As he had said to Killian, it was a matter of him wanting to flex muscle and feel a little power. But Trace knew what trouble someone who enjoyed those kinds of things could turn out to be one day.
Trace walked back toward the Chancellors’ vehicle, his footsteps echoing in the vast dark and cold Canadian night.
Ashla.
Thinking about her was inevitable, and he wasn’t opposed to that. He wasn’t afraid to face the grievous mistakes he had made with her. But it was hard to reconcile what he had done with what he had felt about physical contact with a woman for twelve years. It had all happened so easily and so quickly. He had crossed the line without hesitation, and it simply baffled him. He wanted to blame it all on the euphoric condition, but he knew he couldn’t. He’d been perfectly sane the first time he’d reacted to her touch. She’d caused him terrible pain before healing him, and he remembered the violence it had sent searing in impulses through his mind, but it had skipped past him in a blink when she had begun to touch him.
Perhaps she had begun to heal him far deeper than he had given her credit for.
It was true, he had come a long way since his captivity. He had reconciled a lot, healed a great deal on his own. He trusted women all the time, Rika and Malaya for example, and he enjoyed great affection with his friends as well. He had been physically attracted to others, but…
Here the wall was built. Crossing into intimacy with someone was to share vulnerability with them. It meant exposing skin and scars, memories and sensations. It meant overcoming the simplest sensory triggers time and time again, and he simply hadn’t been able to do that. It wasn’t something he could spring on just anyone. He couldn’t subject an unsuspecting woman to the psychosis of his traumatic memories without preparing her very well beforehand, and even then there were no guarantees.
But the euphoria had skipped over it all, like a stone bouncing over calm water. He had dominated Ashla, controlled every movement she had made, every touch she gave or tried to give, his psyche’s way of managing his issues of vulnerability. His lovemaking had been crude and even perfunctory. He had taken years worth of satisfaction inside her and given nothing in return. The idea made him sick to his stomach.
He had known.
Oh, yes, he had known. Sitting in that chair and watching her, he had known she was just what he needed. She was something almost impossible to find among women of his breed. Submissive, easily controlled, too damn sweet and gentle for words, and all of this in spite of a past he could smell on her that was as tainted as his own. They had both survived, risen above what others had tried to do to them, but they weren’t healed yet.
Not yet.
A part of him had known that he would stay. He had coated it in an internal fight for honor, but she had been too perfect for a soul crying out for surcease. Succor had awaited him in a small, delicate little body, and he had known the woman within would be the perfect balm.
Trace stopped by the RV, leaning back against it as emotion tightened away the space in his lungs, suffocating the breath from his body. He had walked over the line on purpose. He had wanted to do right by her when he realized how she had been treated, but by then it was too late already. It had been too late the moment he had kissed her. At least he had brought her to her first orgasm before he had completely lost sense and control. But it was of no comfort as the following hours replayed in his head. It brought him an overwhelming mixture of remorse, accountability, and cold understanding, but it also brought an unexpected rush of adrenaline and memory-induced excitement. There had been nothing generic or homogenized about the way it had felt to touch her and taste her. He could still respond to the memory of her wet flavor and the feel of her in his hands. His heart raced and he closed his eyes around the recollection of the sensation of sliding into her. He groaned softly at the power of it, knowing it wouldn’t have been the same had it been anyone else.
No one would have been so giving. No one would have willingly sacrificed their own pleasure and even their well-being physically just to sate the sexual hunger of a madman. But she had somehow known the depth of his need. Beyond the euphoria, beyond the sheer lust, she had known there was a creature as damaged and desperate as she was, crying out for the slightest sign of loyal warmth and intimacy. She had known no one else would do for him, and she had realized only her flawless devotion and unquestioning surrender could have tied them together.
And he had repaid her for it by abandoning her to the dark loneliness she feared and suffered in. He hadn’t even left her with the warmth of half-decent sexual satisfaction to carry her through.
“Damn me,” he whispered, blinking back hateful emotions as he stared up at the stars. It was one thing to suffer, and it was worse to inflict suffering on another. On an innocent. And she was innocent. Oh, there was bitter knowledge and cold experience within her, but at her very heart she had remained true to innocence. She treated others better than she expected to be treated; she gave what she could and expected nothing in return. All she did was hope. She hoped for respect, or fairness at the very least. She had trusted him with an almost simple naïveté.
“Ajai Trace.”
Trace turned his gaze to Malaya, giving her a grim sort of smile. “Checking up on me, K’yatsume?”
“Sua vec’a, Ajai. You are the last being among us who needs regulation, Trace. All I offer is my understanding, as little as it may be to your situation. But here I am just the same. My brother as well, though he will corner you in his own time and way.”
“No doubt,” Trace agreed. “There are those who think him self-indulgent and cavalier, but you and I know him better. His worst attribute is arrogance, and that will rectify itself in time.”
“Quite quickly, I imagine, once the proper woman gets hold of him.”
