Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(56)

Other than the fact that there were sheets on the bed - plain white - the room could have been unoccupied.

He happened to like it like this.

Olivia whirled on him so fast he took a fist to the nose before he realized what she had in mind.

He laughed, but the sound was ugly. Anger ate him alive, a mass of emotion he only knew two ways to get rid of - a good old-fashioned fight. Or sex.

He had a feeling he was about to get both.

Snagging Olivia around the waist, he lifted her and tossed her on the bed, then yanked off his shirt, intending to follow her down, but her eyes flashed with fury, and he could see she'd had enough of being his slave. The storm inside her contained not an ounce of fear. No, if he had to guess, she was transferring grief. For Niall. Which pissed the hell out of him.

"He wasn't good enough for you." He dove on top of her, careful to brace himself with his arms.

She slammed her knee between his thighs, but he clamped them together, barely keeping her from un-manning him, trapping her leg between his.

"He was a hell of a lot better man than you'll ever be."

A fist clenched inside him, driving his anger. "He was a pansy-assed wuss who let you walk all over him."

With a furious growl, she head-butted him, catching him in the damn nose again. He reared back, and she slipped out from under him and launched herself at him, stronger than any female had a right to be, especially one who barely reached his shoulder.

His male instincts told him to be careful with her. His breaking ribs told him she could handle whatever he dished out.

He tackled her down. "Did you have feelings for him?"

She punched him in the jaw. "Of course I had feelings for him! I'd known him for more than three hundred years. You wouldn't know feelings if they bit you in the ass!"

They fought, her throwing punches, him blocking most of them. The bed creaked and swayed beneath them.

"Did you love him?"

"You know the answer to that. As a friend, yes, but you know I didn't return the feelings he had for me." Her elbow slammed into his solar plexus. "But so help me, if you think I shouldn't care that he's dead..." Her heel drove hard into his knee. "If you think I can just forget the sight of that monster stripping his face away one strip of flesh at a time..." Her voice cracked. "So help me, Jag, I'm going to beat your cold ass to hell and back."

The bed collapsed beneath them with a crash. He rolled onto his feet, but Olivia followed, spinning and slamming her heel into his knee again, splintering his kneecap.

With a roar, he collapsed onto his other knee just as the door burst open wide.

Tighe and Wulfe pushed inside, then halted in the doorway, staring at the wreckage of the bed, him on his knees, blood running down his face and his fire demon of a partner standing over him about to drive her elbow into his skull.

Jag grinned. Goddess, but he loved a strong woman. He wiped the blood from his mouth and gave Tighe a jaunty salute.

Olivia whirled on the pair in the doorway, her eyes blazing with unholy fire. "Unless you want to join the fight, get the hell out of here."

Tighe lifted his hands in quick surrender. "I'm gone."

Wulfe, the bastard, grinned. "Don't kill him."

The respite had given his knee a chance to heal. As Wulfe pulled the door closed behind him, Jag shot to his feet, ready for another round. He loved a good fight, and this one had gotten his blood pumping, and at the same time given him an outlet for the awful tension that had been riding him ever since that goat f**k of a battle.

But Olivia's eyes showed no such relief. Deep in those gray depths, he could see her shattering. His heart clenched in his chest as he understood. She fought the grief and her own emotions more than she fought him. And while he'd gladly let her beat the crap out of him if it helped her, he could see it wasn't helping at all.

The emotion needed another way out. The sheen in her eyes told him that.

She launched herself at him again, but even as she did, tears began to run down her cheeks, seeming to make her madder. He let her get in a couple of good punches, then he grabbed her in a bear hug and pressed her face against his chest as she struggled.

"Let it out, Liv," he said quietly. "You're not going to get rid of it until you give in. Just let it out."

She fought him a moment more, her fists pummeling his shoulders until the storm overtook her. Sobs wracked her small body, her fists opening, her fingers clinging to him as grief swept her away.

He felt a deep and sudden need to comfort her and didn't have a clue how to do it.

He'd always been great at causing anger. Soothing raging emotions was beyond him.

He could always use the calming touch of his hand, but he sensed that wasn't what she needed right now. She needed to get it out.

He patted her back awkwardly.

She buried her face tighter against him, clinging to him harder, as if his attempts weren't that awkward at all.

He lifted his hand and cupped her small head, holding it tight against him. Deep inside his chest, he felt a cracking of the ice that had for so long encased his heart.

He didn't want that. Didn't need it. But even as the thought went through his head, his arms enclosed her in a vise of a protective cage through which nothing would ever harm her again.

As if she heard his thoughts, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze with eyes that swam in misery even as they clung to him. As he stared into those gray depths, he felt himself falling. Deep inside, warmth flowed from that crack in his heart, rushing through his blood and limbs, into all the cold, dark crevices. Waking his body, his mind. His soul.