But Olivia's eyes showed no such relief. Deep in those gray depths, he could see her shattering. His heart clenched in his chest as he understood. She fought the grief and her own emotions more than she fought him. And while he'd gladly let her beat the crap out of him if it helped her, he could see it wasn't helping at all.

The emotion needed another way out. The sheen in her eyes told him that.

She launched herself at him again, but even as she did, tears began to run down her cheeks, seeming to make her madder. He let her get in a couple of good punches, then he grabbed her in a bear hug and pressed her face against his chest as she struggled.

"Let it out, Liv," he said quietly. "You're not going to get rid of it until you give in. Just let it out."

She fought him a moment more, her fists pummeling his shoulders until the storm overtook her. Sobs wracked her small body, her fists opening, her fingers clinging to him as grief swept her away.

He felt a deep and sudden need to comfort her and didn't have a clue how to do it.

He'd always been great at causing anger. Soothing raging emotions was beyond him.

He could always use the calming touch of his hand, but he sensed that wasn't what she needed right now. She needed to get it out.

He patted her back awkwardly.

She buried her face tighter against him, clinging to him harder, as if his attempts weren't that awkward at all.

He lifted his hand and cupped her small head, holding it tight against him. Deep inside his chest, he felt a cracking of the ice that had for so long encased his heart.

He didn't want that. Didn't need it. But even as the thought went through his head, his arms enclosed her in a vise of a protective cage through which nothing would ever harm her again.

As if she heard his thoughts, she lifted her head, meeting his gaze with eyes that swam in misery even as they clung to him. As he stared into those gray depths, he felt himself falling. Deep inside, warmth flowed from that crack in his heart, rushing through his blood and limbs, into all the cold, dark crevices. Waking his body, his mind. His soul.

And stirring the bitterness and bile into a frenzy.

Never had he felt such a pull between wanting and not wanting. Even as the darkness inside him tried to shore up the cracks in the wall of ice, draining his heart of the unwanted warmth, he found himself pulling her tighter against him.

He pressed his lips to her forehead and clung to her as she did him, conflicting emotions a tempest inside him. He was what he was. A man without love. Without family, but for the men forced to include him. Without friends.

He'd been this way for too many years to count, and would always be, even if he sometimes wished he could be someone else. How many thousands of times had he wished he were a different man? Not Jag.

Olivia lifted a single hand to press against his cheek, and he was lost. The warmth filled him, pressing back the bile and bitterness and filling him until he thought he would burst from the pressure of it.

She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears all over again. "I thought I'd lost you,"

she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Lost me?"

"In that house. Delaney felt Tighe's pain, but we couldn't reach you, couldn't hear you.

Then the Daemon flew out of there, drenched in blood, and I thought..." Her voice cracked.

He lifted his hand and stroked the bright fall of hair back from her lovely face, barely crediting her words. "You were worried about me?"

A watery smile broke over her face, sending sunshine pouring into his soul. "You drive me crazy, Jag." Her mouth tightened, her bottom lip trembling. "But I don't want anything to happen to you. I need you."

He'd been so angry, thinking her tears were all for Niall. But she'd been dealing with the remnants of fear, too, just as he had. Because, goddess, he'd been terrified when he'd realized one of the Daemons was loose in the yard.

He cupped her face in his hands. "I'm sorry about Niall. I'm sorry I let my jealousy of him get in the way of letting you know that."

Her eyes grew dark as a nightmare. "No one should die like that."

He tilted her head toward him and placed a gentle kiss on her brow, then lifted her face to his again, meeting her gaze. "We'll get that bastard, Liv. We'll get them all. If it's the last thing I do, I'll promise you that. Because you're right. No one should ever have to die like that."

She nodded, a fierce determination lighting those gray eyes even as they remained locked on his, pulling him deeper and deeper. His gaze broke from hers, for only a second, dropping to her ripe, tear-swollen mouth. Tenderness surged through him, melding with the heat he felt every time he touched her.

