Ecstasy Untamed (Feral Warriors #6)(37)

"Were the people in your enclave killed, or simply scattered?"

"Neither." Her mouth gave a wry twist. "I was the only one scattered."

He lowered himself to the chair that sat at right angles to hers, arms on his thighs as he leaned toward her. "What do you mean?"

She sat back, pulling her knees against her chest. All softness fled from her face, replaced by old pain. And anger. "A few hours before the village was attacked, we received a warning. My enclave packed up and left. I didn't." He waited for her to say more. Instead, she shrugged, visibly pushing away the memory. "It was a long time ago. So, have you visited all the nearby battlefields - Manassas, Harpers Ferry, Gettysburg?"

He wanted to press her for more, sensing a deep, open wound. But he'd caused her enough pain. "Yes, numerous times, plus a number of smaller ones. The armies traipsed all over this area at one point or another."

"I'd love to see them." Once more, the sparkle briefly returned to her eyes.

"I'd love to show you." Goddess, that was true. He imagined the two of them walking hand in hand through the old battlefields, her quick mind taking it all in as she fired off questions and observations. None of his brothers had ever had any interest. How he would love to share his own passion for history with someone. With Faith. "One of these days, I'll take you." In a move as natural as breathing, he reached for her, covering her soft hand with his.

Her gaze snapped up to his, her eyes softening, then tightening with a plea he didn't understand. A plea laced with desperation. She leaned toward him, and, for one brilliant moment, he thought she meant to throw herself into his arms.

His hawk screeched with triumph.

But as quickly as the look appeared, it vanished. Her face screwed up with a pain that slew him. She jerked her hand away. "Don't touch me," she whispered, her voice breaking.

He reared back. "Faith."

"I love Maxim!" She leaped from her chair, moving behind it as if to protect herself from him. Her eyes had turned wild, unfocused. The eyes of a stranger.

What the hell? Was everyone going crazy, or was it just him?

"Go." Her face crumpled. Tears began to run down her cheeks. "Just go," she whispered.

Goddess. All he'd done was touch her hand. He stared at her in confusion, every instinct he possessed demanding he go to her, not turn away. But she was crying and he'd caused the tears, him and his damned infatuation.

Walking barefoot over broken glass couldn't hurt any more than turning his back on her as tears skated down her cheeks, but he forced himself to do just that, to leave the room and close the doors behind him. Then he leaned back against the nearest wall, dug his fingers into his scalp, and ached. He'd made her cry.

He had to stay away from her. Until he was himself again, until he was certain he could be polite and nothing more, he couldn't go near her. And never could he allow himself to be alone with her again.

He'd made her cry.

It was too much to ask that he might stop caring about her. It was too late for that. In a few short days, she'd become the light shining in his heart. The music. The life.

But no one could ever know. He had to bury his feelings deep, so deep no one ever saw them again. So deep no one ever knew that he'd fallen in love with the woman destined to become his enemy's mate.

The next afternoon, Faith stood beside Maxim in the foyer, the other wives nearby as Olivia greeted Kieran, the latest of the new Ferals to arrive at Feral House.

"Olivia, you weren't kidding," Delaney said. "He is beautiful."

Kieran grinned and rolled his eyes.

Tighe hooked his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her close. "Excuse me?" But his dimples flashed with his own grin, and Delaney laughed. "Not as pretty as you, my tiger."

Tighe growled, but it was a funny growl, a feral You know it.

Kieran was beautiful, Faith couldn't deny it, though she found his beauty a bit too . . . flawless. His face perfectly shaped, his jaw perfectly sculpted, his nose perfectly straight, and his eyes a perfect, crystal blue. His hair, a gorgeous, flawless gold, hung in perfect waves to his broad shoulders. Even his mouth, with its full lower lip, was utterly, perfectly sensual. As eye candy, he was a nonpareil. And, as Olivia had promised, he seemed to take it in stride, which made him likable as well. But Kieran's face lacked the character of Hawke's, and while he seemed to be nice enough, his eyes lacked that endless well of patience and kindness that belonged to Hawke alone.

Belatedly, she realized it should be Maxim she compared Kieran to, not Hawke. She hadn't even seen Hawke since he'd walked into the library early yesterday morning. When she'd started crying and ordered him out.

Her scalp tingled with remembered shame. He hadn't deserved that, not at all. She'd been so glad to see him. Her pulse had quickened at the sight of him in a simple black T-shirt and jeans, his golden armband winking beneath the cuff of his shirt, circling one muscular arm. He'd stolen her breath as he'd towered over her, his eyes gleaming with warmth, with friendliness and kindness and an emotion not nearly so gentle. One that had made her flesh heat, her body grow restless, and her heart thud with reckless excitement.

She'd wanted him there. As they'd talked of his books and war, she'd watched the movement of his beautifully shaped lips and fallen deeply into those dark eyes. She'd wanted him to stay there with her, desperately. And then he'd reached for her hand, touched her, and she'd gone a little insane, demanding he leave her, and he had. She hadn't seen him since.