“And you saw it.” The words came unbidden, the worst thing he had to say. He pushed his fingers into his hair, hair the color of his wolf’s fur. “No one’s meant to see it, Ember. Our mates never see it. Our children never see it unless they join us there.”
“Your other form?”
“My curse. How can you still be here?”
“Of course I’m still here.”
“But you saw it. You saw it, and I’m…”
“You’re what?”
“Laid open. Open to the guts.”
Silence fell over the kitchen. His breathing was ragged, audible. He tried to control it. Her chair scraped backward. Her tiny feet brought her around the table, soft steps until she stood at his side. Gently her arms enfolded him, and his senses filled with her. He resisted, could have stopped her if he had to, but his exhaustion surrendered to her support.
“I’m so sorry, Aaron. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Why are you touching me?” The words came on a dry sob he couldn’t hold back. He couldn’t hold back anything, not right now, not while she held him after what she’d seen. He buried his face in her shirt.
She stroked his hair. “Because I want to touch you. Because you’re Aaron.”
“No, no. I’m a werewolf, Ember. I’m a damned werewolf.”
“That is alie. Don’t ever say that again.”
Another sob, and then tears. So many tears. He couldn’t hold anything in.
“Your soul is not lost, Aaron.” Her voice grew soft. “And just for the record, man or wolf you’re beautiful. The black wolf under the moon was beautiful.”
He couldn’t fathom her words, couldn’t fathom that his Ember was speaking them. He wrapped his arms around her waist and clung like a child. Sobs heaved from his gut, and Ember continued to hold him, to brush his hair with gentle fingers.
“I’m not leaving,” she whispered again and again. “I’m not leaving you, Aaron.”
With every repetition, he fought to believe her. With every passing minute, he understood more. Ember had seen the fur and the fangs. Ember stayed with him, touched him without a trace of horror or disgust.
An hour might have passed. Or two.
At last he let his arms fall to his sides. He looked up, and her face was not quite in focus. “I need to tell you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. Please.”
“Then I’ll listen.”
He rested his arms on the table, lowered his head to his arms, so tired. Ember tugged a chair close and sat beside him. Gently she massaged his headache as if she knew exactly where it was.
“I was fifteen. Out with friends. Guys who mattered to me, Ember. Good friendships. I changed right in front of them. In a theater parking lot. And then I…” A soft whine emerged. Words got stuck, impaled on memories.
“You don’t have to say it,” she said.
“One of them died in the hospital.”
She rested her head against his arm. “I’m so sorry. I’m here.”
“I can’t educate Quinn on wolf attacks because I’m the wolf who attacked, who mauled three people the first time my curse took over. And talking about it…I’ll dream about it for weeks now.”
She was quiet. Listening.
