“He’s in love with Parry, too, by the way,” Peyton announced. “And she is with him.”

Annnnnd that was how the whole thing between her and him got seriously, totally, fucking outted.

Chapter Forty-six

“No, I’m fine.”

Paradise winced as she said the words. Then again, Doc Jane was shining a flashlight directly into her eyeballs.

“You’ve got a concussion,” the doctor announced as she took a seat on the bed. “Do you feel sick to your stomach?”

Well, gee, yes—but whether that was because of the fact that she’d been nearly killed by a classmate or totally saved by a male she’d told to fuck off a half an hour ago …

“What was the question?” she asked. “Wait, yes, I’m a little nauseous, and I have a bit of a thumper.”

Doc Jane smiled. “You’re going to be fine. Just take it easy. And before you ask, yes, you can go to class tomorrow night, but no sparring and go easy on the workout.”

“Oh. Okay.” God, she couldn’t imagine being back at the training center. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m not going to give you anything other than the Motrin you just took.”

“Oh … okay. Thank you.”

“And you need to talk to Mary,” Doc Jane said as she got back to her feet. “And no, an I’m-fine ain’t going to cut it. You can expect some PTSD from this. Your body is going to heal faster than your mind will.”

“Who’s Mary?”

“You know, Rhage’s shellan. She’s a therapist.”

“Oh.”

Maybe she should follow that one up with another T-Y?

“I’m here if you need me,” the doctor said before she left.

And then Paradise was alone.

It was funny, even though she was safe and in her bedroom, and there were Brothers downstairs … the house didn’t feel quite so secured anymore. And maybe that was the point about the Mary conversation.

God … Anslam, a killer? Maybe even a serial killer?

He’d never shown any signs of instability. He’d seemed like a relatively normal, if slightly unpleasant person, just like her or anyone else from their class, their race.

To think she’d sat by him in training, sparred with him, talked and laughed with him—and all the while he’d been … brutalizing females?

It was the stuff of nightmares—before she even got to the part where he tried to murder her.

Glancing at the clock, she became even more stressed. There was only an hour before dawn came, and she didn’t know where Craeg was. Had he left yet?

She needed to see him.

With a groan, she stretched across for the house phone—

“You want me to help you with that?”

Jerking back, she looked up to find the male himself standing in her doorway. He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

“Doc Jane told me it was okay to come in. I’ve got to go, and I wanted to see for myself that you were still alive.”

Paradise closed her eyes and had to turn her face away. Tears came fast and furious, but she didn’t want to show them.

There was a soft click as he shut the door, and for a second, she thought he’d left her. But then she took a deep breath and caught his scent.

“I met your dad,” he said roughly.

Shaking herself back into focus, she forced herself to look over at him. He hadn’t come any farther into the room, and that seemed apt. His face was remote, his body tense, his affect that of somebody who had already left the house even though he was arguably standing in front of her.

“You did?” she said quietly.

“Nice guy.”

“He is.”

Long silence. And then she decided, Fuck it, and went for a Kleenex. Blowing her nose, she snapped another free and blotted her eyes.

“Sorry, I’m kind of emotional.”

“Why wouldn’t you be. You nearly got killed.”

Wadding up the tissues, she pitched them into the wastepaper basket by her bed and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I said all that stuff to you. That I yelled at you.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” Man, for some reason that blasé response, like none of it had particularly mattered, hurt worse than her concussion. “All right.”

“Look, Paradise, you and I…”

“Are what?” She glanced at him. “Or is it more like aren’t. As in aren’t meant to be? Is this the part where you go through all the reasons we can’t be together again, including, if not especially, because of my background? Because if it is, I’m pretty sure we covered that on the phone.”

When he didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor as if he were counting the stitches in her needlepoint rug, she imagined he was practicing the final good-bye in his head. And that would be a good-bye to their relationship, not a never-see-you-again. Because she was not dropping out of the fucking program; that was for sure: In just these initial nights—which felt like twelve thousand years, thank you very much—she’d already invested waaaaaay too much for quitting.

“You’d better go,” she said with defeat. “Just—”

“Why me?”

She frowned. “I’m sorry?”

As he looked over at her, his eyes were dead serious. “I guess, I don’t understand … why me? You could have anyone in the species. I mean, whole bloodlines would give their arms and legs to have a son with you. You are literally the most valuable thing on the planet—and that’s before they get to know how strong you are, how smart you are … how resilient you are. How courageous … and smart. Have I mentioned smart.” He looked back down at the rug. “And beautiful. And then there’s that voice of yours.” He made a circle next to his head. “It makes me crazy, your voice. Every day, after we’d hang up the phone, I would sleep with the fucking thing on my chest. Like maybe part of your voice, part of you was still in it.”