She looked up at him.
His hand smoothed the hair from her face, his eyes exploring every feature.
“What is it?” she asked, smiling.
He shook his head. “I want to look at you.”
“You missed me?” she asked.
He arched a brow, his jaw clenching tightly before he managed, “You could say that.”
Her attention wandered to the scratches. She traced four fingers along the ridges. Claw marks, and several puncture marks on his forearm. She sat up, her attention wandering along his thighs. “Stitches?” she asked, looking at him.
But he was too busy staring at her, and the tenderness on his face made her ache.
“Finn,” she whispered, watching the shift of emotion on his features. Whatever he was thinking, he seemed at a loss to express it.
“What happened?” she asked, scooting closer and taking his hands in hers.
His gaze locked with hers. “We killed them.”
Her chest hurt.
“I killed them,” he clarified.
Jessa didn’t know what to say. Her heart was lodged in her throat.
“Mal was scouting. Anders and Dante were still inside.” He ran a hand over his face. “I saw them… They asked where Oscar was. Where you were. Said things that made my blood boil. I saw red. The wolf…” He broke off.
Her hands tightened around him. “Mal said there were eight of them?”
He shook his head, his attention shifting to their hands. “Seven.”
She swallowed. He fought them alone? “And Anders… Dante… Surely they heard—”
“They showed up but…” He couldn’t look her in the eye. “It was already over.” He wasn’t proud. He seemed almost ashamed.
“You did what you had to do,” she said softly.
He looked at her, then. “Did I?”
She cradled his face in her hands. “You protected your pack, Finn. And I love you for it.”
…
He hadn’t meant to tell her. But somehow it all came tumbling out. He’d killed seven men and he hadn’t felt a single ounce of regret. Not until it was over. But seeing her now, hearing her say she loved him… Right or wrong, he’d kill them again if it silenced a threat against her or Oscar.
He’d tried to talk to them, to buy some time, but they were there for one reason—to taunt him. And they had. The things they said they’d do to Jessa, how they’d turn her into one of their pack or use her until they were done. And Oscar? They’d called him a chew toy, one they’d make squeak and bleed.
He pulled his hands from hers and slipped from the bed.
“Cyrus wasn’t there?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “We hope they get the message.”