Fear of Fire and Shadow (The Fade #1) - Samantha Young Page 0,55
would want to hurt me for what I did to Syracen.
“I got my revenge, though. I helped Kir escape,” Wolfe continued.
So that explained their camaraderie.
Kir knew Wolfe better than I.
Why did that bother me so much? I wrapped my arms across my stomach.
Wolfe must loathe me for the way I’ve treated him. The thought made me so ill, I could barely breathe with it.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out as a tear escaped. I brushed at it impatiently and was surprised when Wolfe caught my hand.
He stared, seeming amazed, watching as I lost my fight with another tear and another. His thumb caught one and he smoothed it gently into my cheek.
My breath caught at his nearness.
“Are you crying for me, Rogan?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because he hurt you. Because I’ve treated you terribly because of him.” I trembled as my feelings became almost too much contain. There was a part of me that never wanted to leave the hayloft but another that wanted to run as far from Wolfe as possible in the hope of shedding the weight of my emotions. “I thought you detested me, that you were planning to take some kind of vengeance for my part in Syracen’s death.”
He furrowed his brow. “That is why you’re snotty with me?”
Snotty? How dare he—
I caught myself before I could castigate him. It was amazing how quickly my feelings turned to irritation around him. But to be fair, he was not wrong in this instance. I sniffed a little haughtily, but it was in acknowledgment that he spoke the truth.
Wolfe’s lips curled at the corner. I could tell he was dying to laugh. He smothered it with his hand, rubbing it across his mouth. And then he nodded. “I think I understand. But you should know I felt nothing but relief when he was killed. My mother and I were free. Our lives changed that day, for the better.”
I wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, some kind of apology that would make up for the last ten years of disdain. Haydyn would be pleased to know she had been right about him all along.
When Wolfe tensed, I understood why when he asked, “What exactly did my father do to your family?”
The rage burst open across my chest like a tidal wave after a landshake, and I drew in deep breaths to calm myself. “Are you sure you want to hear about that?”
“Only if you’re up to telling it.”
So I told him. About a perfect summer’s day ending in tears and bloodshed, of my subsequent grief and impotent anger. His golden skin grew pale as my story wound on. I even told him about Valena and how Syracen had ordered her family killed even after they willingly gave her up. I didn’t even realize I was crying again until Wolfe, eyes bright with sorrow, handed me a handkerchief. I wiped at my tears as thick silence descended over us.
For a while, all I could hear was our soft breathing and the blood rushing in my ears.
“No wonder you hate me.” Wolfe’s voice was hoarse.
With his shoulders slumped in dejection, he looked younger than his years … and so lost. I disliked seeing him so vulnerable. Wolfe was always so strong and sure of himself. It made my heart hurt to see him take his father’s crimes upon his shoulders.
And that was not the way a person reacted to someone they hated.
“I don’t hate you,” I whispered. My pulse throbbed hard, racing harder as our eyes collided.
His eyes widened ever so slightly and the color returned to his cheeks. His gaze was searching and fierce. “You don’t?”
My cheeks burned hot. “No, I don’t. I’ve been willfully blind, Captain. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.”
He smirked. “I wasn’t exactly charming to you either.”
I laughed. “You were just reacting in kind.”
“Yes, I suppose I was. It was galling, you know. You’re so sweet to everyone else.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Sweet? I’m not sweet.”
“You can be.”
I waved off his compliment, uncharacteristically nervous and embarrassed.
“Rogan?
I lifted my gaze to his and admitted, “You’re a good man, Wolfe.”
Those beautiful aquamarine eyes rounded at my praise. Then he smiled, a boyishly wicked smile that caused a riot of butterflies to awaken in my belly. “You think so?” he murmured.
I flushed but nodded.
Then abruptly, his smile dropped, his expression growing dull with sadness.
“What?”
Wolfe shook his head. “I’m still the man whose father killed yours.”