He cringed. He hated that she could feel his shame. Hated that she would defend him, when she didn’t know the full truth. The ring on his finger burned. His hold on Amryn flexed. “They tortured men in front of me,” he said gruffly. “They were trying to force me to answer their questions, but I never did.”
“Oh, Carver . . .” Amryn’s hand slid up to cradle the back of his bent neck. Offering him comfort, even as he laid bare his greatest sin.
“They were killed right in front of me. Again and again. I did nothing to save them.”
“What could you have done differently?”
Surprised by the bluntness of her question, he drew back. “What?”
Amryn studied him, the silvery light of the moon gilding her features but revealing nothing of what she was thinking. “If you were there now, right this moment, would you break your silence to save them?”
“I . . . I couldn’t—” He gritted his teeth.
Her expression softened. “I know.” Her thumb traced lightly against his skin, her palm still gripping the back of his neck. “It wasn’t in your power to save them. It never was. And it was beyond cruel that the monsters who tortured you made you feel like it was.”
Something inside him stirred. Something that felt painfully like absolution.
He reflexively flinched back from it.
Amryn obviously felt his internal struggle; the skin around her eyes tightened, though her voice was almost painfully gentle as she asked, “If you had answered their questions, what would have happened?”
His throat ached. “The pain would have stopped for them. Those men would have lived.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But then there would have been another question. And another. They would have kept hurting those men to keep you talking.” Her eyes searched his. “If you had answered their questions, it would have compromised your armies. Right?”
Sweat broke out on his palms. “Yes.”
“More men would have died, then.”
Many more. Hundreds. Thousands of lives might have been lost,since more villages would have been left undefended, countless people and families destroyed as a result. And yet . . . “I had to watch those men bleed out,” he said, his voice like gravel.
The compassion that rose in her eyes slayed him. “I’m so sorry. I hate that you had to suffer like that. That those men had to suffer and die. It wasn’t fair. It never will be.” Her fingers pressed against his skin, her gaze locked on his. “You were in an impossible situation. Ahorrificsituation. But you saved lives, Carver. You were so strong. So selfless and brave. I’m in awe of you.”
He was trembling. He couldn’t stop the shaking. “I lived. They didn’t.”
Pain crossed her features. “I know that hurts. And I understand, at least a little, of what you’re feeling. My mother . . .” Her eyes shined with unshed tears. “It feels horrible to live through something that took the life of another. But I’m so glad youlived, Carver. I hate that you had to endure so much, but I’m grateful you’re on the other side of it. That you’re here, right now, with me.”
He barely breathed as she gently took hold of his hand, the pad of her thumb tracing the silver ring on his finger. “I know you don’t think you deserve to wear this. But it suits you perfectly.” She met his gaze. Probably felt his resistance to her words, because she said, “Being unconquered means moving forward even when we’re broken. That’s exactly what you’ve done. You’re still fighting. Your loyalty and goodness are intact, even after all they did to you.” She squeezed his hand, tears beginning to fall as she told him, “They didn’t win, Carver.Youdid.”
Her words reached deep, unlocking chains he’d kept himself wrapped in, long after Ford had freed him. Saints, this woman. This incredible, breathtaking, courageous,perfectwoman.
He slowly framed her face with his hands. Stroked the wet trails on her cheeks with his too-rough fingertips. “I don’t deserve you,” he breathed. Words Rix had hurled at him earlier that night, and that Carver knew wholeheartedly to be true. But deserving or not, Amryn loved him. It was a miracle he would always be grateful for.
Amryn’s lips parted—probably to protest—but he sealed her mouth with his own, kissing her slowly. Fervently. Intensely.
Her soft lips melded easily against his, responding to every unspoken question he asked. Claiming him, as he claimed her. Any of the shadows that had clung to him vanished under the delicious pressure of her kiss.
The air between them shifted. Became more charged. When he finally pulled back so they could both breathe, he saw the blush in her cheeks. But she held his gaze, love glowing in her eyes. And something else. Somethingmore. A need that matched his own. A desire that made his chest tighten. And an invitation he was more than ready to accept.
Still, he brushed a curl back from her cheek and asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. Only her eyes locked on his, filled with trust.
His fingertips traced over her skin. “I can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered, filled with reverence and awe. “That somehow, you’re mine.”
Her expression softened. “I’m real.” She laid a hand against his beating heart, her palm warm against his scarred flesh. “Thisis real.”
And there in that quiet room, touched by moonlight and each other, they proved it.
