She lets out a soft laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I don’t know that? But they don’t get it. They don’t know what it’s like…this bond.” Her hand drifts to her neck, brushing the spot where I know my mark should be.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. “You shouldn’t have to explain it to them,” I say, my voice low. “It’s not fair to you.”

“It’s not about fair,” she says, taking a step closer, her gaze locking with mine. “It’s about what’s right. And you…you feel right. I can’t explain it, Colt, but you do.”

Her words crack something in me, and I feel my control slipping. She’s standing here, telling me she trusts me, that she believes in me, and all I can think about is how much she doesn’t know.

How much I haven’t told her.

How much I want to fuck her senseless.

I close my eyes, trying to hold myself together. “You should go back home, Magnolia,” I say, the words scraping against my throat like sandpaper. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her face. I’m hurting her.

"Why?" she whispers, her voice trembling. "I…I thought…was I not good enough last night? I know I’m inexperienced, but–”

Her voice cracks, and the rawness in it guts me. I don’t even let her finish that thought.

“Magnolia, stop,” I growl, stepping closer, closing the space between us. My hands find her arms before I can stop myself, and I grip her more tightly than I meant to. “Don’t you ever think that. Don’t you dare think that. Last night…” My voice dips, rougher now, horny as hell even from the memory–not that I want to say that, not exactly. “Last night was…you have no idea how good you feel. It’s everything. You’re everything.”

Her lips part, her eyes wide and glimmering, and I can see the hurt giving way to a blush. But there’s still doubt there, still that flicker of insecurity that makes my wolf snarl, furious at me for putting it there in the first place.

“Then why?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you pushing me away? If I’m enough for you, why does it feel like you’re trying to run?”

I drag a hand through my hair as I take a step back, the loss of her warmth immediate and jarring. “Because Iamrunning, Magnolia. Not from you. From everything else.” My voice cracks, and I don’t even try to hide it. “I don’t know how to be what you deserve. And I’m scared as hell I’m gonna hurt you, even if I don’t mean to.”

Her brow furrows deeper, and she takes a step toward me, closing the distance I just put between us. “You won’t,” she says firmly, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. “I know you, Colt. You wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that.”

“You don’t know everything,” I say, my voice low, strained. My chest feels tight, like the words are lodged there, clawing their way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’ve been.”

Her hands slide up, one of them cupping my face, forcing me to look at her. “Then tell me,” she whispers, her thumb brushing against my cheek. “Tell me, Colt. Whatever it is you’re afraid of, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Her touch is so gentle, so steady, and it almost burns when she runs her fingers over the delicate bite mark over my pulse. And God, I want to tell her. I want to lay it all bare, let her see every broken, ugly piece of me. But the fear is still there, thick and suffocating. The fear that if I do, she’ll see the monster underneath.

I’m no hero. I’m a self-interested kleptomaniac with a bad habit of running at the first sign of commitment.

But she’s looking at me like I’m more than that, like she sees something in me worth saving. It guts me. She deserves a saint, not some wreck of a man barely holding it together.

This was more fun during the chase. Now that I’ve caught her…what the hell am I supposed to do?

“Magnolia…” My voice cracks on her name, and I hate how weak it sounds, how raw I feel under her gaze. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she says, her thumb stroking over my jaw like she’s trying to soothe me. “But I know what I feel. I know what I see. And I see a man who’s been through hell and back but still has this…this goodness in him. You might not see it, but I do.”

Goodness? Christ, if she only knew. I’ve done things—things I don’t even want to think about, let alone admit. I’ve lied and stolen and hurt people. I’ve been a weapon for others, a tool for destruction. Goodness isn’t in me. Maybe it never has been.

But she says it like it’s a fact, like she’d stake her life on it. And fuck, it makes me want to be that man for her. The one she thinks I am.

The one I know I’ll never be.

“Magnolia, I…” I swallow hard, my throat tight as the words I don’t want to say claw their way out. “I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things I don’t even want you to know about. You say you see goodness in me, but if you knew—if you really knew—you wouldn’t.”

Her fingers tighten on my jaw, her eyes blazing. “You’re wrong,” she says simply. “I would. Because no matter what you’ve done, no matter what’s happened to you, I see the man you are now. And that’s what matters.”

I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished, the weight of her belief in me too much to bear. I pull away and slump to a seat on the cot and rest my head in my hands. “You don’t understand,” I rasp, my voice breaking. “I don’t even know who I am. Not really. The Host…they took that from me. They took everything from me. My memories, my life—hell, maybe even my soul. What’s left isn’t much, Magnolia. Just scraps. Fragments. And you deserve so much more than that.”

She doesn’t let me escape; she lifts my chin up to face her, then she’s joining me on the cot, straddling me, resting her forehead against mine. Her scent wraps around me, warm and grounding.