Lila

Dane glared down at her, challenging her to defy him. So, she did. She put that finger under his nose, but she kept her tone firm, rather than angry. "You. Aren't. Him!"

​​

He stepped toward her and Lila stepped back. But he kept coming. So she backed off, watching him closely because finally, finally there was a light in his eyes. It was frantic—a little angry, and a little frightening—but it was better than the hollow shell he'd been when she walked in.

"Dane," she said, a warning in her voice.

"I told you that he trained me. I told you that he made me. Do you understand what that means?" his voice was a low rasp as he stalked toward her with the predatory grace of a big cat.

"Not-not really. I mean, I can guess—"

"Can you? I doubt it, frankly. So here we go, Lila, it's story time! Being trained by my father means being trained by a psychopath. A man who feels nothing. You know what he teaches you to do? He teaches you to be ruthless. To not care about anyone, or anything, other than yourself and what you want. Do you know how it feels to…not feel, Lila?"

"I…no?"

"No. You don't. Do you know how you burn the feelings out of a person, Lila? I do. If you're a sick, sick bastard you do things like give your kid a pet that they love. Something they adore and feel safe with. Then later, when your kid gets older you make them kill the pet to show that they're a real man."

Lila gasped.

"You want more? There's more. If you want to learn how to be ruthless, it turns out the best start is identifying the people you love the most, then being taught how to rip them off. How to deceive them, steal from them, and ultimately destroy them. Because guess what? If you don't have feelings for people, all you can think about is yourself. It makes for a pretty impressive focus.

"I won't even try to tell you the things that sick bastard made me do, or made me watch, until I could watch it without flinching, and be given an order without hesitating. When I said I destroyed everyone close to me, I meant it."

"Dane, I'm so sorry," Lila gasped, but he just pressed in on her.

"So, with that in mind, I want you to imagine that you just got told that someone is dead. And the reason they're dead is because they got tangled up with you. If you'd never been a part of their life, they'd still be alive." His eyes went dark again and Lila wanted to cry. "And then imagine that after you hear she's dead…it doesn't matter. That you don't feel anything. Even though you know you should. Even though you wish you did. Nothing." He slapped his own chest and his eyes narrowed. Lila covered her mouth. But he wasn't finished. He kept advancing on her and she kept backing up, until she ran into the island countertop and was forced to stop.

Dane leaned down until they were nose to nose, his eyes flaring with a light she'd never seen before. He was walking a knife-edge.

"My father turned me into machine. He molded my head to see people as pawns, and resources." He tapped his temple with a finger and Lila wanted to cry at the hollowness in his voice. "You can come in here with your big eyes and your soft frowns, but it doesn't matter, Lila. Because he already made me. You can't make me feel this because he stole the ability to feel it from me, okay? I'm not going to cry over her. I'm not even going to rage at my father. I don't feel anything—that is the problem!"

It was instinct, and the only way she knew to comfort him. Lila put her hands to his face—blurred by her tears—and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Dane froze for a moment, but she kept kissing him, praying he wouldn't pull away. Then almost cried with relief when his hands snaked around her back and he pulled her into his chest with a broken sigh. She felt him shiver. She ached to soothe him somehow. To show him that he wasn't the monster his father was.

She didn't know how else to do it, except to be close to him. So she kissed him and kissed him, clinging to him, desperate. Then he came to life in her arms. Suddenly, he was kissing her back, groaning in his throat—with grief, not hunger—and gripping at her like he was afraid she'd disappear. When she whimpered, he lifted her up without breaking the kiss and sat her on the counter behind her, then pressed between her knees, one of his hands gripping her thigh, the other in her hair.

"Do you feel this, Dane?" she whispered against his lips her fingers sliding through his hair, and one hand clawing his back. "Do you feel me?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Don't stop, Lila. Please."

She clung to him, tears rolling down her face, her heart swelling with love for him, fear for him, rage at what had been done to him.

"You do feel, Dane," she said against his jaw, kissing her way to his ear. "I've seen you feel. You're in shock, that's all. You will feel it later, when you're ready. And that's okay. You don't…you aren't a monster."

He shuddered in her arms and she stopped kissing him, to pull him into the tightest hug she could manage on his massive shoulders. "Stop hating yourself. Please. I don't hate you. I can't. Don't hate the man I…I care about."

The man I love, she wanted to say. So badly. But it was far too soon. And he was already freaking out. That little confession was going to have to wait.

Dane continued to cling to her, his body trembling.

So Lila clung back, whispering comfort and reassurance.1

One of my favorite moments between these two so far.