“Always.”
“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.”
“Better,” I say, turning my head toward him. “Because then you know I mean it.”
I see his jaw tense, the way he swallows as he keeps his eyes on the sky, and I bet that if the sun were up, I’d be able to see him blush. Myfavoriteof his expressions, which is why it’s so hard for me to do anything that would make it go away.
“What made you quit?” I ask. I need to know the ending as much as I do the beginning, and I’m not sure when this opportunity might present itself again. “What made you believeit was enough?”
Beside me, he breathes slowly, a deep in and out that catches once, twice, before he manages, “No matter how many I killed, it wasn’t helping. Wasn’t bringing them back. No more than it was bringing back anyone else, and… After a while, all it felt like I was doing was losing more. Like one side of my balance sheet was just getting longer while the other stayed empty.”
“Your balance sheet?” I ask. “As in, your list of sins? Do you believe there is one?”
“Sometimes. That orphanage I was sent to after my parents died… It was Catholic.”
He shoots me a look, daring me to say something, but though I feel extremely satisfied at being right, telling him so doesn’t feel important at present. “Go on,” I simply say.
“They were pretty clear there about what happens to sinners, and I guess, I figure if there really is a heaven, it might be my only…” he continues hesitantly, although when he pauses again, I suspect the sentence ends differently in his mind than what I get to hear. “Figure at some point I should start trying to earn forgiveness.”
“I see,” I say, considering the idea. “In that case, can I ask you something?”
He eyes me warily. “I suppose.”
“Do you regret it? Doing what you did? The families you helped get justice?”
He blows out a long breath. “No, I can’t say I do. At least, I don’t regret doing what I did, so much as I maybe regret what it cost me. But, even if it didn’t bring me peace, each of those men…”
“Needed killing?” I offer.
“Yeah,” Aiden says, the ghost of a determined look on his face. “They did.”
“You know, wolf,” I start to say, and even though he doesn’tturn his head to acknowledge me, I can tell he’s listening. “I am not religious.”
He closes his eyes. “You just said—”
“Hold on, let me finish,” I interrupt, nudging his side. “I am not religious in atraditionalsense. However, to play devil’s advocate—”
“You would.”
“—my understanding is you have to repent in order to be forgiven.”
He mulls that over, too. “Suppose you do.”
“Something to consider.” I shift on the bedroll, intending to have the stars be the last thing I see before I close my eyes. “Not that I would mind you keeping me company in damnation, wolf.”
“Cypress.”
“Hm?” I turn my head to him, only to find him already staring at me this time, making me increasingly aware of the space where my hand is resting between us, his own near enough that I can feel the heat from his palm.
“Why do you call mewolf?”
“Maybe because it suits you,” I hedge, even knowing now would be the time to tell him the rest. But I don’t want to lose him again. “Or maybe because I’ve just always wanted to be friends with a wolf.”
He laughs. “Friends. I’m not sure I would call us— the fuck are you grinnin’ for?”
I shrug, still smiling. “Because you’re right…we are not friends.” His eyes search mine, but I’m the one that sees the flash of disappointment in his. “What we are, Aiden…I hope the appropriate word isinevitable.”
“An inevitable pain in my ass,” he mutters back, but he’s smiling now, too.