Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(64)

It's not about me!

Maybe not. But he goddamn hated himself.

Olivia climbed out to the farthest point on the rocks and for a moment, he wondered if she would just keep going, falling into the cold, dangerous Potomac far below. Instead, she perched on a narrow ledge, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them as she stared down at the raging river.

He knew she was strong, and yet at that moment she appeared tiny and delicate and so incredibly fragile. His head pounded with cold denial that he'd betrayed her secret, inadvertently or not. Yes, she was strong, but he'd opened her to death in a thousand ways.

The fear of the draden-kissed went deep in the Therian psyche. For thousands of years, stories had been told of Therian villages wiped out in a single night, the Therians drained in their sleep without ever waking. Without ever knowing they had a life-stealer in their midst.

Logically, most understood that mass death like that almost always happened accidentally, caused by a newly turned Therian who didn't know they were a danger until it was too late. But the knowledge didn't change anything. The fear persisted.

Once word got out about Olivia, some would seek to kill her, despite the edict of tolerance. None would allow her near them or their loved ones or their enclaves. Her place in the Therian Guard would be lost.

With his anger and his carelessness, he'd taken everything from her. Everything.

Jag sank to the rock behind her, burying his face in his hands.

She understood him better than anyone ever had. "You're right, Liv. As much as I've denied it, everything you said about me is true. I hate myself. I hate myself for not saving Cordelia. For getting her into that mess in the first place."

She didn't respond. He hadn't really expected her to. His gaze drank in the sight of her vibrant head, her fragile neck bent as she stared down into the water.

"I won't let them hurt you, Liv. Any of them. I can't undo what's been done, but I can make sure you're never alone again. I'll leave the Ferals. I'll live with you, wherever you want to go. No one is ever going to hurt you."

Slowly, Olivia turned her head, meeting his gaze with eyes that even now, even after all he'd done to her, radiated with a strength greater than his own.

"Go away, Jag. I don't want you in my life anymore. I don't need you."

He met that gaze and saw no trace of the hatred that should be there. No hint that she cared anything for him at all. Only deep weariness lived in her eyes, and a sadness that tore his heart out.

"You do need me, Liv. They'll hunt you. If not the Ferals, then someone else."

She lifted a brow. "And you'd sacrifice your life and your work here to protect me?"

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Anyone other than you, you mean?"

The words stabbed him through the heart. "I deserved that. I didn't mean to betray you, Olivia."

"No. You didn't want to hear what I had to say, and you lashed out at me for saying it.

And now it doesn't matter anymore." She turned away again. "Nothing matters anymore."

"Olivia...I care about you, too. I think I'm falling in love with you."

She lifted her head slowly and looked at him over her shoulder, but there was no joy in her expression.

"You don't believe me."

"I don't know, Jag," she said wearily. "Maybe you do feel something. But it doesn't matter. Your caring about me, even loving me, isn't going to do either of us any good until you love yourself. You'll just keep punishing you and hurting me. Until you learn to forgive yourself and find a way to see past your mistakes to the good person deep inside, you're not ready to love anyone else."

She pushed her hair back, propping her elbow on her knees. "It's okay to fail sometimes. We all do. The key is trusting yourself to try to do the right things. And forgiving yourself if you fall short on occasion. Until you've done that, and let go of the guilt and self-hatred, you're toxic, Jag."

Olivia turned back to face the river, turning her back on him. "Now go away and leave me alone."

Jag stared at the back of her head, at her small spine, which even now radiated strength, and he struggled with a pain almost more than he could bear. He couldn't leave her. Yet he would die before he let anyone hurt her again.

Even him.

He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, watching the rising sun and trying not to hate himself, when he first heard the cry. A child's cry of fear.

His head snapped around and he spied her immediately, a girl of no more than nine or ten, running through the woods toward the cliffs where they sat. She wore jeans and a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, but the shirt was torn at the neck, and tears streamed down her terrified face.

Jag leaped to his feet and started for her.

The child saw him and ran straight for him. "Help me! He's trying to hurt me."

Jag growled in fury.

"Bastard," Olivia hissed beside him.

Jag hadn't realized she'd followed, and he met her gaze. For one fleeting moment, they were once more in perfect accord.

As one, they climbed off the rocks as the girl reached them. She held out her hands, and Jag took one as Olivia took the other. No one was hurting her.

An odd, almost sly smile broke over the child's mouth. Then she looked up at them and Jag froze. He told himself to snatch his hand from hers, but it was too late.