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“The boy you used to know died at the teeth of something monstrous, Eliza,” he murmured. “You should know, I don’t feel bad. About anything. I don’t have those emotions anymore. If you look to me for an apology? I’ll do as I please and take any apology to my grave, you hear?”
She hated him. She hated him and loved him, and hated that she loved him, all at once.
“Some of those journal entries...they are on the wicked side of things. And while the writing is pretty, those weren’t stories from a woman who’s known a man. They were what you wished it would be like, and I’m telling you right now, it ain’t like what you wish. It would be rough, and fast. There won’t be control, and there won’t be butterflies and feelings of adoration afterward. I’ll leave you wondering what the fuck just happened, and not in a good way. Now I’ll admit, you are tempting sometimes. There aren’t a lot of women out here, and you’re not plain like your aunt convinced you, Eliza. Any man would want you. Unfortunately for you, so would any monster, and Eliza, I’m a fuckin’ monster.” He’d gritted the last words in a tortured whisper, and she believed him. He believed himself, that much was clear.
Her stupid lip trembled, and she clenched her hands in front of her lap and hung her head. “I want to go home.”
“I’ll help you into the saddle—”
“Not to your home, Garret,” she gritted out. “I wish I could return to Boston.” She made her way toward Buck, but his hand grabbed her shoulder. She rounded on him and slapped him right across the face.
“You had no right,” she said in a shaking voice.
Her hand stung where it had met his skin, but the satisfaction was so acute, she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him.
“Stop it, Eliza.”
“Or what?” She pushed him again. And again. The fact that his hard body didn’t flinch in the least under her blows only made her angrier.
He snatched her wrists and pulled her to him so fast, she gasped with surprise. As he pressed himself against her, she retreated. Her back collided with the unforgiving trunk of the large oak. The anger on Garret’s face scared and excited her, and an unfamiliar clenching stretched from the base of her stomach downward as he thrust his frame firmly against hers.
“I would read it again,” he growled out in an inhuman voice.
“Of course you would.”
“I would read it again!” he barked, holding her tighter as she struggled against him.
“I know you would, you beast of a man!” Those stupid burning tears that had been blurring her vision loosed.
He eased her back far enough to level her with a furious look, and he uttered quietly, “I would read every word you ever wrote in that fuckin’ journal, and I would come back time and time again to see if you wrote more. I’ll hang on every word you admit, Eliza, and I’ll never stop. You want to write in that fuckin’ journal? You want to tell your stories about how you wished it would be to touch my body? About how you hope it will be when I touch yours? I’ll read every fuckin’ word, and I’ll never feel bad for that or anything else I do. Accept it now. This is what it is. This is the life. This is what you said ‘I do’ to, Eliza.”
“I hate you,” she whispered.
He released her. “Truth. Good.” He stooped and grabbed up the blanket and the canteen from the ground. He draped them over Rooney’s saddle, then swung up gracefully. “Your momma left Roy. She was his whole world, did you know that? She was a lady though, and she belonged in Boston. You’re just like her. People like you and your mother don’t belong here. You would do better in Boston,” he assured her, his eyes blazing an impossible shade of blue. And then he kicked Rooney into a dead run and disappeared into the brush.
Hot and cold. Hot and cold.
She screamed her fury and fell down into a squat, covering her face with her folded arms as she sobbed.
He’d read her words. He’d read her personal musings. He’d read her dreams and wants, and then used them against her. He’d used her mother against her.
She hated him, hated him, hated him.
The Garret she’d known really was dead.
Chapter Twelve
Why had he done that?
Garret pushed Rooney harder, trying to escape the awful feeling in his gut. He liked kissing her, he liked that she wrote about her hopes. He even liked that she was so emotionally intelligent. He liked that she had dreams. He liked that she was strong, and that she tried, and that she’d brought him food today. He even liked talking to her. He liked being around her. So why did he get so angry and defensive? Fuck! This was the part he hated. Before the wolf, he could stay steady and hold a mood. He could understand himself, but now?
All he did was try and fail to curb his appetite for hurting people.
Lenny was at the barn. He could see her up ahead, taking her horse inside. Even that pissed him off. She was upset with Eliza, but you know what? None of this was Eliza’s fault.
It wasn’t. She’d come here because her mom had told her to on her death bed. She’d come here because she’d found some sort of happiness here with Roy. It wasn’t her fault everything was so messed up.
Lenny turned, confusion swirling in her lightened eyes as he barreled down on her.
