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He was ready to kill.

—

Loren inhaled deeply, feeling her lungs expand as they filled with the fresh, jasmine-scented air of the backyard.

She was out on the balcony again, the doors to Darien’s suite wide open behind her. It was easier to think out here, easier to calm her thundering heart every time the images Valary had forced into her mind reappeared with a vengeance.

The Warg had ruined her day. All she’d eaten was a dry, leftover pancake, and aside from venturing downstairs for said pancake, she hadn’t left Darien’s suite except to come out here.

The fragrance of the jasmine had a calming affect on her body, and so did the fresh air. By focusing on her surroundings, she found that she could soothe her distressed mind and settle her queasy stomach. It was a technique her therapist had taught her back in high school, when she used to go for sessions once a week to deal with the pain of growing up. Taega had stopped paying when she turned eighteen, announcing it was time she grew up and stopped having feelings, as if that were possible. So, she’d had to look for other methods to cope with her anxiety.

That was when she’d found Mordred and Penelope’s Mortar and Pestle and discovered the therapeutic affects that certain plants had on the body and mind. And not long after stumbling into the apothecary, she’d discovered her calling.

It was funny how a wrong turn in life sometimes led to the right destination.

Loren drew another deep breath, paying close attention to the cool temperature of the wrought-iron railing under her palms, the balcony beneath her bare feet. The breeze wending through the yard stirred her hair and sent her cherry-print sundress fluttering against her knees.

The sound of boots rapidly striking the floor inside the house pulled her out of her bubble of concentration. She took another deep breath, this time to calm the new bout of nerves racking her body. Knowing Darien was close was a comfort to her, but the speed at which he was walking alerted her to the fact that someone had spilled the beans about the morning’s events.

Not someone. Travis. She didn’t exactly blame him, and a part of her was relieved that Darien had found out, since she no longer had to keep it a secret from him. She was lousy at keeping secrets. But the other part of her felt terrible that he had to be burdened with this. Never mind that she didn’t have a clue what to say to him.

But she was out of time to prepare, because Darien’s voice was floating through the open doors behind her. “Loren.”

Blowing the breath out of her lungs, she slowly turned to face him.

He was standing in the doorway, curtains rustling around him in a breeze, the white lace making a harsh contrast with his long-sleeved gray shirt and black cargo pants. He was scanning her from head to toe, a mixture of concern and anger on his handsome face.

Two seconds passed. It felt like longer than that, but it was only two before he was moving.

He walked right up to her, his eyes never once leaving hers, and pulled her into a tight embrace. Immediately, the physical contact shut out her worries and made her feel safe. So incredibly safe.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her throat still ached. She’d done her best to cover up the bruises Valary had left on her skin, but she knew she couldn’t keep them a secret from Darien for long—and she knew the makeup would wear off sooner rather than later. “Those things happened before you met me.”

He was rocking her from side to side, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other gripping her waist. “But you didn’t have to see. You shouldn’t ever have to see.” His fingers curled in her hair, and his voice became a ragged whisper. “I’m so sorry, Loren. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Something about his tone seemed off, as if he was apologizing for more than just Valary.

“There’s nothing to forgive, okay?” She gripped him tighter, fingers clutching his shirt. “I asked Travis not to tell you—”

“Why would you do that?” He pulled back and took her face into his hands. His broad mouth was set in a frown, and there were shadows in his eyes, but his tone was gentle. “Why?”

“I didn’t want you to have to know. I didn’t want you to worry about me—”

“Lola,” Darien sighed, pulling her against his chest again. He held her tight and rocked her gently from side to side, as if they were dancing. The warmth seeping into her body from his was comforting, and she could feel his heart beating under her cheek. “Lola, Lola, Lola… What am I going to do with you?”

She mumbled into his soft shirt, “How much did Travis tell you?”

Darien briefly hesitated before admitting, “Everything.”

Loren tensed. “I didn’t—”

“It’s better that I know, Loren.” She didn’t like the sound of that, but she didn’t want to ask him to explain what he meant.

For a long time, they held each other. Loren matched her breathing to his, listening to his heart beating beneath her ear. With his body flush against hers, it was the only sound that existed. It was more calming than the breeze. More calming than the patter of rain on stormy nights or the sweet scent of jasmine. He was her medicine—her cure.

She only wished she could say the same about herself. It pained her that she used to be his medicine—the cure for his Surges.

The things that used to be always hurt the most.