Page 22 of Fenrir

“Fenrir,” Grace said sternly.

It surprised him how strong she was. Even for a shifter, she was exceptionally strong. She’d pulled his chin back to her with ease as if he’d been a child.

He licked his lips. He wanted to tell her. To trust her. But he’d just found her. Hell, he’d just kissed her. What would happen to him if she couldn’t handle it? He didn’t know if he could live if she looked at him with those beautiful eyes and told him everyone had been right. That he really was a monster who deserved to be alone.

“Fenrir, you have two choices,” she said. “You can tell me why your knuckles look like this, or we can just chalk this up to an amazing first kiss story and go our separate ways. It’s up to you.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her the things he did for work. The people he hurt. The way part of him enjoyed it. He couldn’t. Not her. Not with her looking at him like that.

She nodded and dropped his hand. “It’s ok. I understand. We don’t really know each other anyway.” She headed toward the door and had just pulled it open when he rushed up behind her, pressing his body against hers and flattening her against the wood.

His body exploded with need as he came in contact with her lush, soft curves again. He wanted nothing more than to grab her luscious hips and wrap himself in her warm velvetiness. A whine escaped him.

He caged her against the door with his body, and she tried to turn to look at him, but he placed his hand on her hip, stopping her.

“No,” he said. “I can’t have you look at me.”

“Okay,” she stammered.

He pressed his forehead into her hair and breathed in deep. If this was his last moment with her, he wanted to remember her scent. Wanted to bottle it and keep it with him forever. Reminding him of why he couldn’t have nice things. Why he didn’t deserve good things. Because he wasn’t good.

“I… hurt someone today,” he said, closing his eyes.

He listened, but her heartbeat didn’t quicken, and her breathing remained even.

“Do you do this often?” she asked.

He scrunched his face up tight. He needed to tell her. Needed her to understand. “When I’m asked.”

“Who asks you to?”

“My father. Other gods. People who need help.”

A moment passed.

“So, you only hurt people who deserve it?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

He breathed her in again, his gut tightening and his beast whining. He fought the urge to spin her around and see what her eyes held.

Her hand reached back, and she found his. “Do you ever kill anyone?” she asked in a small voice.

He held his breath. “Yes.”

“Do you like it?”

What the hell? Why did she have to ask him that?

“Sometimes.” He barely got the word out. He’d never told another soul. Not anyone. But he felt compelled to tell her everything. Let her look inside him. See what he never showed anyone, and beg her to accept him anyway.

When she said nothing, he stepped away and released her hand. “I understand if you want to go. Trust me, I disgust myself.”

Grace turned and looked at him. Several expressions played over her face, and then something unexpected happened. Her eyes turned golden. Alpha golden.

Fenrir was about to ask about it when she marched past him and into the bathroom. She rummaged in the cabinets for a minute and then returned with a bottle, some cotton pads, and some ointment. She motioned for him to sit on the bed.

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