Page 67 of The Villain

Deathwas what I heard in his tone. He believed he deserved to die, too.

I reached out again, finding the hard base of his chest, the muscles underneath rippling with tiny detonations of desire.

“Athena…” he pleaded as my hands slid higher, up the thick column of his neck, the pound of his pulse greeting my fingertips until I reached his face.

“And what if I want to give you peace?”

I didn’t know a man as big as him could quake the way he did. A massive shudder that seemed to loosen his muscles from his bones and shake every ounce of oxygen not only from his lungs but from each cell of his blood.

“You can’t,” he said flatly. “A man died because of me.”

How had he carried this weight for so long? I knew loss. I knew how the pain of losing a loved one scarred the heart so it never beat the same again. But this…to have every good memory knotted to guilt, and to have that guilt then tied to the idea of love…

“And I’m alive because of you,” I countered, feeling how he tensed, surprised by my claim.

He took a deep breath and released it with a low curse. “It’s not enough.”

He was so…good. So heroic and protective, tender and loyal. When I thought of him, those were the only things that came to mind. It was strange to describe someone in those words, but what other ones did I have? I didn’t know if his eyes were blue or brown. If his skin was as pale as snow or dark as coffee. If his hair was black or blond. I was an artist. All my life, I’ve relied on sight to describe a person in my mind and translate that onto a page.

But I didn’t have that with Dare. All I had were words that made me feel like I saw him better—saw the real him. All the parts a person didn’t need eyes to see.

Even the feel of his face hadn’t painted a picture of him quite as clearly as his actions did. The way he took care of me. The softness of his touch. The utter devotion of his protection.And the pain he caused himself as penance for a guilt that didn’t belong to him.

He didn’t deserve the way he treated himself. Even if he wasn’t mine, I had to be the one to make him see that.

“What would be enough?” I probed, inching myself closer to him. “Their everlasting hatred? Your own death?”

“It should’ve been me. I was the one who trusted her. I’m responsible for Ryan’s death. I should’ve been the one who died that day.” He tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let him.

“Instead, you’ve been the one who’s died every day since.”

He stilled. “What?”

“You gave them information—the best you had and to the best of your ability—like Prometheus gave fire to the humans. You gave them something you thought had potential. For good or for bad. You didn’t force them to use it?—”

“No, but I fought like hell for them to listen to me, to act?—”

“You made a decision. They made a decision. It ended tragically. But that doesn’t make you responsible for his death.”Another tear made its way down my cheek. I couldn’t see, but I could see him. I could see the layers of man and muscle ripped open by his own hands. By the sharp claws of guilt sinking into the depths of his vulnerability and shredding it until there was nothing left but a tortured soul. “How many days have you ripped yourself apart because of this?” I whispered.

“Too many.” His jaw flexed. “Not enough.”

“What will be enough?”

“Athena…” He couldn’t wipe my tears away fast enough. “Please, you can’t fix this. I’m not worth it.”

Once again, I feltmorebecause of the darkness that engulfed me. I felt his desolation. His isolation. And I felt my heart break.

“But you are,” I murmured, my fingers finding their wayover his cheekbones to the bridge of his nose, and from there, down until I felt the softness of his lips. “You are worthy.”

His groan rumbled against my fingertips. “No, Athena, you don’t know me?—”

“You’re wrong. I might not know what you look like or all about your past, but I know the scent of you like my lungs know oxygen. I know how your voice changes when you’re worried or when you’re calm. I know the gentleness of your touch. The bravery of your heart?—”

“Enough.” He tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let go.

“Is it me? Am I not worth it?”

Suddenly, I was against him, his arm barricading my back from all escape. “Never say that,” he rasped, his forehead pressing to mine.

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