by Nicole Grane
Chapter 11: Painful Memories
“Tell me about Damen . . . and me?”
Marcus's face grew hard. His eyes narrowed as he considered my question. “Why?”
“Our relationship wasn’t very friendly, was it?”
“Why would you say that?” he questioned.
“If he was my protector, I’d assume we were close, friends at the very least. Something tells me that wasn’t the case, at least, not in the end.”
Marcus shifted uneasily. “I only know bits and pieces,” he admitted. “It isn’t much.”
I looked at him with hopeful eyes once more.
“All of this was before my time,” he began. “From what I understand, Damen was assigned to you by your father when you were ten years old. He was to protect you during the daylight hours, when your father couldn’t be with you. Damen was never to leave your side.
“Ten? Where was my mother?”
“I believe she died of a fever. I know nothing more than that,” Marcus added quickly.
I clutched my heart. How tragic. Had I always been so cursed to lose a parent so young?
“By night,” Marcus continued, “He was to keep a close distance. He wasn’t to interfere with your meals once you became immortal.”
“Once I became immortal? I wasn’t always?” This was new. If I’d been a vampire, I hadn’t considered that I’d been human in any way.
“You became immortal when you were thirty-five,” he explained. “That’s when you drank blood for the first time.”
I closed my eyes, cringing at that very thought.
“Phoebe, they didn’t have blood banks back then. Vampires fed directly from humans—some still do,” he added disapprovingly.
I nodded my head in understanding. It still didn’t make it any easier to accept.
“Now, I told you the war had been going on for nearly a thousand years, but at its birth, not all the werewolves felt the same. Some were content serving the vampires; Damen was content serving you. He didn’t want to leave you—ever!”
I listened with hungry ears. This was what I’d been waiting for, another piece to my puzzle.
“Your father watched him relentlessly, constantly testing his loyalty to him and the coven. Luther feared Damen’s devotion to you was much more than him just being loyal to the coven. Even then, Luther knew Damen’s feelings would betray you one day;” he spoke with venom in his words.
“You had been with Damen for so long. You didn’t realize his feelings for you had turned into a deep love—a forbidden love. He was insanely jealous of anyone who got close to you.”
“So I didn’t have any . . . relationships?” I asked casually. I could feel my cheeks burning from embarrassment. I tried to avoid Marcus's eyes.
“You had a few interests,” Marcus shrugged. “You and Raymose were involved at one time.”
“We were?”
“Many years before we met. I believe Damen had a role in the downfall of that relationship, although he’d never admit to it,” Marcus scoffed. “Years later, Raymose naturally tried to win your affection back, but I’m told, you were much too busy slaying werewolves.” His laugh touched his eyes. “That was my good fortune to be sure,” he bowed his head once again.
“I’m sure it was my good fortune as well,” I said, meeting his stare.
His eyes grew slowly darker. “There was a time, the year before your birthday, the one in which we first met . . . something happened to you. You never spoke about it.”
“I looked at him curiously, trying to search my mind for any pieces Damen may have left me.
“You left the safety of the coven,” he prompted.
I gasped. “I remember! Or rather, I remember Damen’s memories,” I clarified. “Some of them anyway.” I sank back into the couch, my mind wandering through bits and pieces of the past.
Marcus watched me for a moment. “What do you remember?” He asked apprehensively.
“We were walking through a forest, Damen and I. It was dark. I remember there was a full moon . . . I was dancing under its light. We were laughing,” I smiled at the image in my head. “I misplaced my foot and fell—”
“Naturally,” Marcus commented.
I gave him a dry look. “Damen lifted me off the ground. It wasn’t the first time he’d picked me up.” I recalled. “But it was the first time he’d ever really held me, close I mean.” My thoughts slipped into a chasm deep within my mind.
“What is it?” Marcus interrupted my reverie.
I shook my head. “Damen, he . . .” I couldn’t say it. My heart started to pound. The reality of it was too awful. No one should have to carry the burden of these images.
“He what?” Marcus urged me to continue. “You never told me about this,” He moved closer to me. “You never told anyone but Raymose,” I could hear a hint of jealously in his voice.
“There’s a good reason you were never told.” I could envision how Marcus would have reacted to the mental slide show going on in my head—I shuddered at the thought.
“Phoebe, you’re scaring me.”
“Marcus, I—I don’t know what to say. I feel like a deer in the headlights. I can’t. That Phoebe didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. I shouldn’t have these memories. I don’t want these memories! They’re not mine. They’re his!” I nearly shouted.
I held my head tightly. The images were so clear, as if they’d just happened—as if they’d just happened to me. The blood; the screaming . . . I couldn’t escape them . . .
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. I covered my face with my hands, trying to clear my mind. I could feel Marcus standing over me now. I couldn’t look at him.
“Tell me.”
I shook my head no. “It’s too dreadful.”
His hands gripped my shoulders tightly, his fingers digging into my arms as he lifted me off the couch, shaking me slightly. “Tell me!” he commanded.
“He mauled her!” I cried. The words fell out of my mouth faster than I could think to catch them. I watched Marcus's face fall as I uttered the words. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He released me as he staggered back a little.
I fell back onto the couch. I sat there, quivering. I stared at him in disbelief, tears pooling in my eyes. “How could he?” I asked. “He said he loved her. He told her that he was in love with her!” I cried freely as I witnessed the attack once again in my head.
I clutched my head in my hands as I rocked myself back and forth. I would never be able to wipe these images away. Never.
“Phoebe . . .”
