“I said it’s clear.”

“No.” Her heart began to thud as she walked toward him. “You said, ‘I’ve got you.’”

“Same thing.”

“No.” She took a risk, lowered her defenses long enough to look at him, really look. And saw. “You asshole!” Her short right jab landed hard, center chest. “You complete dick. I’ve got you, ma faol. You said that to me when I was half conscious, bleeding, broken, and you carried me out of the forest. I’ve got you—my wolf. Your wolf?” She punched him again, added a shove.

“You were hurt,” he began.

“That’s right, that’s right.” Now she jabbed a finger in his chest, drilled. “And when Bran worked on me, you held me.” God, it flooded back now, over and through the memory of pain. “You told me to be strong, to come back. Come back to you. In Irish. Teacht ar ais chugam, ma faol. You coward.”

The word dripped with derision.

“You said those things to me when you thought I was out of it, but you can’t say them to my face?”

He caught her fist in his hand before it connected. “Hit me again, and we’ll see who’s the coward.”

“Emotional midget work better for you? You’re in love with me, and you can’t say it when I’m conscious because you’re afraid. That’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.”

Temper hot and visible, he hauled her to her toes. “Watch yourself.”

“Screw that. I say what I feel, remember? You’re the one who lies about it.”

“I haven’t lied to you.”

“Let’s just test that. Are you in love with me?”

He dropped her to her feet. “I’m not getting into this any deeper.”

“Yes or no. That’s simple. If you’ve got the balls.”

“It doesn’t matter what—”

“Yes or goddamn no. Pick one.”

“Yes!” And the word bellowed like the thunder. “But it doesn’t—”

“Yes works,” she cut him off. “So good.” She opened the door for him, gestured to show him he was free to leave.

“It can’t go anywhere.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, it already has. And if you’re going to fall back on the immortal’s lament, it doesn’t fly. Yeah, I’m going to die. Could be today.” She flicked a hand toward the storm outside the window. “Could be fifty years from now. Could be next week or I could live to be a hundred and four. Five of the six of us have that to face, and it sure as hell isn’t stopping Bran and Sasha or Sawyer and Annika from grabbing what they have for as long as they can have it.”

“None of them have stood by and watched the other die.”

“But they will.”

“It’s not the same, not remotely.”

“Grief is grief, but you hold on to that if you need it. I’m not asking or expecting you to hang around should I hit a hundred and four. I just wanted the truth. However long it works, it works.”

“Marriage is—”

“Who said anything about marriage?” she demanded. “I don’t need pledges and rings and white dresses. I just need the respect of the truth. Now I’ve got it, and we’re back on even ground. That’s enough.”

She sighed, and this time laid her palm on his heart. “That’s enough, Doyle, for me. Give me the truth, and stick with me as long as it works, and that’s enough.”

He closed his hand over hers. “I swore I’d never love again.”

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