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His grandfather wouldn’t let him doubt it.
“I could see the pain in my dad’s eyes, but what could he do? Not like you can make a tiger stay.” Not when the tiger wanted to be free, and his dad had loved his mother enough to let her go. “She went to the human. She was going to send for me as soon as she was settled but?—”
But she’d never gotten settled, and he’d never seen her again.
He glanced away from Erin’s eyes. Had to. “A Feral attacked her human. She jumped in to try and save him—and the Feral killed them both.”
Jude heard the swift inhalation of her breath. He didn’t look back at her. Not yet. This screwed-up story, on top of the hell that bastard was putting her through?—
Oh, yeah, she’ll be running. Moving that sweet ass as fast as she can, dammit.
But she deserved the truth from him. Especially if the beast inside was right.
“When my dad found out, he broke.” No other word for it. His father had shattered before him. “Blamed himself. He thought if he’d just been able to make my mother love him, she would have lived.”
“You can’t make someone love you.”
No, you couldn’t. His father had even told him those same words the night his mother left to join the human, but the grief had wrecked his mind.
His father loved his mother so much that when she slipped from the world, he’d seemed to slip away, too. “He went after the Feral.”
Her hands reached for his. She unfurled the fingers he’d clenched. Lightly traced the marks made by his growing claws.
Jude took a breath and caught her scent. He closed his eyes. “He never made it back from the hunt.” His grief had made him weak, and the Feral had been too strong.
Silence. Too heavy. Too thick.
His father had been too consumed with rage and grief.
And his dad had died and left Jude alone. With the same rage and grief gnawing at his soul.
An image of those twin boys flashed before him. When he’d seen those boys tonight, he’d seen himself.
“When’s Mom coming back?”Stupid. He’d been twelve. He knew about death. Fucking knew. But he’d asked and asked Grandpa Joe. “Where’s Dad?”
Asked and asked.
And broken when his parents never came home and he saw those coffins days later. His mother’s wooden coffin had been covered with red roses.
Because she’d loved red roses, too. Just like Erin.
Just like Erin.
“How old were you?”
He flinched at her voice. “Twelve.”
“Where did you go?”
Not the questions he’d anticipated. “My grandpa Joe—my mom’s dad—took me in.” Grandpa Joe had been his anchor, and when he’d finally let loose his own grief and rage, his grandpa had been there.
“What—what happened to the Feral?”
This was the part Jude dreaded. His eyes were on her hands. So delicate next to his. “When I turned twenty-one, Grandpa Joe died.” There’d been no one to hold him back then. No one to grieve, in case he failed. “The next day, I started hunting.”
And he hadn’t stopped until he’d found his prey. “I hunted the bastard down, and I ripped out his throat.” The blood had been hot on his tongue. The tiger had been so very thirsty. “I found out I was good at hunting.” At killing. Too good.
“That’s why you ended up with Night Watch.”
