Kiss of Midnight_ A Midnight Breed Novel - Lara Adrian [996]
“He made me choose, Brock. That last night in my cabin, I thought he was going to kill me, but he didn’t. I wouldn’t have fought him if he had. He knew that, I think.” She was sure of it, in fact. She had been in a bad place the night the Ancient invaded her cabin home. He’d seen the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside her and the loaded pistol in her hand. The box of photographs she brought out every year around the anniversary of the accident that had robbed her of her family and left her to carry on alone. “He knew I was prepared to die, but instead of killing me, he forced me to speak the words out loud, to tell him what I wanted more—life, or death. It felt like torture, some kind of sick game he was making me play against my will.”
Brock ground out something coarse under his breath, but his hands remained gentle against her back, a tender, soothing warmth.
“He made me choose,” she said, recalling every unbearable minute of her ordeal.
But even worse than the endless hours of imprisonment and being fed upon, the horror of realizing her captor was a creature not of this earth, was the awful moment when she heard her own voice rasp the words that seemed torn from the deepest, most shameful pit of her soul.
I want to live.
Oh, God … please, let me live.
I don’t want to die!
Jenna swallowed past the lump of anguish in her throat. “I keep thinking that I didn’t love them enough,” she whispered, miserable at the thought. “I keep thinking that if I really loved them, I would have died with them. That when the Ancient forced me to decide if I wanted to live or not, I would have made a different choice.”
When a sob caught her breath, Brock’s fingers brushed the underside of her chin. He lifted her face to meet his solemn gaze. “You survived,” he said, his voice firm yet infinitely tender. “That’s all you did. No one would blame you for that, especially them.”
She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her regret ease a bit with his soothing words. But the void in her heart was a cold, empty place. One that gaped even wider as Brock gathered her close, comforting her. His warmth and caring seeped inside her skin like a balm, adding deeper emotion to the desire that hadn’t lessened for the nearness of his body to hers. She curled into the shelter of his arms, resting her cheek against the solid, unwavering strength of him.
“I can take it away, Jenna.” She felt the warm press of his mouth, the riffle of his breath through her hair, as he kissed the top of her bowed head. “I can carry the grief for you, if you want me to.”
There was a part of her that rebelled at the idea. The tough woman, the seasoned cop, the one who always charged to the front of any situation, recoiled at the notion that her grief could be too much for her to bear on her own. She had never needed a helping hand, nor would she be the one to ask—not ever. That kind of weakness would never do.
She drew back, denial sitting at the tip of her tongue. But when she parted her lips to speak, the words wouldn’t come. She stared up into Brock’s handsome face, into his penetrating dark eyes, which seemed to reach deep inside her.
“When was the last time you allowed yourself to be happy, Jenna?” He stroked her cheek so lightly, so reverently, she shivered under his touch. “When was the last time you felt pleasure?”
His large hand drifted down, along the side of her neck. Heat radiated from his broad palm and long fingers. Her pulse kicked as he cupped her nape, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin below her ear.
He brought her toward him then, tilting her face up to meet his. He kissed her, slow and deep. The unhurried melding of his mouth against hers sent a current of liquid heat arrowing through her veins. The fire pooled in the center of her, the raw core filling with bright, fierce longing.
“If this isn’t what you want,” he murmured against her lips, “then