Thinking clearly had become an unattainable dream. The very reason he’d agreed to an alliance with Zion. Surely! Not because he’d wanted Nola protected at all costs, no matter the danger to himself, and two warriors were better than one. And certainly not because Bane was desperate for a friend, someone who would have his back, if only for a little while. Making friends and trusting others would only get him in trouble.

“Take me to the bathroom,” he said.

She licked her lips, wrenching a growl from deep inside him, then turned to lead the way. A first aid kit waited on the sink, already open. Bloody rags rested at the bottom of a trash bin. Nola’s blood, due to injuries Drogo had caused.

Bane pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Go ahead and pack your bag while I clean up.”

Rocking from foot to foot, silent, she watched him, lost in thought. Finally, she nodded and padded from the bathroom, leaving him alone. He shut the door. After he cleaned and bandaged his shoulder—the wound worsened by Zion’s hammering punches—he gripped the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Golden hair mussed and streaked with blood. Eyes stark but also glittering with...excitement? No, absolutely not. Probably annoyance. Golden stubble decorated his jaw. Cuts and bruises littered his chest.

“Get yourself together,” he quietly demanded. But damn it! Nola made him want things he shouldn’t want. A family. A future. Things he couldn’t afford.

Must purge this burning desire. Can’t lose someone else. Just...can’t.

Head high, shoulders back, he exited the bathroom.

“Almost done,” she said, puttering around the bedroom, gathering the things she wished to take.

Curiosity drew him into the hall, where pictures of Nola and Vale covered the walls. One photo captured his attention more than any other. A close-up of Nola’s face. The sun shone brightly behind her, creating a halo over her blue-black locks. Her eyes sparkled, and roses painted her cheeks. She radiated pure joy. The kind of joy he’d known when Meredith lived. The kind of joy he’d never thought to experience again.

His chest clenched. Don’t do what you’re thinking about doing. Do not—Bane plucked the picture from the wall, tossed the frame to the floor and tucked the folded image into his pocket. Okay, you did it.

Embarrassed for himself but still brimming with curiosity about the woman with a “will of iron,” he checked out the rest of the house. Small, but well maintained, with countless feminine touches. Lace here, pink there. On the coffee table were enamel pots overflowing with dried flowers. On the kitchen counter, he found a stack of Oklahoma Love Match magazines. No two issues were the same, yet Nola’s name occupied a tiny spot of each cover.

How to Go From Enemies to Lovers.