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shaking, she stopped fighting him. She looked at him to see more of a truth she didn’t want to face. But she had no choice. She met a stare so intense it almost hurt—eyes large and pupils blown black, rimmed by a horizon of blue, locked on her. This close she couldn’t do anything but see him, even in these deep shadows, and he didn’t look mad or angry or anything but…she wasn’t sure what. Maybe...god, just eyes so blue.
    Endless. Like deep ocean. Not crazy eyes, but she was crazy enough at this second to have frayed reason unravel as she searched his face for something.
    She needed to stop the shaking and anguish inside. She needed…god—dead. All of them? Her fault, too—her lab, her experiment, and what had gone wrong? She stared at Gideon as if she could find answers in the shadows and planes of his face. A faint stubble of beard came in golden-brown on his upper lip and across the edge of his jaw, glinted against pale skin. The crescent of a scar on his left cheek struck a patch where his beard didn’t grow.
    She took it in, took him in, the smell of him, warm and musky with sweat and an undertone of his own needs. He looked so normal, so real, so unlike anything outside those doors that she wished she hadn’t seen. She grabbed more breath, grabbed for him, and something shifted in her, like china breaking inside her lungs.
    God, he felt good pressed into her, against her. Not wrong. Not crazy. Not falling to pieces ruined like everything else here. He stood steady and steadying. His blood beat in rapid thuds where his fingertips lay over her pulse—or maybe that was her heart skipping. The silver cross, and a sheen of sweat, glinted on his chest. Every pull of breath she dragged into her chest swamped the scent of him over her, earthy and sharp. But that mouth of his didn’t look sharp, just soft, and his lips parted as he pulled in long, deep breaths as if he’d been running.
    Or maybe he was thinking a lot about sex.
    She started thinking about it, too, because it was better than thinking about anything outside those doors. It wasn’t reasonable, and she tried to hang onto that, but need swamped her.
    She wanted to forget herself—to lose herself. She needed to connect to something that wasn’t death and destruction. She thought she’d done away with this part of herself—she had tamed her worst-case impulses. But it seemed she had just buried it deep.
    Staring at him, she told her body to shut up, but it had stopped listening to anything like sense. She had fallen into instinct so pure it hurt.
    He still had his hands around her wrists, the long fingers tight, kept her pressed into that stone pillar. He held her, just as he held himself with hard control over his want and need. It rushed in that she wanted his hands other places. She ached for a touch of skin to hers, vital and strong, and the need for it lodged in her chest, ripped her open in a rush.
    “Gideon,” she said, whispered the word, had no idea what she was asking with just his name.
    He stared back at her with those impossible eyes, his body tense and ready and so close, and he seemed to need permission before he could do anything. His stare moved, traveling her face as if he had something to map, or maybe he could see better than she could in these shadows. But the shadows weren’t that strong when they were this close.
    The tremor ran through him and into her where their bodies met, which seemed everywhere. She shook with it, shook with him. And he pushed his hips into her as if he couldn’t stop his reaction.
    Lips parting, head-dizzy rush warming her face, she stared at him. They’d already joined except for a thin interference of clothes. His stare kept traveling, and her mouth dried as the tip of his tongue slid over his lower lip to wet it.
    “Don’t...” he said, his voice breaking, something caught deep in his throat. “I don’t want you—”
    Oh, but he did. Want filled his eyes and tightened on his face and