Damian’s chest tightened, his anger fading as he watched her fall apart, her pain raw and real. She was broken... shattered... haunted by demons he could see in her eyes.

A murderer wouldn’t cry like this. A traitor wouldn’t tremble with fear, wouldn’t break under the weight of the past.

His heart pounded, his instincts screaming at him to protect her, to hold her, to shield her from the world that had hurt her so deeply.

Then, as her scent filled the room—pure, delicate, sweet like a ...