“It was real for me,” she said. Hearing it out loud, didn’t inspire the shame she would have thought. It felt more important to acknowledge those feelings. “I know myself.”
“You don’t know what love is,” he replied, wrenching his hand away. “Don’t think for a second that you felt it for me. You should move on. After this is over… I’ll challenge Lukka,” he reiterated. “Then decide from there.”
“No.” Loren blurted in a rush. “I know myself. I know what I felt—what I feel. I still do. I still—”
“Loren, please.” She’d never heard his voice so guttural, on the verge of a growl. That alone made her bite her tongue.
“Let’s stay focused on what matters,” he insisted. “Please.”
“The challenge,” she croaked, submitting to the change in subject. “You plan to face Lukka…”
But then what? Would he leave as he suggested and expect her to join a pack of strangers? The idea wasn’t anywhere near as appealing as he seemed to think it was.
“Can you fight him?” she asked finally. “Without the strength of the mating bond.”
“I’ll have to.” His curtness warned her to let the subject drop.
But she couldn’t. “Eric said it made you weaker. How? Just tell me that much.”
“It was a dramatic choice of words,” he said dryly. “The mating bond can help with doubt. Uncertainty. You felt for yourself, how I was able to help you?”
It was still hard for her to understand. Her gaps in memory. Her lack of fear and agony over the death of Fred Connors.
That was all because of him.
“You took it away,” she said softly. “But after… You didn’t feel anything for me at all?”
Hehad. The personal, foreign thoughts of her—long before they ever even met—proved it. His interest in her hadn’t always been based on a noble, selfless need to help.
The very first day he ever caught her scent, he’d wanted to…
“Loren.” The pain in his voice was palpable, contradicting her building hope. “Please don’t do this. I trust you, and that’s all that should matter. I trusted you enough to bring you here despite the risk. I’d lay down my life for you if I had to.”
He meant it. Every word.
But even that promise wasn’t enough to assuage the sting of what he didn’t say.
I’d die for you—but I can’t ever love you.
I won’t.
* * *
Two hours into their wait, Bill left the truck and motioned for her to do the same. He withdrew a phone from his pocket and held a short, concise conversation with whoever answered on the other end.
“Naomi and Micha are okay,” he said afterward, pocketing the device. “As for why we’re here… I think we should scout around and then leave. This could have been a trick, but I’d rather not stick around to find out. Come on.”
It was so dark she couldn’t see much beyond the road, though Bill seemed to have no trouble with his footing. He moved assuredly, slowing only when she hesitated.
“It’s too dark,” she said, more aware of her limitations than ever. She might have been able to shift, but she couldn’t control it. That part of her brain seemed sealed off, unable to be accessed.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “Do you remember the feeling you felt when you shifted? Try to tap into that again. Not the anger, of course. Just that instinct.”
“I don’t understand.” In some ways, she scarcely believed that she’d shifted at all. That creature hadn’t felt entirely like her, but some primal extension. An animalistic impulse lurked within, whispering to her from the back of her mind.
At the moment, said voice was entirely silent.
“Trust me,” Bill insisted. “Close your eyes.”