those fuckers don’t fight fairly, and they’d sooner stick a knife in your back than allow you to get close enough to stop them physically. So our gifts are a big part of why we’re as successful at bringing them down as we are.
“My gift is all about controlling others, which makes the fact that I have a hard time with control doubly ironic. I’ve always struggled with controlling my gift. Usually, it’s because I don’t use enough power in my voice. But there have been a few times when I’ve used too much. But there were never unintended consequences until a couple of years ago. With Vynn, actually.”
“My Vynn?” she asked, her head turning as she looked at him.
He tried not to stiffen at her use of my. He knew she didn’t mean it like that—just that Vynn was a War Cat. But it still didn’t sit well with him.
Jealous fucker, he muttered in his mind. Get over it.
Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yeah. That scar on his cheek? That’s because of me.”
Risking a glance at her out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she frowned, her hazel eyes confused. “I don’t understand. Ian from the Rocky River fighters gave him that, not you.”
“Physically, yes. Ian had just raked his claws down Vynn’s cheek when I forced them to shift. I used too much power in my voice, though, and it knocked Vynn unconscious. His tiger was out, too, and wasn’t able to heal him like he should have.”
“You sound like you feel badly for that, Luke, but you shouldn’t. Vynn’s tiger had the ability to heal him once he regained consciousness. He refused because of Vynn’s behavior, which had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
Shaking his head, he finally turned toward her, meeting her eyes. “Maybe, but that’s not the point. The point is that after twenty-eight years, I’m still not able to control my gift like I need to. And that lack of control could get someone killed. If Vynn’s injuries had been more severe, he could have died, Tarun.”
“But they weren’t and he didn’t. A lot of shifters struggle with their gifts, Luke, including me.”
“Your gift doesn’t mean the difference between life and death, either.”
She rolled her eyes, turning on the rock to face him fully. “That’s not true. If I don’t see the threat in time, or if I can’t figure out who it’s directed at or where it’s coming from, it could mean disaster for someone. Usually someone I love. Sometimes all that stands between someone and death is my gift, but I have no way of controlling it or making it show me what I need it to.”
“And that’s the difference between your gift and mine. Because I can control mine. I just struggle to do it well, and that’s unacceptable. And one day, someone could get killed because I’m not strong enough to do it right.”
Tarun searched Luke’s eyes, watching as the ring of gold around his pupil slowly overtook more of the light blue. His confession was tugging at her heart strings, because it was something he clearly struggled with.
He was a huge, tough, tatted up badass biker, and he was so obviously uncomfortable with admitting what he saw as his flaws. It had to be hard for him, especially since he said the very essence of being an Enforcer was tied up in shifter gifts.
Surely he brought more to the table than just his gift, though. Blake was the leader of the Enforcers, and he knew about Luke’s struggle, but he kept him around. There had to be a reason for that, other than supernatural talents.
He exhaled, glancing back to the scenery. “Maybe it’s time to admit that I’m not cut out to be an Enforcer anymore.”
Eyebrows shooting up, her mouth popped open as she stared at him. “What? How can you say that?”
“It’s just the truth, Tarun. I’ve been thinking it for a while. I haven’t used my gift since the shit that happened with Vynn. That makes me a hindrance, and it could put my crew in jeopardy.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That’s realistic.”