I thought about it for a second. “Both.”

“Well, if I were your therapist, I would surely advise you to stay away from men like me.”

I watched him as he nodded and inched closer to me. I wished I knew where we stood.

“Far, far away,” he whispered.

My eyes grew wider as he neared. His mouth was saying the opposite of what he was doing. Something inside me burned to know more, to know everything about him.

“And what if I don’t want to stay away?”

“It’s wise advice. But you’re the one paying the bill,” he said.

It sounded like a warning, so I moved my head back, putting a little space between us to think straight.

“What exactly is it that I’m staying away from?” I asked, “An upstanding citizen who drives women and their children home from the doctor and goes to war to fight for our country?”

“A man who has no capacity to know what’s right or wrong anymore. Someone who tears things apart”—he paused, and I could feel his warm breath flush against the apple of my cheek—“and doesn’t stay to put them back together.”

Kael’s fingers were warm when they caressed my chin, tilting my head to see his full face. His breathing slowed and the air between us became more serious. The stakes were growing with each second that passed.

“A man who’s a killer,” he whispered.

Adrenaline shot through me and I held his eyes. “I . . . I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Kael’s eyes were on my lips as I nodded.

He kissed me the way I’ve only read about in poetry. I now understood what all the poets and writers complain about when they lose their love. This was that feeling they all chased, missed, remembered, would die for another chance to feel again. His lips opened and his tongue slid across mine. I would never forget this kiss, it was now a part of my DNA, the intensity of emotion, a rush unlike anything else I could explain. I wondered how anyone could possibly live after feeling this even once.