Page 64 of Song Bird Hearts
“You think I won’t?” Knox snarls.
Wolf’s eyes flicker. “I hope you do,” he rasps. “Because then maybe the debt would be paid.”
I gasp. “Stop it.”
“No,” Wolf says, watching me carefully. “You need to see me for what I am. What I was. I came to you with blood on my hands and lies in my mouth, but I never lied about one thing.”
He drops the book to the dirt at my feet and goes down after it, onto his knees, forcing Knox’s gun to follow to keep aim. His movement is slow and painful, and his wince is like a physical blow. His breathing is shallow, so shallow, and he presses a hand to his side like his ribs hurt. Does he have broken ribs right now?
Then he looks up at me like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at. My heart stops at the sight.
“I worship you, Valerie Decatur. And I would crawl across broken glass to keep you safe. I’m yours, no matter what you do with me.”
The wind lifts the edges of my shirt, tickling my skin. My heart thuds loudly in my chest. Knox doesn’t lower his gun as I take a small step forward.
“You could’ve told me,” I chastise.
“I should have,” he agrees.
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
I stroke my fingers down his swollen face, carefully, gently. “But I already forgave you.”
He blinks. “What?”
“Before you ever left. Some part of me already knew who you were. I just didn’t want to believe it,” I tell him.
His face crumples slightly. That sharp, debonair edge of him gives away to something heartbreakingly human. I drop to my own knees in front of him and take his bruised face in my hands.
“You came back,” I whisper.
“Always,” he rasps.
I kiss his forehead, and for the first time since we’ve met, I witness a wolf cry.
Chapter32
Valerie
Wolf tries not to wince when I press the gauze to his ribs. He fails.
“You’re not made of stone, you know,” I mutter, eying the swelling across his torso. “Even if you act like it.”
“You should see the other guy,” he rasps, his voice dry, but his lips twitching in what might have been a smile if he wasn’t trying so hard not to pass out.
“Don’t tempt me to go find him and get his side of the story,” I shoot back, smiling.
Wolf’s eyes flick to mine. “Might be difficult. . . considering he’s dead.”
Ah. Well. . . My hands don’t pause in my ministrations, which. . .maybe that says something about me. I’d known he’d had to do something drastic to get the book he brought me, but I hadn’t really looked too deeply into those feelings. Knowing that he’d killed for me. . .I kind of like it.
We’re in my bedroom now. Gilden had fetched the first aid kit while muttering something about “boys getting bloody just to prove they’re pretty.” Now he leans against the doorframe, chewing on a toothpick and watching like an amused hawk as Wolf tries his best not to wince at every wound I touch.
My hands are gentle, sure, and so close to his flesh, but his muscles flicker as my hands near each time. Wolf feels different, his body wound tight, tension in every line of his body. He wants me to touch him, but he also dreads my touch. The broken ribs probably don’t help with that.
“Hold still,” I tell him.
