“Female wolves cry when they find their forever mate,” he said, smoothing her hair back.
She laughed softly. She was undeniably human—all too human most of the time—but maybe there was a thread of uninhibited wildness in her too. An instinctive recognition of her life mate.
He spent long minutes soothing her, loving her, kissing away her tears, nuzzling, nipping softly at her skin so that she laughed.
“I love you,” she said, nuzzling him back. “All of you. Maybe the wolf most of all, because he was the one who ensured you lived so you could love me when I arrived.”
The look on his face was filled with joy; Harper laughed with happiness. “I love you too,” he said. But then he went serious, his face falling. “They’re going to lock me up, Harper. I have to . . . I have to pay for what I did to one of the other boys who was left out here.”
“Oh Jak, no,” she whispered. She shook her head. “No one blames you for that. They saw the pictures, Jak. Agent Gallagher saw the video. They know what happened, that you were only defending yourself. No one’s going to lock you up.”
His eyes moved over her face for a moment as though he was having trouble believing her. “I’m not in trouble?”
“Of course you’re not. You’re the victim. The lone survivor.” She smiled. “People will write books about you someday, and you’ll be the hero.”
He looked at her in wonder, the relief in his expression so stark that tears sprung to her eyes again. He’d thought they would lock him in a cage? He had been prepared to pay for killing the other boy. What immense guilt he must carry with him. Guilt that only belonged at the doorstep of one man: Isaac Driscoll. Whoever had killed him, she was glad he was dead. She would have been tempted to kill him herself if he wasn’t.
She rolled in Jak’s arms, wrapping the blanket more tightly around them. They were on the hardwood floor, his sticky release drying on her thighs, and she’d never been more comfortable and content in her life.
They nuzzled some more, kissed, she languished in the feel of his rough, scarred male skin against hers, the heat of him in the cold cabin, the delectable earthy masculine smell. After a minute, she looked into his eyes, the worry she’d had nudging her, needing to be voiced. There was only honesty now, only truth. What they’d experienced together left no room for anything else. “I worry that as you learn and grow and change . . . as you become the man you’re meant to be, you’ll . . . leave me behind.” She lowered her eyes.
But he stroked her hair from her forehead and kissed her there, causing her to lift her chin and meet his gaze. “You think everyone you love will leave you behind.”
“I . . .” She looked away again but then raised her eyes, unable to look away for long.
“I understand,” he whispered, looking straight into her eyes. “People have left me too. Lied to me, betrayed me. I know I have a lot to learn about the world. But, Harper, I’m not a child. I’m a man, and I know who belongs to me, and who I belong to.” He paused for a moment, looking at her. “Did you know the trees speak to each other?”
She wrinkled her brow. “No.”
“They do. They tell secrets in their roots, those deep, dark places that can’t be seen. I think we’re like that too. We know things deep, deep down, secret things, ancient things, that whisper through us, one to the other. You whispered to me. And I whispered back. You heard, didn’t you?”
Her heart beat with love for him, at the sweetness of what he’d said. She nodded. “Yes, I heard.”
He used his thumb to swipe at her cheek, bringing the happy tear to his lips and tasting it. She smiled, snuggling into him, drifting for a moment. She could fall asleep here, if she knew they didn’t need to get back. If she knew they weren’t essentially breaking and entering. “Mm,” she hummed, pushing the real world aside for a moment, fantasizing about being able to stay there indefinitely just like that. They’d fall asleep for a while, wake and make love—the wild wolf or the gentle young buck, she didn’t care. She wondered if she could call to the wolf inside him with a look, a movement, a touch. Beckon him. Make him mindless. A delicious shiver of anticipation trembled through her. Soon, she told herself. Always. But not today. Still, they had a few minutes, and she let herself relish it, snuggling in deeper to the warmth of his chest. “What you just said, about the trees, it made me think of something.”
“Hmm,” he hummed against her hair.
“When I woke up in the hospital as a child, I didn’t remember much of anything. Just a couple of things. A few flashes of memory. I’d been angry with my parents, my mother specifically, because I’d gotten gum in my hair at school and she’d made me get it cut. It made me look like a boy.” She laughed softly, but then sighed. “The last thing I remember saying to her was that I’d never forgive her for it. I like to think she knew I was just being a bratty kid but . . .” She took a shaky breath. “Anyway, the other thing I kept hearing in my head was this voice telling me to live. It was like a shout, a demand almost.” She paused. “My father’s voice maybe. Perhaps an angel, even God. I don’t know.” She tilted her head, looking up at him. He had stilled as he listened with rapt attention. “But it felt so . . . real. And that one word, it came to me again and again over the years when I wanted to give up. That demand. That . . . yes, that whisper. Deep down. It made me keep going, helped me hold on, helped me survive.” Why was he looking at her like that? Like he’d just seen a ghost? “Jak? What’s wrong?”
He removed the blanket from his shoulder, standing and walking naked to where he’d discarded his coat. She sat up, bringing the blanket to her chest, watching him, confused. He walked back to her and knelt down, holding out his hand. She looked as he opened his palm. A pocketknife. Old and . . . she picked it up, a feeling of deep gravity filling her chest . . . so worn it was practically coming apart. She knew this pocketknife, and she held it tightly, knowing what she would see on the back before she’d turned it over. Mother of pearl. “My father carried this in his pocket. Was it in the car? Is that where you got it?”
Jak shook his head, his eyes moving over her face like he’d just seen her for the first time. “Jak? What is it?”
“You gave this to me,” he said softly, incredulously. “You put it in my hand.”
“I . . . what?” She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“It was you. You went over that cliff with me.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The look on Harper’s face was still . . . glazed. He related. He couldn’t believe it either. Couldn’t believe she was . . . the dark-haired boy on the cliff. It made him want to laugh. It filled him with joy. And yet, in some strange way he couldn’t explain—not because he didn’t have words, he’d gathered so many over the past few weeks—it made sense. He was mystified, yet unsurprised. He’d known her, not only because of the whispers that flowed through him—through everyone if they knew to listen—but because she’d been there on the most life-changing night of his life. She’d saved him. If not for that pocketknife, he never would have survived. And he’d saved her. In that split-second decision . . . he’d saved the love of his life.
They’d both lived, because of each other, survived alone yet together all these years so they could return to one another when the time was right.
They pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office and both sat staring at the building for a moment. Harper had called Agent Gallagher when they reached the highway, and he was meeting Jak there. Harper reached over, squeezing his hand. “You sure you don’t want me to come inside with you? Or wait for you out here?”
He leaned over and kissed her quickly. “No. I can do this alone.” I need to do this alone. I need to be a man. “But I can’t wait to see you at your apartment. I’ll ask Agent Gallagher to drive me when we’re done.”