Page 17 of Off Limits
Gabriel was out there, lost in his own private hell, believing himself capable of the worst kind of violence.
Asher had to fix this. Had to find Gabriel and make him understand that nothing had been taken that wasn't freely given. That if anyone was guilty here, it was Asher for taking advantage of Gabriel's altered state.
Moving was agony. Every muscle protested as Asher pulled himself upright. Bruises were already forming on his hips, and he could feel the tender spots where teeth had marked his throat and shoulders.
He felt thoroughly used—and despite everything, the shameful pulse of heat that thought sent through him just proved how fucked up he really was. The man had just run away in horror, and Asher was still getting off on his memory.
His clothes were beyond salvaging. The shirt was ribbons, jeans missing crucial portions. But Asher managed to tie the denim around his waist in a way that covered the essentials. It would have to do. The whole situation felt like some kind of fucked-up fairytale—the orphan son stumbling naked through the forest, trying to fix what he'd broken through his own selfish choices.
The forest was dark, but Asher had grown up in these mountains. Had spent summers learning to read the trails under his father's patient instruction, back when Ray still believed his son might amount to something. Those skills had seemed useless in the city, but now they might be the only way to save what mattered most.
Gabriel's trail was easy to follow at first. Broken branches, disturbed undergrowth, the occasional footprint in soft earth. But as Asher moved deeper into the trees, the signs becamemore subtle. Claw marks on bark. The lingering scent of musk and misery.
He was a werewolf. An actual werewolf. The thought should have been terrifying, but instead it just made everything make more sense. The way Gabriel had always seemed to hold himself apart. The intensity in his eyes. The way he'd always insisted on visiting during specific times, avoiding others.
Ray must have known. His father had kept this secret, had helped Gabriel hide, and had never said a word to Asher about it.
The trail led up toward the rocky outcropping where Asher used to go when he wanted to be alone. It made sense that Gabriel would head there—somewhere high and isolated, somewhere he could punish himself in private.
The climb was brutal on Asher's abused body. His legs weren't steady, and the rocky terrain demanded more coordination than he possessed. Twice he had to stop and rest, breathing hard in the thin air, fighting the urge to call out Gabriel's name.
By the time he reached the summit, false dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern horizon. At first, the rocky clearing appeared empty, and Asher's heart seized with terror. The possibility that Gabriel might have hurt himself was too awful to contemplate.
Then he spotted the figure slumped against a boulder at the far edge, staring at the sunrise, and relief nearly brought him to his knees.
Gabriel was alive. Even in his misery, he was breathtaking—all lean muscle and silver-touched skin in the pre-dawn light. His broad shoulders were hunched with grief, head hanging low. The position made him look smaller somehow, this powerful man reduced to something broken.
The sight made Asher's chest ache with a guilt so sharp it stole his breath.
This was what Asher had done to him. This broken, beautiful man who now thought himself a monster.
"Gabriel," Asher called softly.
Gabriel's head snapped up, and even in misery, he was devastating. Silver hair tousled by wind and transformation, falling across his forehead in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. Those blue eyes—usually so controlled, so carefully neutral—now burned with self-recrimination. The shadows under them spoke of exhaustion beyond the physical. His jaw was clenched so tight Asher could see the muscle jumping beneath the skin.
Even now, even broken like this, Asher still wanted him with an intensity that should have shamed him.
"You shouldn't be here," Gabriel said, voice hoarse. Raw, like he'd been screaming. Or howling. "It's not safe.I'mnot safe."
The way he said it made Asher want to laugh and cry simultaneously. Gabriel thoughthewas dangerous, thought he might hurt Asher again, when the real damage had been done by Asher's choices.
"Stop," Asher replied, taking another step forward. Gabriel flinched—actually flinched, like Asher's presence caused him physical pain. The movement was so unlike the steady, unshakeable Gabriel of his memories that it made Asher's stomach twist. He was more afraid of himself than Asher had ever been of him.
"You don't understand," Gabriel continued, not moving from his slump against the boulder. His hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white, like he was physically holding himself in place. "What I did to you—I forced myself on you. Lost control completely. I didn't even know if you'd... if I'd hurt you badly, or?—"
The way his voice broke on that last word, his eyes haunted at the thought of having caused real damage, made Asher's guilt multiply tenfold. Gabriel wasn't just horrified by his actions—he'd been sitting here imagining the worst, probably picturing Asher broken and bleeding somewhere.
"You think I'm here because I'm hurt?" Asher interrupted, still advancing. "Gabriel, when I realized you'd run, when I heard you howling..." His voice cracked. The sound had been so full of anguish, so inhuman, that Asher had run faster than he'd thought possible. "I thought you might hurt yourself. Because of what I did.”
Gabriel's eyes widened, confusion replacing some of the self-loathing. “Youdid? You mean what I did to you."
“No,” Asher corrected. He needed Gabriel to understand this, needed to lift even a fraction of the guilt crushing him. "I could have said no. Tried to get away. But I said nothing—because I wanted it.”
Gabriel's expression shifted, something almost like hope flickering before being crushed by denial. The play of emotions across his face was mesmerizing—Gabriel had always been so controlled, so careful with what he let show. Now every feeling was written plainly, raw and exposed.
"You couldn't have known?—"
"Bullshit." The word came out harsh. "I knew you weren't yourself. Knew something was wrong. But I wanted you so badly that I let it happen anyway. Let you think you were forcing me, because I was too selfish to give up the only chance with you I might ever have."
