Never should have asked her to go back. He should have left the past—Meredith—alone. Drogo had protested her actions and her absence. Loudly. The beast wanted Nola, though he still wasn’t sure he liked her.

Bane was tired of dragging around so much baggage. Clawing guilt because he’d failed to save her. A constant, seething well of remorse. Never-ending sorrow. If Nola did save Meredith, it would all would vanish. Poof! He could make up for his mistakes.

The other part of him felt clawing guilt as well, but not for the same reason. He would love Meredith for all time, but he didn’t...crave her the way he once had. Surrounded by Nola’s sweet scent, he knew the cravings would never come back. His body wanted her, only her.

Cursed if I save my wife, cursed if I don’t.

No, no. If Meredith walked into the room, he would be overjoyed.

To see a long-lost friend.

Damn it! A jagged pang ripped through him. He had no idea when it had occurred, but a part of him had already said goodbye to Meredith. The desire to be with Nola consumed him.

Without consciously registering a command to move, Bane tightened his hold. She’d turned him into a conduit for pleasure. The more his civilized veneer had stripped away, the more she’d loved it. She’d even pleaded for more.

Had the woman beguiled him, or the newness of it all?

No need to ponder. Absolutely the woman. She cracked penis jokes and looked at him as if she’d die without his touch. She laughed with abandon, and cared about his well-being as a man, not just a warrior. Her quiet strength constantly astounded him. She made him want a future.

He’d underestimated her—and so would Aveline.

Heaving a sigh, Nola sagged against him.

“I’m sorry, do—Nola. I shouldn’t have asked you to go back.”

She flouted his apology, saying, “I...I’m ready to tell you what I saw.” Her voice was little more than a croak.

Aching for her and all she’d suffered, Bane kissed her temple. “Tell me everything. Every detail. Let me share your fury and pain.”

A lone tear splashed onto his sternum. “A warrior named Micah stepped into the center of the road, and my dad swerved to miss him. The vehicle flipped.” Shuddering breath. Then, a transformation occurred. Her tremors tapered off, and her tears dried. Tension seeped from her, chased away by emotional frost.

Nola had just shut down. Something he’d done countless times himself. A defense mechanism he used to help himself win those All Wars. The fact that Nola was doing the same, her torment so great she couldn’t afford to feel anything...he had to combat the urge to turn the rain-drizzled RV into scrap metal—with his claws.