“Do you trust me?” he asks. All I hear is the rustle of my dress in the wind and our soft exhalations. Do I trust Des, the man who saved me from my father, who loved me from afar for years? The man who rescued me from myself and sets me aflame over and over? “Yes,” I breathe. His eyes soften. “The answer to your question is no,” he says, his wolfish eyes boring into me. “Mate of my soul, I did not have anything to do with those soldiers’ disappearances.”
