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She wrapped her arms around herself, prompting him to reach for her. His hands covered hers, his thumbs stroking her satin skin. He didn’t like the fear in her eyes, or the way she wavered on her feet.
“Why is this happening?” she asked.
He released her, pacing the length of her room. He was still too caught up in these new feelings to respond right away. His wolf wanted her to know…everything. Hell, his wolf wanted her as his mate. He froze, letting that realization wash over him.
He looked at her, at how frightened she was. This was what he’d done to her. By bringing her into his world, he’d introduced her to fear. And as much as he craved her, he knew it was wrong—for Jessa. She was human, clueless to the bullshit that was his world. Telling her would change that, erase it forever. He searched her face. Maybe he should let her go.
“I need five minutes,” he said.
She nodded.
He had Brown dispatch bodyguards to the Talbot house, then he called Harry to explain the situation. Rather, that the paparazzi were getting a little determined and he thought some extra security was necessary. Harry sounded excited. Having a housekeeper, cook, and driver would make things easier, even if they would each have their own bodyguard for the time being.
But news that Greg was found, his neck broken, in a dumpster a few miles from the park had him raging. Cyrus had been with Jessa, so he hadn’t been the one to kill the guard—meaning Cyrus hadn’t been alone.
After splashing some cold water on his face, he returned to Jessa.
She was sitting in her rocking chair, eyes closed. If she didn’t have a death grip on the chair handles, he might think she was sleeping.
He sat on the footstool and looked at her. “Once you know this, it will change everything.”
She opened her eyes. “Everything’s already changed, hasn’t it?”
“Guess so.” He shook his head.
She frowned. “Tell me why this is happening.”
He rested his elbows on his knees. “When I graduated from college, I took some time to find myself. I drank and partied and made bad choices. But one good thing I did was help my brother on a dig in Montana. He was an archeology buff. Loved it.” He stood, pacing in front of the windows. “I found a bone, not all that surprising on a dig but exciting nonetheless. It was old, very old. My brother was excited because he couldn’t tell what it was—whether it was human or something else. He wanted it to be something else, something that would get him in a textbook or journal.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “A dust storm blew in and we ran for cover, but the terrain was uneven and none of us could see. I fell on the bone.” He lifted his shirt, showing her the puncture scar along his side.
She frowned.
“When I woke up, I was sick. My brother and the rest of the team were worried. But we were high up, th
e storm was going on, and no help was coming anytime soon. I remember passing out—” He broke off. “And I remember waking up…”
She stood. “What happened Finn?”
He looked at her. “My brother and his fiancée were dead. Mauled by an animal. A wolf. My friends had been attacked, too, though they were alive.”
She frowned. “I’m so sorry, Finn. That’s horrible. I had no idea.”
“No one did. We couldn’t tell the truth. People would lock us up and throw away the fucking key. A wolf attack? There had never, ever, been an attack like this.” He agreed. “That bone was infected—made me infected. And, so far, there’s no cure.”
“Infected with what?” Her brow dipped. “But surely—”
“No cure. I’ve learned to control it, for the most part.” He pulled the medallion from his shirt, holding it tight. “But it’s there, a part of me, something I have to fight against every day.”
“What do you mean, control it?” she asked, her expression wary as she eyed the medallion.
“The world thinks my brother and his fiancée died in a car accident. But I did it.” He watched her. “I was the wolf that attacked, Jessa. Me.” He waited, watching the disbelief on her face. “I was the one that killed my brother and his fiancée. That infected the only friends I’ve ever had. Me.” He waited.
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You do,” he argued. “But you don’t want to.”
“You’re serious? You mean… Like werewolves?” Her voice was high-pitched, unsteady. “Finn, you can’t believe this… Werewolves don’t exist. It’s impossible.”
“I wish you were right.” He glanced at her. “He’s one, too.”
