Chapter 60
Imogen
I remember lying here like this less than twenty-four hours ago, but somehow in another lifetime, staring at him while he sleeps. I distinctly remember thinking that if I could permit myself to believe in true, real happiness—the kind that lasts—then it would be waking with his arms wrapped around me and my cheek pressed against his chest, my muscles aching from all the pleasure our bodies took from each other in the night.
But yesterday was a lifetime ago, when he was Lincoln Knight and not Killian Wolfe.
I trace my fingertips over the mottled scars on the right side of his chest. I know he thinks they make him monstrous, but not to me. They were always a beautiful part of the beautiful whole of him. Until I realized how he must have got them in the first place.
So how? How can he touch me like he does, kiss me the way he does, make my body sing the way he does if it’s not real?
I lie on my side and go on watching him sleep, his hand gripping my hip possessively even in his slumber. Is that because he can’t bear to let me go? Or because he doesn’t want me to escape? It feels like the former. When I’m with him, everything feels right in a way that it never has in my life. He makes me feel like I can be me. Doesn’t he? Because the truth is I don’t knowwho I am. I was the person I was trained to be for eighteen years, and then for the last six months... who knows. Maybe I became the woman Killian wanted me to be.
And what really happened to my parents? Do I believe my grandfather—a man who taught me loyalty, who saved my life, yet only ever showed me cruelty at worst and indifference at best? Or do I believe in Killian? My godfather. A man who murdered my parents. A man who should have protected me when I was a child instead of allowing the Brotherhood to make a deal with my grandfather. A man who has lied to me from the moment we met. The same man who tells me he loves me and has shown me more kindness and compassion in a few months than I’ve ever known in my whole life.
I refuse to believe that everything between us has been a lie, and I do believe that in his own way, he loves me. But I live in a world where truth and lies can’t be so easily distinguished from the other, and more importantly, a world where I no longer trust my own judgment.
What I do know as fact is that man in the photograph is the man lying next to me. My godfather. And whatever his motives, he’s lied to me from the moment we met. For that reason alone, I need to discover my own truth, and the only way to do that is alone.
Thunder rolls in the sky outside and I shiver. Instinctively, he pulls me into his arms, wrapping me in his warmth and pressing his lips to the top of my head. “I’ve got you, angel,” he murmurs sleepily.
Tears sting my eyes. That his instinctive response is to protect me makes me falter, but only for a second. He lied to me. Fact. He’s not who he says he is. Fact. And that is all I truly know to be real.
I may have been raised by wolves, but they taught me well. How to do whatever is necessary for survival.
Chapter 61
Lincoln/Killian
“Do you think she’s acting strangely?” I ask Pierre while he prepares dinner and I watch her from the kitchen window. Ever since I got back from my trip a few days ago, she’s seemed a little... off. She’s polite and responsive and she smiles at the right times, moans at all the right times, but she’s lost some of that feistiness she was developing. All in all, there’s just an overall air of fucking sadness about her.
“She seems a little quiet today. But then she is often quiet,non? Has she found a new and all-consuming book, per’aps?”
“I don’t know. But it’s more than that. I can’t put my finger on it, but she’s different, Pierre. At least with me.”
“Per’aps she is growing bored of being locked in this prison? You gave her a glimpse of the outside world taking her on that picnic and now she wants more,non?”
He could be right. This all started after the picnic. He sidles up next to me and pops a slice of raw carrot into his mouth. “Or are you thinking about what the Rook said? About her saying the same thing?”
Guilt washes over me. She’s never given me any reason to doubt her, and yet... My name might be Wolfe, but she reallywas fucking raised by them. I don’t doubt that she cares for me, loves me even, but maybe that’s why she’s so conflicted.
“I don’t think the picnic was enough of a test, Pierre. There was never any real chance of escaping.”
He chews his carrot loudly. “Okay. So what would be enough of a test?”
“She needs an opportunity to actually be able to escape, Pierre. A viable chance to get out of here and get to her grandfather.” I hate even saying the words aloud, not only because the thought of losing her terrifies me, but if she does try, then it will crush my heart to fucking dust.
“Isn’t that dangerous, sir? What if she succeeds?”
I stuff my hands into my pockets, watching her as she tilts her face toward the sun and smiles. I’d pay a billion dollars to know what was going through her head. “She won’t.”
He scoffs. “Do not let your arrogance misguide you, Lincoln.”
He goes back to preparing dinner and I keep watching her. “I’m going to schedule a trip for next week. And we’re going to leave a trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow.”
“And where will those breadcrumbs lead, sir?”
Hopefully, to the truth.“To the trunk of my car.”
