“Stay back,” he ordered. “Doona get close.”
Mena hesitated, letting her hand drop to her side. She wondered who he truly warned her away from. Hamish? Or himself.
“Do ye think I’m finished with ye?” Hamish taunted. “That I’m the only one who would see ye dead?”
“I know you’re angry now.” Mena tried to ballast the poison spewed by Hamish. “But you don’t want your own brother to be just another sin that haunts you.”
She couldn’t tell if she was getting through to him, didn’t know if her words penetrated the haze of pure, white-hot fury radiating from the Demon Highlander’s massive frame.
“I’m sure yer tormentors are legion,” Hamish drawled. “I’ve killed many, but none so much as ye. I admit that I see them at night, the faces of my victims. I find them in my dreams, and sometimes when I’m awake. Do ye see their faces, Liam? Do ye find them in the darkness?”
Ignoring his order, Mena stepped behind Liam and pressed a hand to his back, the soft skin of her palm settling over the interruptions of long-ago wounds that never truly healed. She said nothing as the muscles twitched and shuddered beneath her chilled fingers.
“Nay, brother,” Liam finally said, maneuvering himself so Gavin could bind Hamish’s hands behind him. “I doona find them.… They find me.”
* * *
Liam watched his brothers disappear into the forest, aided by Thomas and Russell. He tried to feel the things he understood that he should be feeling. But he’d grieved for Hamish already. He’d alternately hated and loved his elder brother with the same complicated feelings he’d possessed for his father. They battled the same monstrous rage, only Liam put up more of a fight against it, instead of letting it dissolve his soul completely.
The moment Hamish had touched Mena in violence, his life had become forfeit, just like that fucking bastard who’d harmed her in London, whoever he was.
He could feel Mena’s gaze from behind him as tangible as her kind hand had been on his back. She’d done it again. Bedeviled him with her gentle magic and smothered the flames of his fury with one simple caress.
Anger and aggression still pounded through his veins and thrummed through his muscle, but it was joined by relief and fear.
What must she think of him now? Now that she knew his darkest sins. Now that she completely understood just exactly how damned his soul was. What would he find in her eyes? Revulsion? Terror?
Condemnation?
Awareness prickled along his spine and stung beneath his scars. He knew he was mostly bare, but never had he felt so naked. So exposed. Only one scar in a hundred had remained on his skin, but every single one had lashed at his soul.
Nothing Liam had ever done—no danger he’d ever faced—had taken as much courage as did turning around to meet her unflinching gaze.
Mena used the altar rock to support herself. The indigo mists climbed and caressed her body as though trying to seduce her with embracing wisps of moisture.
She was the most beautiful creature ever crafted of the mystifying and enchanted elements that made up a woman. If he was stone and steel, she was serenity and softness. The long tendrils of her luxurious hair tumbled down her arms and grazed the dramatic flare of her round hips. The flimsy material of her bodice—God love whatever it was called—enhanced more than concealed her breasts as they heaved with her own panting, unsteady breaths.
Christ, he could have lost her tonight. Liam’s knees weakened as he truly realized how close that blade had been held to her delicate throat.
He saw his severe relief mirrored in her lovely, pale eyes.
An ache throbbed deep in his body, as a shudder coursed down the length of his spine, starting at the shoulders and landing at the base, sending heat and desire into his loins. A raw, unbidden sound rose from deep in his chest, and escaped on a breath of undiluted need.
She tilted unsteadily forward, like a siren beckoning him to his destruction. He had about as much power against her.
In that moment, they both knew it.
Nothing else need be said between them. No words or platitudes uttered. No fears or sins confessed. He saw absolution in her eyes. Understanding. Acceptance.
And still he gave her a moment. A warning. A chance to escape.
Because once he got his hands on her, there would be no stopping him.
His body screamed for her, driven with a need to touch and taste that teetered on the brink of madness. Every lurid, wet, aching, shocking, demanding thing he could do to her body raced through his mind and incapacitated him with lust. The drive to fuck overcame every other rational thought or biological need. There wasn’t enough time left in his life to try everything he wanted to do to her, but damned if he wasn’t about to attempt it.
Her lashes swept down for a breathless moment, and then she raised her gaze back to meet his, eyes hooded and lips parted.
Desire.
There was no mistaking it. Not this time.
He surged forward, planted his hands against the rock on either side of her head, and took her offered lips with the desperate hunger of a man denied sustenance for too long.
She surged against him, pressing every curve of her voluptuous body to his. Her full breasts were a delicious crush against his rib cage, and his entire being focused on the weight of them against his bare skin. Her warm mouth opened to him in silken welcome, accepting the possession of his tongue with a soft sigh of capitulation.
This time she was no passive recipient of his kiss. She met his tongue with her own, pressing her mouth against his with the same fervent sense of frenzy.