His gentle, generous heart, warped into a monster by pain. Fenris was nowhere visible in his gaze, in spite of all that provoked him. Where had he gone?
“Johanna,” he said, stroking her chin with his thumb. “I brought you and May into this. I was selfish—selfish in wanting the peace your Haven offered, though I knew my mere presence was a menace to everything I valued. I refused to consider the dangers once I had… grown to care for you. And I never dreamed that Boroskov was part of the danger. If I could only go back—”
“I was arrogant,” she interrupted harshly. “I thought I had perfect mastery over the situation with May. I was so sure I could cure you, even share your bed without making a single compromise.” Tears dripped onto her sleeves. She thought they must be hers. “I thought I had all the answers—and this is where they’ve led us both.”
He rested his forehead against hers. “We are pitiful creatures, are we not?”
She looked for mockery in his eyes and found none. His smile was heartwrenchingly calm.
“You’ve… given me a chance at something I didn’t have for most of my life, Johanna. Faith in myself and in my ability to rise above what I’d become. Hope.”
And what worth has it now? she wanted to rail at him. What worth has anything?
“We can’t fight him,” he said. “He’s too strong. He has skills I do not. And I… I can’t kill.” He kissed her lips with a feather-touch. “I won’t allow you or May to pay for my debilities. When Boroskov returns, I will tell him that I’ll go with him—after I’ve watched him release you and May.”
She shook her head wildly.
“I assure you that I won’t let him use me.”
“You mean that you’ll die before you become his assassin.”
“Yes. You know it’s right, Johanna. I can’t be unleashed on the world, as unstable as I am.” He skimmed his knuckles across her cheek. “If I can stop Boroskov for good—any sacrifice is worth it. He’s my kind. It’s up to me. And if I succeed… I’ll have redeemed myself.”
“And escaped one more time,” she lashed out. “Never having had to face life squarely. An easy end to all your suffering.”
“You said you didn’t have the answers.” His voice grew distant, as if he were withdrawing into himself. “This is mine. You must be the one to go on living, so that you can help people as you were meant to.”
“I can help no one.”
“You can. I know you, Johanna. You’re too strong to give up. Not even for me.” He began to rise. “I’m sorry.”
She grabbed his hands to stop him. “I am not strong!” she cried. “I want to do what I wish, only what I wish. The world can go to hell. I want to be happy—” She wrapped her arms around Quentin’s neck and kissed him hard on the mouth.
The room disappeared. The stale scent of the mattress, the cold dampness of the floor and the walls, vanished.
Happiness was not hers to own. Perhaps even hope was beyond her reach. But she could snatch what small joys were to be had in this terrible place.
And when she left, she’d take a part of Quentin with her.
The part he had held back the first time.
Now she’d have all of him.
She tugged at the bottom of Quentin’s rough shirt, barely glancing up to see his response. The pupils of his eyes had grown very large, engulfing the color.
“Johanna—”
“No talking. No words.” She kissed him again. He responded ardently, recognizing, as she did, how little time they had left. He would not deny her.
She lay back upon the blankets, and he knelt over her. He stroked his hand from the top of her bodice to her skirts, cupping his fingers against her womanhood. Her body reacted instantly. He found the hem by touch alone, watching her face, and drew her skirts up around her thighs.
Hard and fast was how it must be. Johanna’s breath grew short. She gripped Quentin’s hands and met his questioning gaze.