"If you need to hit something..." Violette trailed off, casually examining her nails.
"I don't need to hit something," he snapped. He rubbed at the fresh scar on his forearm from where Elora sank her teeth into him.
He didn't want to think about it.
Not about the barn. Not about Elora.
Not about the way his body had reacted. The way he'd convinced himself it was just attraction. Normal attraction to a woman who'd fought him and lost. That's all it was. It had to be.
It was just hormones,he told himself again, the same mantra he'd been repeating since they left.Adrenaline and testosterone. Nothing more.
He focused on the squeak of the wagon wheels instead. But he could still feel Violette's eyes on him. "Just say it," he growled at last. "Whatever you're thinking."
"I'm thinking you look like hell," she said. "And you're no use to anyone if you keep running yourself ragged."
He scowled. "I'm doing just fine."
"Is that why you've been flinching every time I speak?"
She had a point, but he wasn't about to admit it. He kicked at the floor of the wagon, sending up a small puff of dust.
"You know," Violette continued, "it wouldn't kill you to talk about it."
"Why do you care so much?"
"Because I can't have you losing your edge over some girl." Her sharp gaze locked on him.
His face heated. "It's not about her." The lie came out sharper than he intended. "It's just... the fight got intense, that's all. Physical reactions happen. It's normal."
Keep saying that. Maybe it'll become true.
Violette watched him, and he had to look away before she saw too much. He shook his head, trying to keep that creeping doubt from taking over again. It was easier when he could convince himself it was simple attraction.
"Why don't you just say it?" he shot back. "That I'm a liability."
"You're a liability," she said.
He flinched, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.
"But not the kind you think." Violette's voice softened just enough to make him wince again. "It's whatever's eating at you from the inside. The thing you won't talk about."
Symond's stomach twisted. She was getting too close to something he didn't want examined. "There's nothing eating at me. I just... I reacted to her. Like any man would. It's not complicated."
Please let her believe that. Please let me believe that.
"Then enlighten me," she shot back. "What exactly are you so worked up about if it's just a normal reaction?"
But how could he tell her? How could he explain that he was terrified his body's response had nothing to do with wanting Eloraand everything to do with being conditioned to respond when overpowered? That every time he told himself it was attraction, a sick voice in his head whispered that Gerard had trained him to feel this way?
He let out a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair. "There's nothing to say," he muttered, hating the tremor in his voice. "It was just... physical. That's what happens sometimes when you fight someone. Especially when..." He gestured vaguely, unable to finish the sentence.
Especially when you want them,he tried to tell himself. But the words felt hollow, like a lie he was getting tired of telling.
Violette leaned forward, studying him like she was trying to solve a puzzle where all the pieces were missing.
"I can handle it," Symond said, louder this time, more for himself than her. He didn’t believe it, not really, but it felt good to push back.
"For now," Violette said. Her tone was frustratingly gentle. She looked out at the gray horizon like she had just decided something, but Symond was too wound up to notice much past his own fury.
