Chapter 17
Hannah
Iwake slowly, warm beneath the duvet, and for a few seconds I’m content to lie there.
Then Torin drifts into my thoughts. He came home last night. He’s safe.
I smile into the pillow.
Okay. Maybe I’m not that content to lie here after all.
I throw back the duvet.
A minute later, I’m pulling on yesterday’s jeans and a clean T-shirt, twisting my hair into a loose ponytail before heading into the hallway.
Orson’s door is wide open, the lair exposed, but Torin’s is still closed.
I go into the kitchen. The container I left on the table last night is empty in the sink, and a little flicker of satisfaction runs through me.
He ate it, every scrap.
I fill the kettle and set it on the stove. When it whistles, I reach into the cupboard and take down two mugs.
A few minutes later, I’m standing outside Torin’s bedroom with a coffee in each hand.
I nudge the door gently with my foot.
“Torin?”
No answer.
I knock with my elbow. “Morning.”
A low groan comes from inside.
“Torin?”
“Yeah.”
His voice sounds rough.
“You awake?”
“Debatable.”
I smile. “I brought coffee.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
I reach awkwardly for the handle without spilling either mug. “Can I come in?”
“Course.”
I push the door open.
The curtains are still half drawn, leaving the room cool and dim. Torin is lying on top of the duvet with one arm over his eyes.
“I come bearing caffeine.”
He lowers his arm.
I stop in the doorway.
One side of his face is a mess of bruises. His left eye is swollen almost shut, the skin around it dark purple, and his lower lip is split. A cut runs along his cheekbone.
“Oh my God.”
Coffee sloshes over the rim of one mug.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Not as—” I hurry across the room and put both mugs on the bedside table. “What the hell happened to you?”
He pushes himself upright, and his face tightens.
Then I see the rest of the damage.
Four raw claw marks rake across his ribs and disappear beneath his arm. Another set crosses his shoulder, surrounded by bruising.
I sit on the edge of the bed. “You look awful.”
A faint smile pulls at his battered mouth. “I heard chicks dig this kind of thing.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He reaches for his coffee and sucks in a breath.
“Jesus.” I pick up the mug and hand it to him.
“I could’ve got it.”
“Clearly.”
He takes a sip.
“What happened?”
“I had a disagreement.”
“With a threshing machine?”
He laughs, then winces.
I wait.
Apparently, that’s all I’m getting.
“Fine.” I get to my feet.
“Where are you going?”
“To find something to clean you up with.”
“Hannah, you don’t need to—”
A few minutes later, I’m back with a bowl of warm water, a washcloth and the first-aid supplies from the bathroom.
Torin looks at the collection. “You planning to operate?”
“If necessary.”
I sit beside him and reach for the antiseptic.
“Don’t bother. They’re already closed.”
I look at the claw marks across his ribs. “Those are closed?”
“Bear healing.”
I put the antiseptic aside and wet the cloth.
“Does this hurt?”
“Not much.”
“Liar.”
He smiles. “A little.”
I clean the dried blood from his ribs, then move to his shoulder.
“You know this isn’t necessary.”
“Humor me.”
“I have a feeling you’re going to do whatever you want anyway.”
“You’ve finally noticed.”
I smile and move to the cut on his cheek.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt last night?”
“Didn’t want you worrying about me.”
“Well, next time, tell me.”
“Next time?”
“There’d better not be a next time.”
He smiles.
I finish cleaning the cut and sit back. “So?”
“So what?”
“Who did this to you?”
Before he can answer, footsteps sound in the hallway.
Orson appears in the doorway. “You’re awake.”
“Looks that way,” Torin says.
Orson studies the bruises across Torin’s face. “He didn’t go down easy, huh?”
Torin’s expression changes. “Later, Orson.”
“Who didn’t?” I ask.
Orson looks at me. “Cade.”
My stomach drops.
“Cade?”
“Yeah. That’s who he went to deal with yesterday.”
I turn to Torin. “You went after Cade?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of what he did to you.”
I stare at him. “You fought him?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“What happened?”
“He killed him,” Orson says.
“Orson,” Torin growls.
I nearly knock the bowl from the bedside table.
“Cade’s dead?”
“Yeah.”
“She was going to find out,” Orson says.
I stare at Torin. “You killed Cade?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go there intending to?”
“I went there knowing that was probably how it was going to end.”
My stomach tightens.
“Because of me?”
“Because of what he did to you.”
“That was enough?”
“For me, yeah.”
I take that in. “Are you sorry?”
“No.”
I search his face for something. Regret. Doubt. Anything. “Not even a little?”
“No. He deserved it.”
I puff out my cheeks and stare at the floor. I have no idea what to say to that.
“Someone gonna make breakfast?” Orson asks.
I stare at him. “Torin just killed someone.”
Orson shrugs. “Yesterday.”
I gape at him.
Torin closes his eyes. “Orson.”
“What? I’m hungry.”
A laugh almost escapes me, which makes the whole thing feel even more insane.
I get to my feet. “I need some air.”
Neither of them tries to stop me.
I shoulder past Orson and stride down the hallway, through the kitchen and out the back door. I don’t stop until I reach the terrace.
A woodpecker hammers somewhere among the trees. Birds flit through the pines as if this were any other morning.
I sink onto the outdoor sofa. Torin killed Cade. A few minutes ago, I was sitting on his bed cleaning blood from his face. Cade did that to him. The black eye. The split lip. The claw marks across his ribs. And Torin went there knowing exactly what could happen. My stomach knots.
He could have died.
The thought makes my chest hurt. I’d lain awake half the night waiting for him, but it hadn’t occurred to me that he might not come back.
I stare out at the trees.
I don’t know what happens when one bear kills another. I don’t know whether Torin is in trouble now, or whether this is simply how things work here.
I’m completely out of my depth.
A car door slams somewhere around the front of the lodge. I jerk upright.
A second later, another one follows. Then voices—a man and a woman. I strain my ears. They’re laughing, cheerful.
My shoulders slump. Definitely not my father, or any of Cade’s henchmen.
Then, who?
Gunnar, of course. And Alexandria.
They’re back early.
I look down at myself. Yesterday’s jeans, old T-shirt, hair shoved into a ponytail. I haven’t even had coffee yet.
And somewhere between waking up and now, I’ve discovered that the man I’m falling for killed someone because of me.
The front door opens.
Apparently, I’m about to meet the family.