by Elise Faber
He wanted to flick open the button, to slide his hand inside—
“Fuck,” he murmured and pulled back.
Gabby froze. “I’m—”
“If you’re about to apologize for kissing me, don’t. Please don’t.”
“It’s—”
He cupped her nape, tilted her head until he was able to look into her pale brown eyes. “Don’t,” he said softly.
She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes and mind awash with too many emotions for him to process. Arousal was a given, but there was also a tangle of pain and fear and guilt that cut at him.
“Don’t,” he said again. “I don’t want to stop. But I promised myself I would go slow with you, that we’d learn about each other before we did any of this. That I—”
She released one long slow breath as amusement crept into her expression and the scalding wave of her emotions receded. “Seems to me that it’s probably a little late for that, don’t you think?”
A chuckle escaped him. “Are you referring to the potential for a life-altering bond?”
“Possibly.” Her lips twitched as she flopped onto her back next to him.
He followed her gaze up into the canopy of the trees, watched as the leaves swayed in the light breeze.
The air was crisp and cool, but not cold exactly. Or at least not cold when he was so close to her. And anyway, his eyes couldn’t stay focused on the scenery, not when she lay so close. Not when she was an intricate puzzle that his mind was desperate to solve.
“Where did you grow up?” he asked.
Slam. He felt a concrete wall crash down between them, the impact from the heavy barrier making his ears ring. The pleasant expression that had filled her face after their kiss faded. In its place was the careful, cautious mask he was damned tired of seeing.
“Come on, baby. Tell me something.” She jumped at his impatient tone and he bit back a sigh. Fuck, he was an asshole. Moderating his tone, trying fiercely to keep it quiet and calm, he continued, “It’s not a hard question, Sunshine.”
She shifted, just the slightest bit, and he thought that she might run again. But just as he watched the emotions rise to a crescendo within her mind—making their thin as spider’s silk connection throb from the intensity—everything faded to cool, bleak calm.
And just as abruptly, he felt guilty for pushing.
Did he want to know what had devastated this strong, capable, complex woman?
Part of him did.
The other piece, the coward inside who was afraid of getting attached and then hurt, of loving and losing again wanted to pretend that she had no secrets. Or that the secrets she did have wouldn’t impact him in any way. Unfortunately, he had about fifteen too many decades to believe that could be remotely close to the truth. Her arm brushed his and despite the anxiety churning within his gut, his body paid way too much attention to the slight, incidental contact. “Is it really that bad?”
She laughed, a rough and broken sound. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s that bad.”
“Sweetheart—”
“Oh no!” She put one hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Don’t start with the sweet endearments, I can’t handle that. Not if I’m going to get this out.”
What had been a sinking feeling seconds before was now a full-blown wormhole of dread. But regardless of his desire to run the other way, Mason sucked it up. He was a LexTal. He didn’t shy away from tough circumstances or unbeatable odds—
“I killed my own mother.”
He literally felt every drop of blood drain from his face. As it flew south, it made a rushing noise behind his ears. He shook his head, sure he was missing something, certain that there was more to the story. “I—”
“No,” she whispered. “I did that. I killed her.”
He saw each of the following moments in crystal clarity.
The sheen of tears in her eyes.
Her rapid pulse pounding visibly at the base of her neck.
The calmness of her face even as her emotions threatened to shred his skin.
“There was no excuse,” she said, her voice steady. “I stabbed my mother in the back when she wasn’t looking.”
Fifteen
Gabby
She didn’t take the shock on Mason’s face personally.
The only other person who’d heard part of the story was Dante—though she knew Suz and Daughtry had guessed there were more to the bare details she’d given them.
Of course, when Gabby had explained to Dante what happened, his face hadn’t paled quite so visibly, but the Rengallan leader’s gray eyes had widened and there had been a certain I’m-not-entirely-sure-you’re-not-a-homicidal-maniac vibe in her interactions with him. She suspected the only reason Dante had let her stay at the Colony after John had come for her was because he knew there was more to her story.
She wasn’t being purposefully obstinate or trying to hide the truth.
She just . . . didn’t want to think about what had happened.
Because it was her fault. She was the reason her mother had become a—
“Dalshie?” he said the word with such disdain that she flinched back. “Your mother was a Dalshie?”
Her breath caught. Her heart thudded.
Was their fledging connection already strong enough that he was able to catch errant thoughts? Terrifying. That notion was absolutely terrifying.
Especially when his face hardened, when his eyes flicked down, presumably to her right hand, which sat open in her lap. Her outspread fingers revealed a palm that was free of the black stain that marked every one of the dark magic users. She wasn’t a Dalshie, but understood why he’d looked there. The moment a Rengalla gave into the draw of the dark magic, they seemed to rot from the inside out, all of their good disappearing, and the first sign of that happen was a black mark appearing on one’s palm.
“That was why you killed her?” he asked. “Because she was a Dalshie?”
