“Sometimes, shattering is how strength is forged,” I say weakly as he lowers his eyes to my mouth.
He lifts my chin and runs his calloused thumb along my lower lip. “Then forge me,” he murmurs, a challenge and an invitation woven into his words.
I’m no fool, someone who would overlook another person’s actions just because of a handsome face.
I pull away from him.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks, his tone low, frustrated.
“I refuse to be a simple woman who falls to your feet and forgets you took the life of a man because you were jealous.”
Jasce scowls. “You think that's why I killed him? Because I was jealous?”
“Yes.”
“Tristan was part of a group that has tried to harm your family for summers. You know to stay away from men like him. Didn’t you see the wolf pendant around his neck?”
I saw the pendant. It meant nothing to me, but obviously Lyra would have reacted differently.
“If he had gotten you alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.”
My chest tightens as I recall the conversation I had with Tristan and how much he reminded me of my brother.
“Why didn’t my guard do anything, then?”
“He wouldn’t have killed Tristan in front of people unless he attacked you. Trust me, if he felt you were threatened, he would have ended Tristan himself.”
“But you…” The words die as I remember everything that happened.
“I killed Tristan before he could try to harm you.” Jasce runs his hands through his damp hair. “Trust me, Lyra. He would have tried to meet with you again.”
Sadness twists inside me at how foolish and blind I had been. I only wanted a friend…and well, an escape.
“I know what it is like to be betrayed,” Jasce says, his voice oddly comforting. “And I know what it is like to have your trust shattered into a million pieces.”
I stay silent, allowing him to continue.
“All I want is for you to trust me. I want to protect you and keep you safe,” Jasce says, as though he’s trying to weave a protective cloak around me.
But I don’t want anything Jasce offers.
Not now. Not ever.
ChapterSeventeen
Jasce doesn’t stopme as I move away from him and climb from the heated water. Nor does he speak as I dry myself and pull my dressing gown over my body. It’s not cold, yet my body shivers like it’s inexplicably freezing.
He climbs out of the pool, and my breath catches at the sight of him—every glorious inch of him on full display before me. I drink in his presence, from the way his broad shoulders taper down to a slender waist, to the sinewy muscles that coil like cords around his arms.
I refuse to analyze what is below his waist. The last thing I would want is for him to catch me staring at his cock.
Though, it’s not just his body that captures my attention. There’s a raw intensity behind his gaze, flaming an unspoken fire within him. There’s a mystery there—all the things he hides from me, from others, and from himself.
Does he even know what he hides? Maybe not.
He moves to the shelf, pulls a drying cloth down, and snaps it around his waist. I watch him warily, wondering what tonight will hold.
Will he sleep next to me again?
