He’d given her the most beautiful night of her life, but he’d also shown her what she would never have, and she craved it as she’d never craved anything in her life. Being with Hancock? Having his dominance, his caring, protection, his utter devotion to doing whatever it took to make her happy?

She wanted to weep because as much as she’d wanted this night, she almost wished she’d never gotten a taste of what was now forbidden fruit. You couldn’t mourn what you never had.

Hancock was tense, agitated. She could feel his body vibrating, how tightly he held her. His grip was almost bruising and it was painful at times, but she never said a word, not wanting to lose his touch. If he thought he was hurting her, he would immediately put distance between them, and that she couldn’t bear. A little pain was a small price to pay to lie in his arms for the few short hours they had left together.

She’d asked him for tonight. Only tonight. But would he make love to her again tomorrow night? Knowing that it truly would be their last night together? That the following morning they’d leave for him to turn her over to Maksimov?

Or would he spend that night hardening himself, turning back into the Hancock everyone but her saw? The machine. The emotionless mercenary who thought nothing of turning a woman over to a man if it accomplished his goal.

Yes, that was the more likely possibility. He would distance himself from her. He’d wake her with those cold eyes and implacable features. He’d treat her as the prisoner she was. Oh, he wouldn’t hurt her physically. But he would treat her as a thing. Dispassionately and as though she were of no importance whatsoever. Because it was the only way he would be able to withstand what he had to do. And she knew it hurt him. No one else would know. But she did and would.

That didn’t hurt her, that he would harden himself and become a shell of his true self. She knew it was the way he endured—had endured—all these years of loneliness. What hurt her was that she’d never see him again. Nothing Maksimov or ANE would do to her could possibly compare to the agony of knowing love for such a short time, of tasting passion that couldn’t possibly be common, of sharing an intimate bond with the real Hancock. The Hancock that only she saw. And would never see again.

Whatever Maksimov and ANE did, she could take. She’d even welcome it because it would give her respite from the very real pain of losing Hancock. And when death came for her, she would welcome it, because then she wouldn’t feel at all.

She closed her eyes, a sense of peace enveloping her. Her life hadn’t been for nothing. For one magical night, she’d experienced love. She’d loved and been loved in return. This night was worth everything that had come before and all that would come after. Because it gave her this. And this was worth dying for.

“I can’t let you go.”

Hancock’s words, guttural with agony and despair, startled her, breaking the heavy silence and the thoughts she’d been lost in.

His hold on her tightened until she could no longer contain the wince. He didn’t even notice.

“I can’t do it, Honor. I can’t. I won’t. Goddamn it, I won’t do it!”

He was seething, his entire body tense, his muscles rippling with rage. His face, if she didn’t know the man beneath, would terrify her. He looked like what he’d been labeled his entire life. A ruthless, merciless killer.

She gently pried herself away from him, just enough that she could lean up and face him fully, her puzzlement not disguised.

“Hancock?” she whispered tentatively.

She had no idea what he meant. What he was saying. She was utterly confused.

His face was a wreath of torment. Agony blazed in his eyes and he looked as though he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. Had this been what he’d been thinking of so intently the last hours as they’d lain in silence, him holding on to her as if afraid she’d simply disappear? Had he been planning this all the while, or had he simply made an impulse decision? An irrational bid to hold on to the night as much as she wanted to hold on.

He reached up to touch her cheek and she couldn’t help herself. She nuzzled into his palm and turned to kiss it but then returned her gaze to his, questioning. Not understanding what was happening here. Whatever it was . . . it was huge. And it made her very afraid. Not for herself. But for him.

“I need you to listen to me, Honor. And I need you to understand. I will not give you up,” he said fiercely. “There isn’t a force strong enough in this world to ever make me give you up. Do you understand?”

Her brow furrowed. “But Maksimov . . .”

“Fuck Maksimov,” he said savagely. “And fuck the goddamn greater good. I’ve been an instrument for the greater good my entire life and I’ve never, never asked for one goddamn thing for myself. I’ve never expected something for myself. I’ve never had one thing that’s all my own. Only mine. But I have you, Honor. And I will not give you up. Ever.”

Fear was sharp and bitter in her mouth. She stared at Hancock, allowing every ounce of that fear to show. She was terrified. For him. And for what she thought he was telling her.

“But Hancock, if you don’t give Maksimov what he wants . . . You’ve told me who and what he is. He’ll kill you. He’ll hunt you down like some animal. From what you told me about him, about the kind of man he is, I can well imagine that time means nothing to him. That he’ll wait months, years, however long it takes, but he’ll kill you. No matter how long it takes to exact revenge. He’ll wait and he’ll strike. I can’t, I won’t let that happen, Hancock. You constantly tell me that I matter. Goddamn it, Hancock, you matter,” she raged. “You matter! You matter to this world. The world needs you. You matter to me! You said my sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain, that it served the greater good. Then don’t let my sacrifice be wasted! I would never trade my life for yours. Never!”

“And you think you don’t matter to me?” he roared. “Do you think I’m going to just hand you over to him and walk away knowing that he’ll repeatedly rape you, that his men will rape you? Whomever he wishes to reward will rape you. He’ll torture you just because he enjoys it. And then he’ll turn you over to ANE and every imaginable horror you can possibly imagine, they will do them all to you. When and only when you are so near death that you can no longer withstand their constant brutality, they’ll kill you, but it won’t be merciful and it will not be swift. They’ll drag you into the middle of whatever village they occupy and they’ll inflict as many wounds as possible so that you die a slow, horrific death, and then they’ll leave your corpse to rot and decompose and no one will move you for fear they’ll be killed for interfering.”

She shuddered at the very real images he invoked. Tears ran down her cheeks. Theirs was an impossible situation and she knew it, even if he didn’t admit to knowing the same. They were doomed. They could never be together. If she didn’t die, then Hancock would.

“I will not trade my life for yours,” she repeated, horrible rage building and swelling until it was an inferno. “You are a good man. I don’t care what or who you think you are. I see you, Hancock. I see you. The world needs you.”

“And I need you,” he seethed. “You are the one thing I want—need—above all else. I need you, Honor. What kind of man would I be if I led you to your rape, torture and eventual slaughter? Do you honestly think I could continue on like nothing had ever happened? Do you think I would survive it? That I could continue on, fighting the good fight, fighting for the greater good when you are the greater good and I killed you. I murdered you. I let you be raped and tortured. Do you think I’d sleep at night imagining you in their hands? Do you think the world would be a better place with me in it? I’d turn into a monster unlike this world has ever seen, and I wouldn’t give a fuck about the greater good because my greater good was destroyed by me.”