Trace chuckled at that. Malaya was convinced that every problem only needed a good woman to solve it. Especially problems with men at their core. It was eerie how often she could be right about that. Malaya’s perspectives and strong feminine politics in the face of their culture’s traditionalist values were quite a learning experience. But for centuries the women of his culture had danced in visible submission while ruling their households with iron wills. Malaya was only bringing this fact into a public venue.
“We will reach Fairbanks in the next two or three days. Elk’s Lake is only a day farther north. Then we will be home again. I have always loved to chase the dark like this, but I love to be home even more.”
“It’s the closest we can get to Shadowscape while in Realscape. Hardly perfect, because there is always some bit of light, but far safer than cities and long-burning bright summers in the south,” replied Trace.
“And no threat of euphoria, either,” she added. She tilted her head, examining his unhappy expression. “Trace, there is nothing for you to be ashamed of. No one could have predicted what would happen to you.”
“I had a responsibility to get out, K’yatsume. When I stayed I was being selfish and—”
Trace ended with a shake of his head, unable to find words to suit his thoughts and feelings. He had said it all before, to himself and to his regents as they had tried to draw him out of his silence the past few days.
“Well, anyway, I needed to talk to you about something else, Ajai,” Malaya said quietly.
It was a key phrase and tone that acted like a subliminal trigger to Trace. He had heard it and others like it so often through the years, and it defined the job that was so important to him. It had the power to shift him out of his self-recriminations almost instantly, guiding his mind and focus onto a completely different track.
“Of course, K’yatsume, anything you desire. I will do my best to be of service.” Trace gave her a heart-touched bow of respect, even as his eyes darted around to look for Rika. Malaya rarely consulted him without Rika by her side, and even that was a landmark situation. Whatever troubles there were that Malaya and Rika’s wits couldn’t solve together was either quite complicated or a person
al issue one had toward the other.
“Rika and I are a bit at odds about something,” she said carefully, rubbing her hands together for warmth as she began to pace a short space in front of him. Malaya rarely showed such agitation in public, and Trace was immediately concerned for the normally composed monarch.
“Define ‘a bit,’” he encouraged her.
“An inch less than Guin and I are at odds about it,” she said wryly.
“Ah. This is about letting Guin hunt out the other traitors in the Senate.”
“Yes. I feel that if you and my brother agree with Rika and Guin, then perhaps the issue is with me.”
“Not necessarily in a negative way, K’yatsume. You and I have played the part of the tiny, dissenting voice among many before. It can often be the start of a resonating calling, as you have seen for yourself, if your belief in it is strong enough. If you are convinced that you are right, that your reasoning is sound and rational, it shouldn’t matter to you what the rest of us think. Of course, you should always be open to arguments. Stubbornness and commitment to conviction are two different things.”
“So what do you think? What does my brother feel on this? He keeps saying that I must choose what is best to my mind since Guin is my protector, but he says it with such a grim countenance. He is not pleased, though I can’t determine what he is most upset about.”
“I think that since Guin started campaigning to leave your side, it has forced Tristan to take the matter of this betrayal more seriously. It is often the case with your brother that whatever affects you and your well-being brings out the imperative in an issue for him.”
“Yes,” she agreed, her lips curling in a sly and contented sort of smile. That was fine as far as Trace was concerned. The twins had cause to be smug in the security of their love for one another. It was a deep blessing all around. Things would have been very different had their relationship gone the way of Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy. “But you are avoiding giving me the answer I truly want. Please, I beg you not to be as evasive as Tristan is being. If he has asked you to keep countenance, then by all means I won’t goad you into breaking faith with him, but if he hasn’t, I could surely use some guidance here.”
“It is Guin’s duty—his calling, he would say—to protect you. There are many ways of doing that. Both by your side and away from it.” Trace reached to tag her arm, making her stop her agitated pacing so she would meet his eyes. “If your reluctance to send him away is solely based on your fear for his life, then you are trying to stop a train with a grain of salt. Guin will lose his life one day because he is trying to save yours. It is his destiny and the very definition of everything he stands for. Nothing you do can stop that unless you resign him from his position, and that alone would be enough to cut the life out of him.”
“Trace,” she whispered in protest, raising a hand to cover her mouth as tears rimmed her eyes. “I can’t bear the thought. I…I thought it was over. The killing and death. Cousin against cousin. These past years I was growing content that we had all survived. Now I feel like it’s unraveling before my eyes. Baylor is dead, and you nearly lost in the battle. Rika grows weaker and, though she refuses to admit it, I know she is afraid time is growing short for her. Tristan…”
Trace’s eyes narrowed to hear her speak of death and Tristan in the same phrase. “What of Tristan?” Had he missed something critical during his time of recovery? This was why he hardly ever left the royal household to itself. Things could change on the turn of the wind and everything caught up in a maelstrom.
