Page 75 of A Wild Darkness

My fingers still. “I think it’s different.”

“Different doesn’t mean less.” The words are simple, and yet they slide beneath my ribs, as if he knew exactly where to place them.

I look away. “Careful, Sebastian. That almost sounded sincere.”

“I’m capable of sincerity.”

“Are you?”

“Occasionally. But always by accident.”

I smile.

He reaches for an olive and pops it into his mouth. “From what I’ve heard, your dad sounds like an impressive man.”

“He is.” I take a sip of wine. “And infuriating. And overprotective…”

Sebastian gives a short laugh. “Sounds familiar.”

“With your family?”

“River.”

“What were you two like as kids?” I ask.

Sebastian glances out over the vineyard, and for a moment, the sunlight turns his profile almost gentle. Then his jaw tightens.

“We were angry.”

I know a little bit about their background from what Lux has told me and the small pieces I’ve picked up from Sebastian and their aunt Mae.

He takes longer to answer than I expect.

“My parents died when I was young,” he says finally. “Undercover operation gone wrong.”

The air between us slightly shifts. The vineyard noise faded a little—the laughter, the clinking of glasses, the distant hum of conversation.

I lower my glass. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, but the movement was too controlled to be casual. “People always say that.”

“Because it’s what you say when something awful happens and there’s no way to fix it.”

His eyes return to mine, and for once, he doesn’t push back.

“My mother wasn’t supposed to be involved, but they were undercover with their FBI contact—Christian’s dad—when things went wrong. They always do in that world. Wrong place, wrong people, wrong night.”

My chest tightens. “How old were you?”

“Old enough to remember, but too young to truly understand.”

“That’s a terrible age.”

His gaze flickers. “Yeah.”

I don’t know what to do with the sudden urge to touch him. And it startles me more than his confession. Sebastian Thompson is arrogant, dangerous, irritating, and entirely too good at making me forget I don’t like him. But sitting here in the middle of a winery, with sunlight on his face and grief tucked carefully behind his expensive smile, he looks less untouchable.

“So you and River became vigilantes?” I assume softly.