The question was filled with relief, as if it were easy for him to accept that she’d murdered her own mother, just because Eileen had been Dalshie.
There was no judgment in the act, no condemnation.
And somehow, despite everything, that was what made the truth fly from between her lips.
“My mother wasn’t evil.”
Mason levered his elbows beneath him and studied her. There was confusion marring his hazel eyes, wariness in his expression.
“She was Dalshie,” he said.
There it was. The undeniable truth.
“She wasn’t evil.” Gabby shook her head. “Or at least she wasn’t all of the time.”
For some reason that made a long slow breath hiss out of his mouth, his relief a heavy blanket in the air. A stifling one because it meant that he didn’t understand, that he couldn’t begin to understand.
“She wasn’t evil!” The words burst out of her and rang through the clearing. “She wasn’t.”
There was a long moment of silence.
He sat up and reached for her.
She flinched back.
He let out another breath and reached for her again. It was a slower movement, but one that was filled with determination. His fingers grasped her shoulders and with one quick tug, he’d pulled her into his lap. A second later, his arms were around her and she had a face-full of the spicy, sandalwood scent that was Mason.
The soft stroke of his hand through her hair, the steady beat of his heart against her ear was all it took for the words to pour out of her.
“Evil doesn’t bake cakes for birthdays. Evil doesn’t teach her daughter to braid hair and put on makeup. Evil doesn’t have the sex talk. Evil doesn’t—” She broke off and sucked in a breath, released it slowly. “My mother wasn’t all bad.”
Which was the problem.
A blip of understanding radiated into the space around her even as she could sense—in the stiffness of his body, the tension in those thin tendrils that had begun to connect their minds—that he wanted to deny
everything she was saying.
Their connection was growing, would continue to grow as they spent more time together. First, it would be like this—a glimpse of his emotions. Next would be thoughts and—
Her gut clenched.
“Easy now,” he murmured, fingers weaving through her hair, soft strokes that matched his gentle tone.
Snick.
The touch, the words, they penetrated the barriers around her heart, easily passed through the walls she’d erected, like a bullet shattering through glass.
“Mothers don’t add fuel to their daughter’s fears, don’t allow their flesh and blood to be abused,” he said. “Mothers do not make it so that whenever someone gets within five feet of their child they cringe back in horror.” He tilted her chin up so that she met his eyes. “Sunshine, if she was Dalshie, she couldn’t have loved you.”
Gabby wanted to deny the statement, to yell that he was wrong—so damned wrong.
It was her memories that betrayed her.
Because for every bit of goodness, there were ten moments of darkness. Of torture. Of agony.
She remembered black-stained palms flying toward her face. How the sharp crack sounded when it met her cheek, the burning pain that followed. How she’d been hit other places, too, and how much those hidden bruises had hurt. Then there were the insults and the strange men that had leered at her, had cornered her in the small trailer, had touched her. All while her mother had stood by, and how her mother had actually laughed when Gabby had begged for help.
Eventually, she had gotten smart enough to not allow herself to be cornered, but that didn’t mean the damage hadn’t already been done.
Horror.
Terror.
She was broken, a house with a cracked foundation, with splintering rafters and uneven walls. One good thunderstorm and she’d be reduced to a pile of broken two-by-fours and soggy sheetrock. One good shove and she would splinter forever.
But . . . she kept fighting.
Right now, the urge to get pushing through, to forget the past, to find something better was strong enough that she wasn’t giving up.
“I know you’re right,” she told Mason, meeting his eyes, even though shame and regret sat heavy on her soul, and perhaps she didn’t like the broken sound of her voice, but that didn’t mean she would deny the truth, didn’t mean she’d cave in.
Not yet, anyway.
His hazel eyes locked onto hers, the specks of gold glinting in the dappled sunshine. “I know you do.”
“But . . .” She stopped because, what could she say?
That she was happy to have let the abuse happen just because her mother had been her flesh and blood? That she was weak? A coward who’d decided that she would rather protect herself than live in the present? That—
“Part of you loves her still,” he said, the statement without an ounce of condemnation. In fact, his mind was full of curiosity instead of disgust, as she would have expected. “It not always easy to stop loving people, even when we want to.”
Her lips parted, breath flying out. “I-uh—”
That encapsulated it perfectly, and Gabby shook her head, trying to digest the fact that one of her biggest secrets had just been ousted and her entire world hadn’t collapsed. All the while Mason looked at her with compassion and empathy and not anger or hatred or contempt.
“It’s normal,” he said.
“It’s not! It’s—” She broke off, biting the inside of her cheek.
Because it was sick. Disgusting. Wrong.
All of those things and so many more at the same time. Her love for the person who’d birthed her had been morphed into something that was both disturbing and destructive. How could she love a monster? How could she still love a monster, even after everything had happened?
That emotion had paralyzed her, handcuffed her in life. Prevented her from trusting anyone with the truth, from having meaningful relationships, from—
“Normal,” he said again, still lightly running his fingers through her hair. “You’re normal, Sunshine.”
