Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emma

S howered and wearing Rhyse's oversized sweater and pants, I collapsed into the couch. The best part about wearing his clothing, besides the smell of boy that permeated them, was that I could tuck my knees up into the sweater, cocooning myself. Was it a childish thing to do? Maybe. Did I give a fuck at that moment? Nope.

"Feel better?" Rhyse asked, settling easily into the couch opposite me.

"Much," I said, turning my attention away from him and to the fire now blazing in the hearth. Rhyse had gotten it going while I showered, and I was grateful for it because the heat was helping me relax.

I glanced at the empty spot on the couch next to me where Rhyse normally would have sat, his arm against the backrest so I could cuddle in close. Instead, he was across from me where there was not only space but also a table between us. A wall.

One I'd built.

Which means it's up to me to tear it down.

"I hurt you," I said into the uncomfortable silence growing between us.

He shrugged. "I've been hit harder."

"I wasn't referring to the slap," I said, taking a deep breath. "I used an insult that someone else used on you. And it hurt you."

Rhyse just waited. He wasn't going to make it easy. And why should he? There had been no cause for the hurt I'd hurled at him. He'd done nothing to justify it. It was on me to apologize, to try to bridge the gap.

"I was scared, and I let it get the better of me." I slowly exhaled. "I am sorry, Rhyse. Truly."

"I know," he said. "But does that change the truth of your underlying feelings?"

"No," I said.

He sat straighter, obviously not expecting that answer.

"Let me explain," I said with a half-smile. "I had a bit of time to think about it. About what I'd seen."

Rhyse made a face inviting further explanation.

"I don't know why, but the brewing fight between you and Killian triggered something in my mind, releasing a flood of memories. Ones I didn't wish to remember, some for good reason."

"Your memories are back?" he asked, sitting up in surprise.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "In fact, calling them memories isn't entirely accurate. I think they are , but I'm not experiencing them as such. It's like … like I'm replaying scenes from a movie. I see what happened. I see that I was there. But it doesn't feel like I was there. It feels like I'm watching a movie because I don't have the emotional attachment to them. I'm distant."

"I can't pretend I understand what that's like," he said. "But what do you, uh, recall?"

"One of the first attacks in the war," I said. "I was there. In the middle of it. I'd gone to town for some reason. I still don't know why yet, so don't ask, and I came out of the store to see the military rolling down the main street, setting up checkpoints and yelling at people over speakers to get out of town as fast as they could, via any means, even running if necessary."

Rhyse was silent. "What then?"

"The dragons arrived." I shook my head. "I ran, but they were on the soldiers in a flash. It was hell. I don't think I can find any other way to describe it. The stench of everything burning is not something I want to remember."

"I understand."

"In the middle of all that, I was on the beach with you and then there and then back. It was all blurring together. I wasn't sure what was real and what wasn't. I thought I was going crazy. Then you shifted, and I broke." I looked down. "I'm sorry, Rhyse. I might feel that way about other dragons, but not you. You've shown you're different, and I should have known that despite everything going on. All the confusion and fears I'd screwed up."

"Screwed up?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

"I also remember some bits about after the attack. Vague images. But in them, there's another." I looked at him, wanting him to see my face as I said it.

"Another?"

"Another man. And me." I shook my head.

"You think you had someone back home."

"At first, I did, yes," I told him. "But not anymore."

Rhyse frowned. "Why not?"

"Because every time I think about him—I can't even recall his name—I get nothing but a negative feeling."

"I see." He cleared his throat. "And when you think of me? What do you feel then?"

I didn't need a bond between us to feel his nerves. The tautness was audible as he spoke. What I got through our link that I would never have expected was the intensity of his longing for a positive answer.

Rhyse wanted to feel, well, wanted .

Was that why my comments had cut so deep? I still didn't understand why the comment had hurt, only that it did. It was another piece to the puzzle, but I was no closer to knowing what the picture was.

But I didn't need to know right away either. Rhyse would tell me in time. Of that, I was sure. I could be sure because what I did know was that he was a good person.

"Lots of things," I answered at last. "Mostly positive. Some very much so. Others …"

I let the full weight of my growing attraction to him shine through—the one I'd discovered while standing in the water alone earlier that night, wondering why it hurt so much to see him walk off. The one that wasn't purely emotional.

The one that was also more than a little sexual. I let him feel the desire to have him come to me. To take me. I didn't hide it. Instead, I tried to push it through my connection and into him. Baring my soul, so to speak. I had no idea if it worked that way, but I was going to try anyway.

"Are you sure you're not just trying to apologize for earlier?" Rhyse asked.

"No," I said with a definitive shake of my head. "When I think of you, Rhyse, it feels right . Whatever that means. I want to smile, and when I do, I'm happy."

His chest rose then fell. Again and again with deep, even breaths.

"Thank you for apologizing," he said at last, leaning forward, broaching the space between us. "And for sharing. I'm glad you have some of your memories back in whatever form they take. It's the next step to making you whole."

I touched my left shoulder through my shirt. "I'm whole because of you, Rhyse. You saved me."

He smiled. "I know. Now, I'm sure you're exhausted. You should get some sleep."

I rose, recognizing the end of the conversation for the time being. Trying to stifle my disappointment, I headed for the bedroom.

"Rhyse," I said as I climbed into the bed.

"Yes?" he asked from the door.

"I don't want to be alone right now."

"Why not?"

Looking away, I bit down on my lip. This was so embarrassing to admit, but I knew I had to do it. "I … I think I'm going to have nightmares. These memories, they aren't pleasant."

"I'll wait until you're asleep to leave," he said.

"Okay." I couldn't hide my disappointment.

"I can sense that's not all. What do you want?" he asked, entering the room and coming to the bedside.

Sitting up, I reached up and grabbed his shirt.

"You," I said, hauling him down to my level and letting him see into my eyes. "I want you ."

"Emma," he said. "I don't know. This is quite the flip from one side to the other."

I pulled my shirt off to reveal I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"This has nothing to do with that," I told him. "This has to do with why I came back. What I discovered about myself while I stood there in the ocean, being laughed at by Killian and his men in that beautiful glani you bought for me."

"What did you discover?" he asked, his eyes unable to stay on mine for long, constantly falling back down to my bared chest.

"Come here, and I'll show you," I said, giving his shirt a tug.