He wanted her loving him as he loved her. The rest, he realized, they could work out as they went.
Stepping into the house later that night, in the soft glow of the light Chelsea had left on earlier, he realized the house actually looked warmer than before. More welcoming, maybe.
Locking the door behind him, he turned back to her, watching as she sat down on the couch, her expression so damned sad it broke his heart.
“She’s a murderer,” Chelsea whispered. “All of them are. They traffic in drugs, people and anything else they can get their hands on, and I felt so sorry for her.” She looked up at him, her expression filled with guilt and regret. “I wanted so bad to hate her and all I could do was cry for her and Louisa.”
His chest actually tightened at the knowledge of her pain, her own sense of grief.
“It’s not in you to hate, baby,” he sighed, sitting down beside her and pulling her close to him. “And it wasn’t her you felt so much pain for. It was Louisa.” He kissed the top of her head, feeling her against him, a warm, sweet weight. “She must have been a very special little girl. One of those sweet souls that visit us for a minute to teach us the true meaning of love.”
They had so much to talk about, he realized. There were so many things unsaid between them.
“You were what? Twelve?” he asked. “The night we showed up at your father’s home?”
Curled against him, she nodded against his chest.
“The Underground had just snatched us from the grip of Council Breeds after months of running. The girls I’d been trying to protect, Honor and Fawn, were exhausted and terrified. I knew I couldn’t protect them if the ones who rescued us turned on us.” He buried his fingers in her hair, his mind on the past. “And there I stood, frantically trying to decide if the girls were safe or if I should try to plan to escape.” They’d even been too terrified to eat. “Then I glanced into the dark room next to the kitchen and saw you.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory. “Big brown eyes and dark hair. Then you grinned and winked.” A little laugh vibrated against his chest. “Your father had been trying to convince us to eat some soup.”
“His vegetable soup is so good,” she reminded him with remembered relish.
“We were terrified to eat, though,” he told her somberly. “The Council scientists sometimes drugged our food or drink. And there we were, smelling the most incredible scent of food. I’d never smelled vegetable soup in my life, let alone eaten it. My mouth was watering, the girls’ stomachs were growling and we hadn’t eaten in days. About the moment you winked, your dad offered soup and milk again, trying to convince us to eat. And I refused again.” He had to chuckle at the memory. “And I heard you say, ‘Oh, that’s so dumb. Soup. Yummy.’”
“I said that?” she asked in surprise. “I could have sworn I just thought it.”
“But I heard you,” he told her softly. “And I knew in that moment that I could trust you. When I could never be sure of anyone else, I could be sure of the little girl watching me from the dark.” He paused, remembering that little girl Chelsea had been. So full of laughter and life. “I hadn’t known my animal instincts before then, so I didn’t understand that in that moment something so unique had happened. Those instincts had awakened for just a moment. Just long enough to recognize what a nineteen-year-old Breed had no idea how to understand. The animal inside me recognized you. Those instincts knew you were my mate.”
She was silent for long moments.
“You don’t have to say that . . .” she whispered, but he could sense her need to believe him.
Cullen snorted mockingly.
“At my wedding?” he asked, amused now when he hadn’t been then. He’d been damned confused. “I clearly heard you call me a dummy.”
Her head jerked up, shock rounding her eyes, parting her lips.
“And, Chelsea,” he told her gently. “I do know far more about you than just how to make you orgasm.”
Her lips parted as she licked the curves nervously, and he could see her need to understand how he’d known what she was thinking.
Just when he thought he’d found a way to explain it, his phone rang demandingly, the programmed ring tone one he couldn’t ignore.
“Dammit,” he cursed.
Amusement and lingering questions warmed her eyes as she rose from the couch and waved to the phone. “I’ll wait for you in bed.”
“And I’ll hurry,” he promised. “You can bet on it.”
Flipping the phone open, he brought it to his ear. “Commissioner Jenkins, how can I help you . . . ?”
CHAPTER 21
From Graeme’s Journal
Recessed Primal Genetics and Mating Heat
The Primal, whether recessed or active, lives within a world of shadows, beckoning madness and brutal stren