She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, felt the gentle weight of his hands shift her upper arms, the boulder that had been planted on her chest finally pushed off her. “You think?” she asked into his shirt.
“I know.”
She bit her lip. “Really?”
The question made amusement filter along their connection, but outside of her brain he just snorted, his fingers tightening slightly on her biceps. “Really, really.”
More relief flowing through her. “Mason?”
“Yeah, Sunshine?”
It was amazing how much she could sense. His concern for her, his pity, the tension that entered his mind at another one of her questions. But . . . for all intents and purposes, the elephant that had been sitting on her chest for so long had just been released back into the wild.
She could breathe again.
Really breathe for the first time in years.
“Thank you,” she whispered and wrapped her arms around him.
Sixteen
Mason
Every cell in his head was filled with lightning.
From a simple embrace.
A hug shouldn’t be soul-shattering, but it touched him in ways he never would have expected, even as her hair tickled his cheek, her lavender and lemon scent teased at his nostrils, gratitude flowing from her mind to his.
“No thanks required, Sunshine,” he whispered, reaching around her to massage the nape of her neck.
Her breath caught, but she didn’t shy away, and they sat like that for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s bodies, the connection between their minds growing stronger with each passing moment.
Eventually she pulled back, and though it went against his every instinct, he let her go, and when she didn’t run as he half expected, instead she resumed her previous position, flat on her back, her arms behind her head, Mason couldn’t deny that it felt right to have her near.
And that right drew with every minute that passed.
That . . . along with his desire.
Because the position she’d taken up had raised her breasts, plumping them, making his fingers itch with the need to cup and hold and stroke. He wanted this woman, wanted her so badly he actually ached with the intensity of that desire. It wasn’t like he’d remained completely celibate since Victoria was killed, but he’d been careful to choose women who were in the same mental state as him.
Scratching an itch, mutual satisfaction, or even just friends seeking a pleasurable interlude.
Physical with minimal emotional connection so neither of them would be hurt.
But . . . Gabby was different. Already, the depth of his feelings for her, the utter longing in every cell of his body, was so much more than what he’d had with those other women.
If he was completely honest with himself, it even eclipsed what he’d had with his late wife.
At the thought, he held his breath abd waited for the bolt of guilt, for the urge to destroy the fragile threads of what was developing between him and Gabby, but . . . it didn’t come, and after a long moment, he stretched out next to her, soaking up the utter rightness of the moment.
“Mason?” she asked again, tentativeness in her mind and her voice.
“Yes?”
“What were they like?”
He turned his head, took in the tautness of her jaw and stiff set of her shoulders. There was no confusion whom the they she was referring to, but his dead wife and son weren’t topics of conversation that he ever allowed to be discussed. The urge to change the subject was almost undeniable, but the woman lying next to him, soft and sweet, and scared that the question she’d just asked would make him explode—but who’d asked despite that fear—made him want to bare his soul.
Even though he never talked about it.
Even though the only ones who knew the circumstances of what had happened were limited to his brothers and the older members of the LexTals.
&nbs
p; They were the ones who’d picked up the pieces, who’d stopped him from going after the Dalshie without a plan or clear head.
Who’d prevented him from stupidly chasing after an enemy that far out-gunned them.
They were the ones who’d eventually joined him on his quest for retribution.
The LexTals had been born that day. Not in a quest for vengeance, but for justice. For honor and humility. Born in adversity, as they sought retribution. Those words had become their driving force, their motto. The only thing that he’d cared about—
Until he’d met Gabby.
Now the only thing he wanted more than to eradicate the Dalshie from the planet was for Gabby to allow his magic to mix with hers, to link them together. To go caveman and claim her for his own.
But it was more than that, more than just a visceral, instinctive claiming.
He wanted to be the one to remove the shadows of hurt and fear from her eyes. He wanted to make her smile again.
The bone deep desire to do so shouldn’t surprise him.
He knew what bonding was like, had seen Daughtry and Cody struggle to come to terms with the intense mental and magical connection. Mason just hadn’t expected that he would want it so much. Gabby had been around for six months and even as he’d pretended to keep his distance, he knew it was just that—pretending. Because in reality, he’d found every damn excuse possible to go into the infirmary. Close to her, but not. Safe, but slipping down the slope of obsessive. Hell, he’d convinced himself that the obsession wasn’t anything more than his body’s need for a female.
He’d ignored the mental component altogether, how his mind felt when he was near—the intimacy despite being strangers, the warmth filling him just by being in her presence, the longing to return to her when he wasn’t—and he’d done it with frightening ability.
One would think that after more than two centuries on the planet he would know when he was pulling an ostrich and disregarding the obvious motivation.
Apparently not.
Because until the close proximity, he’d never even considered they might have the potential to bond. Okay, potential wasn’t the right word. He and Gabby would bond. That fact was practically ingrained into his DNA.