“You above all others know him just about as well as I do, Trace. This cavalier attitude of his, the amusements, the women, and his laissez-faire approach to his personal life is not right. I trust you to guide him properly, and my faith in you and the man I know my brother to be carries my confidence in him through, but I am concerned. Aren’t you?”
“Of course I am. I suppose I’m hoping time will work this out. Sometimes we need to be allowed to make our mistakes and even to act like an ass.” Trace smiled when she laughed through her tears, her elegant fingertips sweeping the telltale drops away quickly. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him embarrass this household, and I won’t let him become a danger to himself, this government, or any of its people. Not that I think it would happen anyway. I think…I believe he is doing what we are all doing. Now that we have settled into a routine and into security of position, we are left with time to remember the wars and all we saw and did in them. We have time now for grief, for regrets, for answerability to our mistakes. For all of us here, mistakes meant lives lost. It is a burden we all bear differently. This is Tristan’s way of coping.”
Malaya nodded, probably already having suspected as much. But it was good she had finally voiced her concern to Trace. He had wondered when she would reach her tolerance for the change in her brother. Overall it was such a minor difference, and restricted mostly to his personal life, but he was a public figure now and all behavior became meat for critics to feed on. Tristan had done nothing wrong as yet, but projecting a playboy image wasn’t the best thing to do for a young monarch who wished to be taken seriously. Trace would have to focus on this more in the near future.
“And Guin?” he prompted her, bringing them back on point.
“Guin.” She said his name softly, almost as if he were a puzzle that baffled her. “I admit I loathe the idea of sending him on a fool’s errand that will probably get him killed. However, I understand that someone will have to do this and someone’s life may well be lost in the process.”
“Are you placing more value on his life than on someone else’s?” Trace asked candidly.
“No,” she swore. “My heart breaks for every life, whether known personally to me or not. It’s just…I can’t explain it any better than to say I know in my heart that to send Guin into that pit of vipers is to bring death into this house. And I do not necessarily refer to Guin, but I cannot be more specific.”
“I see.”
Intuition. It was a tricky thing. Especially in Shadowdweller women of significant power. Intuition must always be heeded. Trace believed that. Unfortunately, it had a bad habit of being vague and unspecific. Still, Malaya was being quite specific at the moment, and that raised a serious flag with him. Her majesty’s intuition was not like an average woman’s. It was far more pinpointed. But if she was being vague, he had to believe she had her reasons. He only wished she would share what those were.
“Then your choice seems sound to me,” he told her. “However, it should now be up to you to choose a replacement Guin will trust in his stead, or you will never contain him. He will not disobey you until the very moment he is convinced you will die if he doesn’t. Your life is his only loyalty in the end.”
“I know. I think I already know who to suggest. Thank you, Ajai. You have calmed my spirit.” She gave him a heart-touched bow, a sign of enormous respect. “Let me know if I can ever do the same for you.” She straightened and met his eyes as she cocked her head to the side. “And Trace, you might keep in mind that we women are more forgiving than you might expect…or deserve. But whatever you think of yourself, you are not meant to be infallible. None of us are. You can strive, and that is good, but you will never succeed, and that is to be expected.”
With that, Malaya leaned in to kiss his cheek in warm, brief affection.
As she walked away from him, Trace touched the spot of warmth she had left behind on his face, smiling with bemusement. It never surprised him how wise Malaya was for her age, but it always amazed him how uncanny her timing could be. It wasn’t even the advice that marked him most, although it played its part. It was…it was just the way she had managed to reel him in from his alienated feelings of a self-made pariah. What had happened in Shadowscape did not define all he was as a man. She had reminded him of that just now as she had jolted him back into the importance of his place among them.
And he knew that, as soon as he found the opportunity, he was going to find a
way to resolve what he owed to Ashla Townsend.
Chapter 12
Ashla was now quite sure she had gone completely out of her mind.
Maybe it was loneliness driving her over the edge, or perhaps she had just started out nuts from the get-go, but either way she was pretty well convinced she’d lost all of her marbles and they were falling with little plunks through a sewer grate somewhere.
She was in Alaska.
The how and why were once again completely fuzzy, but now, instead of being lost and lonely in the vast emptiness of New York City, she was lost and lonely and freezing her freakin’ ass off in the emptiness of Alaska.
Why she would ever do something like this was completely beyond her comprehension. The clothing requirements alone were totally unacceptable to her. She loved dresses. However, a dress in an Alaskan winter added up to a hell of an updraft, and she just wasn’t that much of a slave to fashion. The clunky boots weighed a ton, the wind blew her around like a dust mote, and she had, like, two percent body fat somewhere on one cheek of her ass. That meant she got really cold really easy even in what others deemed warm weather.
This was ridiculous.
Her insanity was beginning to get on her nerves.
Okay, so maybe there had been a subconscious imperative telling her to just get away from New York for a while, an attempt to rob herself of the temptation to constantly look around for…for a man who wasn’t going to come back.
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