He scrubbed his fingers through his hair in frustration and started pacing. Low, angry words spilled from his lips, too quiet for her to hear.

Seeing him mad made that old queasy fear lurking within her lurch to the surface. Instinct took over, and she curled herself into the smallest space possible.

The movement caused her ankle to shift, and pain shot up her leg, but she bit back the scream and remained silent.

He won’t find you if you’re quiet.

The words came to her in a sweet but terrified voice—one she recognized but couldn’t place. All she knew was that she trusted the voice absolutely and would do whatever it told her to.

“Grace? Are you okay?” Torr. That was him speaking to her, not some phantom memory she couldn’t grasp.

A hand landed lightly on her shoulder and she jerked away. Terror radiated out along her limbs, until she was quivering with the need to hide.

“Grace, honey, you’re okay now. You’re safe. Look at me.”

Until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she’d shut her eyes.

His hand stroked her face, the touch achingly gentle.

Grace pulled in a shuddering breath and forced herself to open her eyes. Torr was crouched beside her, touching her, but still keeping his distance, thanks to his long arms.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought I’d lost you for a minute.”

She swallowed hard to shove the fear down where it belonged, only to have it replaced by shame. Her cheeks burned, and she couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

She gave a shaky nod and took an equally shaky breath. “I’m a nutcase, but I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not a nutcase.”

She started to sit up, and Torr hurried to help ease her upright. “I don’t know what else you’d call it.”

“You’ve been through some terrible trauma.” He said it like he knew it was true, rather than as though he was guessing. “You’re allowed to be afraid sometimes, especially after jumping off a cliff to avoid being killed by ugly demon-cicles.”

The metallic taste of fear at the back of her throat began to fade. Each slow breath was a victory, strengthening her just in time to pull in the next. “It shouldn’t matter what I’ve been through. I don’t remember any of it, so it shouldn’t bother me.”

“But it does, and that’s okay.” He wiped away a tear, and until that second she hadn’t realized she’d let herself cry.

She wanted to stand up and slip away where she could pull herself together in private, but with her ankle throbbing, that wasn’t an option. “No, it’s not okay. I keep telling Brenya she should help me remember so I can face whatever makes me like this and move on.”

“But she won’t?”

“She keeps saying that some things are best left forgotten and that the things I no longer know are a gift.” Grace let out a frustrated growl. “Her control over my life makes me so furious sometimes. I know she saved me, but it’s my life. My memories. I should get to pick what happens in my own head.”

He actually smiled at her, and for a split second she wanted to punch him in one of his amber eyes.

“That’s good,” he said.

“What’s good?”

“That you know how to be mad.”

“How can you possibly think being mad is good?”

“Because it beats being afraid.”

“I don’t like being either.”

“Sure. No one does, but if you have to be one or the other, mad is definitely better.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A few hundred years of experience in combat.”

A few hundred? “Really?” she asked. “You’re that old?”

“Yep. And Brenya calls me ‘young Theronai,’ which makes me wonder just how old she is. And how much she’s learned in that time.”

Grace had never really thought about it. Some rule in the back of her head told her it was rude to ask another person their age, so it had never come up. Until now. “So you’re saying I should trust her.”

“No, I’m just saying that there’s a chance she’s wiser than either of us. Maybe when she says that some things are better left forgotten, you should listen. And so should I.”

“You? Do you have lost memories, too?”

His lips clamped together, like he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Torr leaned down close, moving slowly so she wouldn’t freak out again, no doubt.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he said.

The iridescent necklace he wore shimmered with his pulse. Thick muscles and tendons stood out, drawing her eye down to the gleaming curve of his shoulders. So much of his skin was bare, dotted with perspiration. She knew if she did as he asked, he’d be hot to the touch, driving away the chill of fear that lingered just below her skin.

His altered shirt was even more tattered than it had been before their mad dash through the woods. All it managed to do was hide enough of his body to make her stare on the off chance that the breeze would pick up and she’d get more of a peek at the man beneath.

“Grace,” he said, her name a dark temptation coming from his lips, “grab your shoe and wrap your arms around me.”

There was nothing she wanted to do more than touch him, so she did as he asked, uttering a halfhearted, “Why?”

He lifted her into his arms, forcing her to tighten her hold. “That’s why. No more waiting around to see if you can put weight on your ankle. It’s time to go. I don’t think we should be out here alone in the woods together. Not when there’s so much danger, and not when you look at me like that.”

She almost asked him, Like what? but she already knew the answer. She was looking at him like she wanted him, like she’d never known what it was like to want a man before he’d shown up. Because it was true. Her body was melting from the inside out, growing warm and soft in a way that made her want to lie back and give in. To what, she wasn’t sure, but she knew that with Torr it wouldn’t matter. He could do whatever he pleased, and she would enjoy it.

There was no reason for her body to respond to him that way, and yet she couldn’t seem to make it stop. All she could do was try not to think about how good his solid strength felt as he lifted her. “I’m sure I can walk.”