Page 46 of Raven's Hunt
“I didn’t say they didn’t sting, but it’s not like I got shot.” She arched a brow. “Or stabbed, like someone else.”
“I didn’t get stabbed, it was a slice.”
“From a knife, which is different from getting stabbed, how, exactly?”
“It’s not a hole.”
She snorted. “And did Chase agree with your definition?”
Buck smiled, and her heart kicked over. “He did not.”
He dabbed at more cuts layered along her arm, the room falling into a heavy silence for a while before he exhaled, looked at her. “Do you want to talk about Pike?”
She glanced out the window, at the rain still hitting the glass, the fog distorting the coastline. “He’s dead. Not much else to say.”
“Except where he didn’t tell you who betrayed you.”
She swallowed, doing her best not to cough. “I already knew someone sold out my team.”
“You thought you did. But it was secondhand knowledge. Words whispered through the floorboards. This…” He broke eye contact for a moment. “He served it up, then tore it away.”
She shrugged, tears she wouldn’t shed burning her eyes. “I’m sure Sloane will uncover something useful eventually.”
“Oh, we’re gonna get the son of a bitch. That’s a promise.” He stopped cleaning one of the wounds, shifted in close. “But that doesn’t help with all the uncertainty bouncing around inside your head, right now. He put doubts in there. Implied you can’t trust us. I need you to know that you can. That there isn’t a line I won’t cross, a war I won’t wage for you. And I’m not the only one who feels that way.”
She froze.
He meant every word. Not that it surprised her, but hearing it voiced aloud as if it was normal? Something people did without hesitating…
Warmth spread through her chest, those voices fading into the sound of her pulse pounding in her head, the press of his hand on her thigh. She reached for him, trailing her thumb along his jaw, loving the way the stubble caught on her skin. “Why are you doing this?”
He frowned, brows furrowing. “Cleaning your wounds? Because someone has to, and I know for a fact you won’t.”
“Why are you hellbent on being my champion? It’s not like I’ve got anything to offer you that isn’t broken.”
He scrunched up his nose, shaking his head as if he thought she was crazy. “Nothing to offer?” He raked his fingers through her hair, tracing her scalp. “Did you hit your head? Do you have a concussion? Because you’re highly intelligent, see tracks as if they’re lines on the damn ground, and you’re loyal to a fault.” He pressed his hand over hers. “Sweetheart, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. The reason I keep the darkness at bay. If I hadn’t stumbled upon you that day in the woods… Recognized the look in your eyes. Knew that you saw ghosts too…” He closed his eyes, breathed. “I’d still be lost. And who the hell says you’re broken?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious…”
“Why? Because you can’t shove all your trauma down, every second of every day? Because, god forbid, you have to cry every once in a while? Jesus, Tier, I’m still living in a fucking RV. The one I used to hide in because I swore the shadows were coming for me. The one I can’t quite give up because there’s a part of me that needs that security in case I wake up one day and the voices are back.”
He shook his head. “If we’re talking about being broken, then you’d better get in line, because I’m cracked in places I don’t think I can ever put back together. Hell, I can’t sit in a car for more than five minutes unless I’m driving.” He stood, paced to the other side of the room then back. “If anyone’s lacking something to offer, you’re looking at him.”
She rose, stomach flip-flopping, her hands shaking as she took the two steps separating them and palmed his cheek. “You aren’t broken, and you’re the only reason I’m still standing.” She traced her thumb along his chin. “I don’t know if I can ever stop the voices. If I can hear thunder and not feel the chill of that cell to my bones. But you make me want to try.”
Buck clenched his jaw. Chest heaving, his increased breath rasped through the room. He fisted his hands at his side, the blue in his eyes darkening to that lethal mix of navy and steel gray before he stepped into her, removing any hint of space. He lifted one hand, holding it a few inches from her face before finally smoothing it along her cheek, gathering a handful of hair in his fingers.
He leaned down, mouth hovering a heartbeat away, muscles tensed as if he wasn’t sure if he should run or fight. He pushed out a rough breath, his gaze alternating between her eyes and the door. “I’m not gonna lie, Tier. Between the race through the forest, the firefight, and Pike trying to kill you, I’m barely holding on. And there’s nothing I want more than to strip us both down — spend the rest of the night pounding you into that bed. Finally showing you what you mean to me. That you drive me to the edge with nothing more than a smile, a touch. But if that’s not what you want, what you need, then tell me now, and I’ll find a way to shove it all down. Hold you, instead, or sit on the chair — maybe do a few perimeter checks with Dalton. But if you kiss me…”
He closed his eyes, tightening everything until she thought he’d crack into a thousand pieces before he stared down at her again. “I can’t…”
His forehead fell against hers, his frantic breath washing over her like a cleansing rain.
She drank it in, all her reasons for holding back fading with the powerful beat of his heart. “I don’t want you to shove it all down, or sit in a chair or run checks with Dalton. I just don’t know if I can be what you need me to be.”
He eased back, his hand fisting and releasing in her hair. “All I need you to be is you. Because you’ve always been enough.”
She choked back a sob, all her fears, her doubts shaking through her as she crushed his hoodie in her hands, closed the breath of space between them. “Then, my answer’s this…”