His gaze returned to hers and held as he slowly lowered his face. Something shimmered in her eyes, a sweet longing that stole the last of his control, and he dipped his head and kissed her for the first time.

Her lips were soft and warm, and as sweet as he'd always known they would be. Why had he never kissed her before?

Her lips moved beneath his, a low, soft moan escaping her throat. Heat and desire swirled inside him, but tenderness won the battle, an overwhelming gentleness he hadn't felt in too long to remember.

His hand slid into her hair, cradling her head, while his other slid around her waist, holding her tight, bending her back as his mouth fused with hers.

He touched her lower lip with his tongue, fire shooting through him and eliciting another moan from her as she parted her lips, giving him access. But he felt no desire to hurry, no need to rush. He wanted to savor every taste, every touch. Goddess, he wanted this to last forever.

Soft fingers slid into his hair. Her mouth moved beneath his, her tongue darting out to stroke his own. He opened his mouth over hers and slid his tongue across the full length of hers, deep into her mouth, tasting her sweetness, falling into her warmth.

Over and over, he kissed her, memorizing the contours of her mouth, the feel of her tongue and lips, the taste of her. The kiss grew hotter with every stroke of his tongue against hers, with every stroke of hers against his until his breath was ragged, his hands tense and roaming, pulling her tighter and tighter against his growing need.

His desire for her intensified until it was a living, breathing thing inside him. And at the same time, he thought he'd be perfectly content to remain like this, just kissing this woman and holding her, for the rest of his immortal life.

His lips finally, reluctantly, left her mouth, driven by a need to taste more. To taste her everywhere. He swung her into his arms, meeting her sweet, sexy gaze.

Olivia curled her arm around his neck and stroked his cheek with her hand.

Neither spoke. No words were necessary. Besides, how many times had words gotten him into trouble? He'd become so adept at using words as weapons, he was no longer certain he knew how to use them any other way.

And now, here, he wanted no more battle between them.

Deep inside him, the jaguar purred, then let out a soft roar of possession.

Mine.

The thought rang in his head and his heart, echoing all the way to his soul.

Olivia trembled as Jag silently lowered her to the broken bed and followed her down, taking up where he'd left off, kissing her cheek, her jaw, the underside of her chin.

With infinite gentleness, he undressed her, then himself, and gathered her into his arms, laying kisses upon her breasts, her shoulders, the inner curve of her elbows.

Never had she known such gentleness. Never had she allowed it. And never in a million years would she have expected it to come from Jag.

She trembled from the uncertainty as much as from the need he lifted inside her.

Every time they'd made love, it had ended badly.

But never before had they connected as they had today.

He'd held her as she cried, as the emotions tore her apart. He'd opened himself for her, giving her comfort and tenderness when she'd needed them so desperately. A tenderness that made her want to cry all over again.

His lips trailed down her body unhurriedly, pleasing her. Loving her. And when they'd finished their return path, she opened her arms to him, and her thighs, uncertain if he'd finally make love to her face-to-face or flip her onto her knees as he had before.

His gaze held hers as he lowered himself into the cradle of her body and sunk deep inside her, the move unhurried. Slow and sensual and infinitely erotic, he made love to her gently, the antithesis of the violence that had come before.

Tears burned her eyes as she cupped her hands behind his neck and held his gaze as his body melded with hers, over and over, sliding in and out, driving her up on a gentle ride of such tenderness, her heart opened like a starving flower in a warm, soft rain.

Loneliness washed away after so very many years.

Deep within his eyes, she saw an understanding, a sharing of that bone-deep need for a completion of the heart. The soul. But rising with that need, she saw pain in his eyes.

And dark wisps of resistance.

The sensual tension rose slowly, steadily, until they were both gasping, both driving for the release that broke over them as one. Not until they were cresting together did Jag break eye contact with her. He kissed her, the kiss only fueling that exquisite release.