“She laughed at him,” I said through tears. Cutting off anything Marcus might have said. “She called him a romantic fool,” I scoffed. “She told him that she could never love a werewolf and that he needed to spend time with his own kind.” I shook my head in disgust. “I hurt him. She hurt him!” I said defensively. “No wonder he wants to kill me, she was so hateful—how could he have loved her? How could you have?” I demanded.
I pushed myself off the couch and walked aimlessly around the room.
“Phoebe, look at me. Look. At. Me.” Marcus's voice was sharp.
I reluctantly met his stare. “She . . . you couldn’t have known he’d react that way.” Marcus's voice was surprisingly low. “You were an amazing woman. You were kind to everyone, and I mean everyone! You wouldn’t have said those things if you didn’t have cause.”
I shook my head. “Then why do I feel a sense of guilt for what she’d said to him,” I clarified. “A sense of anger even for what he did to her.” I looked at Marcus for understanding.
“What . . . did he do . . . exactly?” he spoke each word slowly through gritted teeth.
I felt chilled all of a sudden. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms, trying to warm them. I couldn’t think of this woman in the memory as me. I had to separate us. That Phoebe, no matter how much we looked alike, no matter the reason for me owning her memories, was not I.
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�He threw her on the ground.” My eyes drifted back to Marcus's. He looked murderous—anticipating the worst—he wouldn’t be disappointed.
“He’s stronger than any man she’d ever fought or any werewolf for that matter,” I admitted. My tone was matter-of-fact. I had to keep us separated, although the panic I felt was very personal. It began to consume me. “He was wild, uncontrollable!” I continued, cringing at the memory. I held my hands, trying to stop them from shaking. “The weight of his body was crushing me.” I sucked in a breath of air. I couldn’t separate us any longer. The Phoebe getting mauled in my head and the Phoebe standing before Marcus were one in the same. I stared at Marcus in disbelief. “I couldn’t push him off me!” I cried. “Then he began to change. I thrashed and hissed . . . I couldn’t break free!”
Marcus looked as though he were coming completely unstuck. He reached out to hold me but I put my hands out, not wanting to be touched; I cringed away from him.
“If these are Damen’s memories . . . I wouldn’t have this perspective,” I argued. “If these were Phoebe’s . . . they couldn’t be in my head.”
Marcus's face looked pained. By the look in his eyes, I could tell there was so much he wanted to say, but he remained silent. Perhaps he couldn’t find the words? It didn’t matter right then. My words would be the ones to change everything:
“They’re mine,” I gasped. A single tear ran down my face. I felt it slide down my cheek and linger for a moment before it fell; and with it, part of my sanity slipped away too. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Marcus wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into the safety of his love. “They’re my memories.” I cried.
“Darling I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to make you relive that,” he said in shame.
I let him rock me slowly, the rhythm calming me slightly. I forced a smile as I looked up at him. “I must seem an emotional wreck to you?”
“No.” His eyes were so gentle as they looked upon me. “Why did you not tell me?” I could hear the pain in his voice. He pulled me back to him. This was a burden he’d have gladly carried for me . . . for her . . .
I smiled to myself. Even Marcus had accepted that she and I were one in the same; but how could that be?
“Raymose told me later that my father was furious with Damen for returning without me,” I explained. “Raymose was the one sent to find me. He brought me back to my father.”
“Did you ever tell your father what had happened; what Damen had done to you?”
I shook my head. “He suspected, although he never knew the full truth. I could never tell him. It was . . . shameful.” I tried to rub away the headache that was pounding across my forehead.
“Luther ordered Damen’s death immediately after my return, yet Damen had already fled,” I added.
Marcus nodded his head in understanding. I guessed that he knew this part of the story. He didn’t ask any more questions. “No wonder Raymose was so protective of you.” Marcus spoke as if I’d just uncovered a small mystery that had been haunting him.
“Marcus. I can’t fight him,” I admitted without thinking. “He’s too strong.” I could hear the panic in my voice as I watched the attack once again in my mind.
“You won’t have to,” he promised as he rocked me gently in his arms. “You won’t have to.”
“I remember my father’s face.”
Marcus stopped rocking me. He swallowed loudly then pulled back to look at me. “Phoebe, you have to give me time to figure this out. I can’t just show up at Luther’s house with you, like this. Please understand.”
“I do. It’s just . . . I look like her. I have her memories.” I said in frustration. “I know I’m not her. I can’t be her.” It was a lie, and I knew it.
“You are my Phoebe! The same Phoebe I loved more than life itself! You will remember.” I could see the certainty in his eyes. “I don’t know how but you’ve come back to me.”
I tried to look away but his eyes held mine.
“I will find a way. I swear it. I won’t live without you again!” His lips collided with mine. I could feel the desire in them to kiss me harder. He wanted me, but held back. My heart pounded wildly as my pulse raced. I wrapped my arms around his neck while his hands moved up and down my back fluidly, pausing at my waist. He surprised me by lifting me up off my feet and spinning me around. I laughed—carefree like a child.
Marcus was smiling too; he truly looked happy.
“Stay with me tonight, please?” I held his hands close to my heart so he could feel its erratic beat.
He sighed. I could feel the instant tension in his body as he felt the blood pumping through my heart. “Phoebe . . .” He was trying to maintain control; he was trying to be rational.
I reached out and held his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into my touch.
“Marcus.” My voice was soft and low. “I just want you to hold me . . .”
He opened his crimson eyes reluctantly. I took a brave breath and stepped closer. He couldn’t help but smile. “You had me at hold you.” He brushed my lips gently with a kiss. “I never could deny you anything.”
I smiled victoriously. “I’ll remember that.”
“But don’t trust me completely, Phoebe. You’re not entirely safe with me. I don’t trust myself.”
I dismissed his warning, waving him off. How could I be in any danger with Marcus?