Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(36)

"You're back," she said quietly, then closed the book and set it on the table beside her chair. With unstudied grace, she swung her legs down and stood up, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Hawke . . . I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. Where is he?"

"Draden hunting."

The worst of the tension leached out of him. Maxim wouldn't return for at least an hour. "Are you still on European time?"

"No." A small furrow creased the flesh between her brows. "I've been sleeping a lot the past couple of days. I guess I just needed to catch up. I found this room after Maxim left tonight, and I've been here ever since." Her smile reappeared, brighter than before. "I've never seen so many books."

His chest ached at the sight of her, at the soft curve of her jaw, the slender length of her neck, the sweet fullness of her lips. Goddess how he wanted to taste those lips.

"What are you reading?" he forced through his own instead.

"The Battle of Antietam."

He lifted a brow. "Trying to find something to put you to sleep?"

She smiled, slaying him. He felt that smile penetrate like a sun shot straight into his heart, bursting into brightness inside him, sending brilliant light and perfect warmth radiating into every corner of his body.

"No, I love reading about history and wars." She shrugged self-consciously. "I wish there were books on the Therian-Mage wars, but I didn't see any."

"Therians rarely write anything down."

"Because the humans might find it? They'd just think it was fiction."

"Oral history has always been our way. If you wish to know something, find a Therian who was alive back then and get a firsthand account."

She frowned even as her eyes began to twinkle. "I prefer books."

"Me, too."

His words earned him one of her small, brilliant grins. Every time she smiled, he felt reborn.

Dammit, he'd promised himself to stay away from her.

No, that wasn't true. He'd promised himself to be nothing more to her than a casual friend. They still had to live in the same house, didn't they? And it was friendly to talk to her when he found her alone in the middle of the night. Right? Goddess.

He scrubbed his face with his hands.

"Are you okay?" Faith asked softly.

"Yeah. Just tired." Which was true enough. He was tired deep in his soul.

"Are some of these books yours?" she asked.

He glanced around him, at the wall-to-wall, ceiling-to-floor stacks broken only by the windows, the double doors, and the big, old-fashioned hearth. "They're pretty much all mine."

Her expressive eyes widened, and he couldn't turn away. She fascinated him, pulled at him like a dangerous drug. He knew he should leave. He told himself to go. But if there was one thing he was lacking these days, it was self-control. "You're genuinely interested in the Civil War?"

"Is that so surprising?" A glimmer of laughter lit her expression, but her eyes didn't sparkle the way he remembered. Was that his doing? The thought hurt.

He shrugged. "I don't think I've ever run into a woman, a Therian woman, who cared one way or another about human history."

"Human history is the history of the world. We might not play a direct part in it most of the time, but that doesn't mean it's not relevant."

He smiled, impressed. "Exactly. You sound like a student of more than just the American Civil War."

"I am." She sat down, curling once more into his reading chair, tucking her legs up beside her. He'd never again see that chair, or sit in it, he suspected, that he wouldn't think of her. "Honestly, I'm interested in everything. I adore books and have read anything and everything I can get my hands on, though generally nonfiction. History, philosophy, psychology, the sciences." As she talked, the sparkle briefly reappeared in her eyes. "But I've long been fascinated by the nature of the Civil War. Unlike the European conflicts, it wasn't about conquering another nation. It wasn't about world domination. It was about ideological differences, one side fighting for independence, the other fighting to preserve the whole. It split villages, families."

"I know," he said quietly.

Her mouth dropped open. "You were here. Right in the middle of it."

"The Ferals were. I wasn't."

"You weren't a Feral Warrior, then?"

"No. Not at first. I was in Finland. My father was killed during that conflict, struck by a mortar shell that blew his heart out of his chest. The wrong place at the wrong time."

"Oh, Hawke, I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. A few weeks later, I was marked to be the next hawk shifter. By the time I returned, the Civil War was nearly over. But I saw the destruction. I saw the hollow eyes of the humans, eyes that had once glowed with such fervor, such purpose."

Faith nodded. "I saw the same in Europe. The hollow eyes, at least." Her expressive face turned pensive, shadows of old pain crossing her features.

"You were there, during the world wars?"

"Yes. I was very young during the first war, the Great War. My love of history was born of a need to understand why my village had been attacked and so many killed. I wanted to know who'd ordered the destruction. But I found myself fascinated with the workings of power and greed. And by the strategies of battle." She shrugged. "What doesn't kill you makes you obsessed."