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Morana breathed in and slowly opened his shirt, realizing that he wasn’t looking at her. She could work around that. Pushing his shirt off his torso, she quietly got up from the bed.
“Lie down on your stomach.”
He hesitated, before toeing off his shoes, putting his gun on the table, and taking off his trousers, lying down on his stomach in the middle of the bed.
Morana looked at his back for a second before taking out a bottle of one of her favorite unscented oils from the drawer. She had no idea why he was like this but she had to do something. Had he ever let go in his life? Had he ever simply been told it was okay to not be okay? Ever felt the gentle touch of a loved one in all these years?
Climbing on behind him, spreading her legs and straddling his beautiful ass, Morana took in the view of his entire muscular back laid out before her. He had come to her – broken and messed up, he had found her. The fact that he was there and not at his house, that he’d found her even in this headspace and not headed to the cottage, told her enough.
Without a word, Morana poured out a generous quantity of the oil on her palms. Rubbing them together to warm them, she leaned forward and slowly spread it out over his shoulders, telling her through her very touch that she saw him, accepted him, loved him for who he was, however he was.
A shaky breath escaped him in a rush and Morana continued to slide her hands over him. The tight knots of his muscles there were rigid. Working them out gradually with her thumbs, she heard another breath leave his chest before he could help himself. Her heart hurt, imagining how he had never had this before. His bruised body had never been shown affection, his bruised soul had never been told it was beautiful.
Pressing her lips to his wolf tattoo in a wordless declaration, Morana felt her way down each and every muscle on his beautiful back. She saw a few scars littered here and there, the stories of which she was sure she’d find out someday, but for that moment, she worked silently.
“It was bad,” he said into the pillow, his voice muffled. “I shouldn’t have been there.”
Morana wondered what he had seen that got to him so bad. She let him talk, kneading the muscles at the base of his spine, digging in with her thumbs.
“I want to hurt something right now,” he growled. “And I don’t want it to be you.”
She felt her heart stutter. “You won’t hurt me, Tristan.”
He let out an ugly laugh, suddenly flipping so she landed on the side of the bed.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” his eyes were ablaze. “I killed my own father. Shot right here,” he pointed to the middle of his forehead. “Do you even realize what that does to you?” his voice escalated.
Morana watched him, her eyes widening. “Tristan-”
“And that was just the beginning for me,” he leaned in, trying to intimidate her. “The things I have done, the blood on my hands will never wash off. What the fuck are you even doing here? Just cut your losses and walk away.”
Morana felt her breath hitch, not understanding what the hell was going on with him but very, very scared of the way he was walling her out. She took in a deep breath, fighting to keep calm. He was unraveling and she needed to keep him together right now, for both their sakes.
“And if I walk,” she tilted her head, keeping her voice even, “you’d let me go.”
The stark pain in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. “Then, shut up.”
He sat back on his knees, his hands holding his head. “I never meant to kill him,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I need you to know that. I just saw you and saw what he was going to do. I only meant to stop him. I didn’t know, I didn’t-”
Morana moved, her heart bleeding for him. Placing her hand on his arm, she straddled him, pulling his face into her chest and his body started to shake. “She left me alone with these monsters after that. She left me to fucking fend for myself with nobody. I wasn’t a monster then. I was so fucking lost-”
He broke.
Morana held him through the pain, her own eyes tearing up as he cried in her arms. She didn’t know what had caused him to break, didn’t know what had triggered him into heaving like the little boy who had been left hurt and alone in a world too cruel for him. She didn’t know and she didn’t care about anything right now except he had sought her out. He needed her acceptance. He needed her unconditional love to heal like his own was healing her. She doubted he even realized that he loved her, or that every action of his cemented that fact in her very soul.
Clutching him to her heart as his body shook in her arms, she rocked him silently, holding him as he had never been held, whispering sweet, soothing words to him, telling him she was there and she was never going to leave him.
The sounds coming from him broke something inside her, the rush of fierce protectiveness engulfing her so acute. She didn’t know if she held him for minutes or hours, if the night had passed or still remained. She just held him, pressing soft kisses to his head, loving him as he deserved to be loved, as he should have been loved for so many years.
“What if she is dead?” he asked into her collarbone, his voice rough and so agonized she doubted it would ever be completely gone. She knew who he was talking about.
She tugged his face back, and looked at him. His eyes, his beautiful, electric blue eyes, were red-rimmed and swollen, the tears in them precious gifts he’d shared with her.
“Do you truly believe that?” she asked him, stroking her finger over his eyebrow, wiping away an errant tear.
He shook his head tightly.
“Then we will find her.”
