RHYS ETHEWULF was not capable of love. That was all I knew. For all the time I lived with him, it was obvious that this man, beast, wolf, was not capable of feeling the sentiment of love. It was a strange concept for him. No. An absurd concept. He treated love like it was some kind of a disease. An ill predicament that could ruin someone. Rhys was never inclined with that particular emotion, and he never believed in it.
To hear Sawyer say that about Rhys was like a wash of cold waves all over my body. I wanted to laugh, cry, and scream at the same time. It was absurd. Just like what Rhys thought about love itself. I wanted to sputter out words of disbelief at him, but it was like my tongue had a mind on its own. I was tongue-tied, incapable of saying just one word to him.
Sawyer tensed