Never had Olivia known such perfection in joining with another. Never had she opened herself so completely. And when Jag pulled out of her, then rolled to his side, pulling her deep in the cradle of his arms, she ached with a fragile joy.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered sleepily against her hair. "I don't deserve this."

The depth of pain in his words brought tears to her eyes, and she wrapped her arms tight around him and held on.

"You do, Jag. You're a good man. A strong, courageous, honorable, and good man."

She felt him stiffen and stroked his back, feeling an overwhelming need to ease him, to free him from the past that had him so firmly in its claws. A past filled with a horrible guilt somehow centered around his mother.

"Tell me about Cordelia, Jag. Tell me what happened to her. Please?"

He jerked, a small flinch, but he didn't roll away from her in anger, as she half expected. Little by little, the tension drained from his limbs, and he began to talk, his words tight and emotionless.

"I discovered sex when I was fourteen. With human girls. My mother had a fit when she found out, of course, forbidding me to go to the village. And being the good son that I wasn't, I ignored her and continued to sneak out. This went on for a couple of years. When I was sixteen, she'd finally had enough. One day, she followed me, bursting into the barn where I was in the middle of a hot little tryst. She ordered me off the girl, and I ignored her, of course. I was young and crazed with lust, and I don't think I could have pulled out if I'd tried. But I didn't try.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"Cordelia was...demanding. Not just with me, but with everyone. And it infuriated her when I didn't do her bidding, which of course just made me ignore her more. That day, she grabbed me and tried to pull me off the girl. I was still a kid, but I was already strong. I pushed her away and she fell against the wall. I don't know what she hit - I wasn't paying attention to much except getting off. But a moment later, I heard the angry shout of a man, figured I was about to get caught by the girl's father, and pulled out. But when I stood up, I realized the situation had changed. Four men had rushed into the barn, drawn by Cordelia's yelling, no doubt. But they weren't staring at the girl or me. They were staring at Cordelia, their faces turning pale as I watched.

"It was then I realized Cordelia had blood running down her cheek, dripping from her chin. And no cut, of course. It had already healed. They'd watched it heal.

"This was 1677 and witch phobia was running rampant among the humans. One of the men ordered the others to grab her, and though she struggled, they overpowered her. My traitorous little lover yelled that I was her son, that maybe I was a witch, too. I denied it."

He went silent, a shudder tearing through his warrior's body. "I denied she was my mother." His voice came close to cracking.

Olivia brushed her cheek against his chest, holding him tighter. She doubted he was even aware that his own arms had tightened, that his hands had begun to shake.

"They dragged her out of the barn and to the square, where they bound her to the stake with iron manacles and set her on fire. I ran. I didn't return to the enclave until almost nightfall and by then it was too late for anyone to go to her. If the fire hadn't already destroyed her, the draden would. The men of the enclave retrieved her body the next morning just before sunrise."

Jag's body went rigid. In a single move, he pulled away from her and stood up as if seeking escape.

"Enough of my happy childhood." He strode into the bathroom and closed the door, and she heard him turn on the shower.

Olivia hugged his pillow to her, aching with grief over his pain, and with guilt for drawing it all to the surface again. He blamed himself, in some ways rightly. Yet he'd only been a kid, and it had all happened so long ago.

But how could she ever help him see that? He'd been living with that guilt for more than three hundred years.

As she lay there listening to the sound of the shower, she feared she was in danger of falling in love with him, with a moody, difficult, mercurial man. A man she knew deep in her heart would end up hurting them both.

Chapter Eighteen

The night was cool and clear, the breeze light as Jag stood beside Olivia deep in the woods, his arm tight around her shoulders. He felt the fine tension in her body as she tilted her face to the breeze, waiting for the draden. There was a sadness about her. A melancholy left from the pyre ritual. A short while ago, in the ritual room beneath Feral House, they'd sent Niall's spirit off in a blaze of mystic fire.

But his jealousy was gone, lost in their lovemaking and the knowledge that she'd feared for him as much as he had for her.