Everything seemed to come to an abrupt halt as Storm appeared to have forgotten his motivation for telling me his story in the first place due to his apparent loss of self in his grief. His future wife What was she like, and how did she enter the scene? I had to understand. I absolutely had to know.
Storm put his hand against my shawl, which was draped between us on his bed like some sort of barrier, and withdrew it from my face. A wall between the merciless Assassin and the less-than-pious Alpha, or whoever the hell I was at this very moment—in fact, ever since my lips momentarily touched Storm's for what felt like hours earlier, I hadn't felt like myself.
Let me say that again: I hadn't felt like Ava, or whoever it was supposed to feel like to be Ava. I despised the way my emotions were out of control and all over the place. I detested not having control. I detested every aspect of it. If only I could see the assassins right now.
