But were they?As she asked the question, she knew the answer. No, they weren’t, or at least notallof them were.
This one had saved her life, and though she despised that he’d done it by giving her blood without her knowing, she was alive to be livid about it.
But as much as she was questioning everything the hunters raised her to believe, she couldn’t deny one simple thing… her father had chosen to work with the vampires, he’d trusted them, and it had cost him his life.
What would it cost her if she did the same?
Chapter Eight
Elena couldn’t holdhis gaze as she pondered this question. Would she end up like her father, nothing more than a cooling body on the floor?
The memory of his cool skin and motionless body caused grief to squeeze her heart. She’d been so entrenched in her shock, anger, sorrow, and confusion that she hadn’t allowed for the reality of what happened to set in.
It was setting in now.
Her father, the man who held her hand while they walked through the rows of corn the compound planted every year, was dead. They would often play hide-and-seek amongst those rows, and she could still hear his strong, confident voice calling for her. He’d always tried not to laugh as her giggles gave away her location.
They’d been so close when she was younger, but for seven and a half years, they never spoke a word. Her mother was her contact inside the compound—the one who answered her letters and phone calls.
She was the one who called Elena tonight to tell her about her father. Her hitching sobs had come over the line as her broken words somehow managed to get the story out. Living less than ten minutes from the compound, Elena drove like a bat out of hell to get there.
Her mother also sent her money the rare times she could get her hands on it. Elena never complained to her mom about what she was going through; she’d chosen her bed, and she would lie in it.
Her mother would never know the suffering she endured on the streets. It would only break her heart all over again, and Elena had done that enough for one lifetime.
Though her father had refused to speak to her during all that time, Elena knew he still loved her, but she’d deeply wounded him and his pride when she stole away in the night. He was a loving man, but he wasn’t a forgiving one. Neither was she.
Elena bowed her head as she stifled her impulse to cry in front of the vampire. “I’d like to take a shower,” she muttered.
Logan didn’t miss the sudden huskiness of her voice or the way her shoulders hunched forward. He scented the salty aroma of tears on the air, but none slipped down her cheeks.
“I’ll help you up,” he offered.
“No, I can do it myself.”
She wasn’t entirely sure if she could stand on her own, but she was afraid the touch of anyone, even a vampire, might cause her to burst into tears. She couldn’t do that here.
Logan stepped away from the bed as she carefully swung her legs out of it. She put the toes of her damaged leg on the ground and pressed on them. She quickly covered her small wince, but he didn’t miss the flash of pain that twisted her lovely features.
Without thinking, he instinctively stretched a hand out to help her before pulling it back. She hadn’t caught the movement. If she had, he was sure she’d be glaring at him again. The stubborn woman was determined to do everything on her own.
To keep himself from reaching for her again, he clasped his hands behind his back and squeezed them. His bones grated together as she pushed herself up from the bed. She teetered like Bambi on ice before resting her hand on the nightstand.
After a few seconds, she released the stand and hobbled toward him. Logan edged away. She may not want his help, but if she started to faceplant, he would intervene.
Her jaw remained stubbornly set as she limped toward him. When she was almost to the bathroom, he stepped aside to let her pass. The door clicked shut behind her.
* * *
It was nearlyan hour later before Elena reemerged. He didn’t know if she was in the shower the whole time, but the water ran throughout her time in there. She wouldn’t welcome it, but he’d wanted to go in there to get her. The idea of her sitting beneath the water that had to have turned cold and crying had tormented him.
And that was exactly what she was doing; he did not doubt it. She required time alone to mourn and come to terms with everything that happened. He doubted she’d accomplish that in an hour, but he was determined to win her trust, and he wouldn’t if he bothered her now.
When she exited the room, her bloodshot, swollen eyes confirmed his suspicions about her crying. “Are you okay?” he asked.
If he’d been a cartoon character, the look she shot him would have sent a hundred daggers through his heart.
“I’m fine,” she muttered. “I was just working some of the cramps out of my leg.”
