Ripper (Hunter #1)(64)

The fog began to lift as I realized I’m not in those woods any longer. I was with Gray. I could feel the heat of his body, the satisfying weight of him on top of me. The ceiling fan turned overhead and I took a deep breath. “Gray?”

His face gentled, his hands coming down to smooth back my hair. “It’s all right, baby. You’re here with me. It’s okay.”

He got off me and sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned on the small light on the nightstand. “Is that better?”

I nodded, still shaking from the dream. This was why I rarely went to bed sober. When I passed out, I didn’t dream about that night.

“Was it about your dad?”

“How do you know about that?” I asked, my voice as sharp as broken glass.

Gray looked down at me unflinchingly. “Jamie told me. You’re not the only one who has nightmares. We were on a stakeout a couple of years back and he fell asleep. He blew our cover when he woke up screaming. He told me about the things your father forced him to do. He told me about how it was nothing compared to what he did to you. I intend to kill your father if I ever find him.”

“Are you looking?” I wondered who my father would be more afraid of, me or Gray?

“I’ve been looking for him for almost a year,” Gray admitted. “I had a solid lead that he was in Canada, but a man can get really lost in the Yukon. I don’t have the time to track him like I should. If it would make you feel better, I’ll take some leave and I promise you, I will find him.”

He was serious. If I told him to, he would put in for a sabbatical and go to Canada to try to kill a man he didn’t even know so I would sleep better at night. No one before ever cared about me so much. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends or brothers who loved me, but Gray was different. I shook my head. He could kill my father, but it wouldn’t stop the dreams. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Gray that the monster in my dreams wasn’t my father.

It was me.

I felt a gentle hand brush against my cheek. I wanted to tell him to stop. I didn’t want to be touched, but I allowed it. Gray seemed to need to do it. It got easier to handle until I leaned into his hands, wanting it. Until the need overcame everything else. His fingers brushed against my skin and I felt the electricity between us.

“Tell me,” he whispered against my hair.

I hesitated. I hadn’t told anyone but Jamie and Liv. I should blow him off. Tell him something about being scared of wolves.

Instead, I opened my mouth and told him everything.

He ended up moving behind me while I told him about my childhood and that night in the woods. He didn’t interrupt me, merely let me lay back against the comfort of his chest. He rubbed my shoulders and my arms, willing warmth and relaxation into my bones. It was easy in the soft light to believe he would protect me. It was easy to believe I could tell him anything.

I wanted to not be alone anymore.

“I walked away from him,” I finished tonelessly. “I think he was alive.”

There was no judgment in Gray’s voice as he replied. “And you never saw him again?”

I shook my head.

“I’m sure he was alive,” Gray said. “I did find a John Atwood matching your father’s description. I tracked his movements from Atlanta up to the Yukon. He was still hunting. Honey, what you did to him was in self-defense.”

I kept my mouth closed. I didn’t tell him that my father had been down and defenseless and I kept right on beating him until I heard wolves coming. The pack had been looking for their children and that was when I ran. I hadn’t been able to face them.

“How did you get to a town?”

“I walked.” I hadn’t. I’d run, faster than I could have imagined because those wolves had been looking for me and I doubted they would have been in the mood for explanations. I’d run and when I could, I’d tracked back to the river. I swam a few miles in the freezing water to mask my scent. I’d made it to Heber Springs ten miles away, walking in twenty-degree temperatures, wet and without a coat. I evaded the police and managed to steal warm clothes. When I was properly dressed, I found a truck stop and a waitress let me use the phone. My brother picked me up eight hours later.

I didn’t even catch a cold.

Gray ran a hand down my left arm, seeking the scars that should have been there. “Are you sure he cut you? You don’t have any scars.”

“I guess it just seemed deep.” I remembered the feeling of that knife cutting deeply into my forearms. I remembered the way the blood welled and how weak I felt.

I didn’t mention to Gray that six months later, I’d slit my own arms from wrist to elbow. I’d heard that was the best way to commit suicide. I’d cut hard and deep, sure that it would end my guilt, my suffering. That was when Nate and Liv had found me.

I like to say they saved me, but sometimes I wonder because the truth of the matter is I don’t have those scars either.

The dream was gone, but the feelings were still riding me hard. I wanted to stop talking, to stop the unwanted emotions from swamping me. I wanted…Gray.

I sat up and turned around to face him. I reached out and traced the hard line of his jaw. His face was all angles and planes. If you studied his features separately he was too hard to be handsome, but something about Gray softened the ultra masculine lines and made him beautiful. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. His callused hands found my hips and stroked up to my waist. We kissed for a moment, our tongues tangling, and though I wished I could stay there for hours, I knew that wasn’t what men wanted.