by J. R. Ward
“It’s none of my business. But I do think you need to talk to someone about it.”
“A professional of some order?”
“Yeah.”
“There is nothing wrong with letting nature take its course.” Autumn glanced over. “But I begged you not to get him. I told you not to call him.”
“I had no choice.”
Tears threatened, but she forced them away. “I didn’t want him to see me like that. Wellsie—”
“What about her.”
Autumn jerked around in surprise, rattling the crackers, splashing soda out over her hand. In the doorway, Tohrment loomed, a great dark shadow that filled the jambs.
Doc Jane rose up. “I’ll just go check on Layla again. Your vitals are good, and I’ll bring a proper meal back with me when I come.”
And then they were alone.
He didn’t approach the bed, but stayed by the door, settling back against the wall. With his brows down tight and his arms linked over his chest, he was self-contained and explosive at the same time.
“What the hell was that all about,” he said harshly.
Autumn put the crackers and the can aside, then busied herself folding and unfolding the edge of the blanket.
“I asked you a question.”
Autumn cleared her throat. “I told Doc Jane not to summon you—”
“Did you think if you suffered I’d come and help you out?”
“Not at all—”
“You sure about that? Because what did you think Jane was going to do when you refused to be treated?”
“If you don’t believe me, ask the healer. I instructed her specifically not to call upon you. I knew that that would be too much for you—how could it not be after—”
“This is not about my shellan. This has nothing to do with her.”
“I’m not so sure about that—”
“Trust me.”
After that, he didn’t say anything else. He just stood there with that tense body and those hard eyes, staring at her as if he had never seen her before.
“Where are your thoughts?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head from side to side. “You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I think I’ve been fooling myself all these months.”
As she felt the shivering from the shower return, she knew the cause was not a temperature imbalance in her bones. Not anymore. “How so.”
“Now isn’t the time for this.”
As he turned to go, she had the very clear sense that she was not going to see him again. Ever.
“Tohr,” she said in a rough voice. “There was no manipulation on my part—you need to believe that. I didn’t want you to service me—I would never put you through that.”
After a moment, he looked over his shoulder, his eyes dead. “You know what? Fuck all that. It’s almost worse that you didn’t want me in here with you. Because the other option is that you’re mentally ill.”
“I beg your pardon.” Autumn frowned. “And I am utterly sane.”
“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t have chosen to put yourself through that—”
“I just didn’t want the drugs. Your extrapolation is extreme—”
“Oh, yeah? Well, brace yourself, you’re really not going to like my next conclusion. I’m beginning to think you’re with me to punish yourself.”
She recoiled so sharply, her neck cracked again. “I most certainly am not—”
“What better way to steep yourself in misery than to be with a male who loves someone else.”
“That is not why I’m with you.”
“How would you know, Autumn. You’ve been making a martyr out of yourself for centuries. You’ve been a servant, a maid, a laundress—and you’ve been fucking me for the last few months—which brings us back to my point about clinical insanity—”
“How dare you judge my inner convictions,” she hissed. “You know nothing of what I think or feel!”
“Bullshit. You’re in love with me.” He pivoted to face her and put up his palm to stop her commenting. “Don’t bother denying it—you tell me in your sleep every day. So let’s build a case. You clearly like to punish yourself. And you know damn well the only reason I’m with you is to get Wellsie out of the In Between. So don’t I just fit your pattern to a T—”
“Get out,” she snapped. “Get out of here.”
“What—you don’t want me to stay so you can make it hurt so good some more?”
“You bastard.”
“You got that right. I’ve been using you, and the only person it’s working for is you—God knows it’s gotten me nowhere. The good news is that this whole thing”—he gestured back and forth between them—“is going to give you a terrific excuse to torture yourself even longer— Oh, don’t bother with the denials. That symphath was your fault. I’m your fault. The weight of the world is all your fault, because you enjoy being the victim—”
“Get out!” she screamed.
“You know, the whole indignant routine is a little hard to take seriously, considering you spent the last twelve hours suffering—”
“Get out!”
“—when you didn’t have to.”
She threw the first thing within reach at him—the soda can. But his reflexes were so good, he just caught it in his big hand… and then walked it right back over to the rolling table.
“You might as well own the fact that you’re a masochist.” He set the thing down with deliberate finesse, as if he were daring her to pitch it at him again. “And I’ve been your drug of choice lately. But I’m not doing that anymore… and neither are you, at least not with me. This shit between us… it’s not healthy for me. It’s not healthy for you. And it’s all we are together. All we’ll ever have.” He cursed low and hard. “Look, I’m sorry, Autumn. For the whole fucking thing—I’m really sorry. I should have stopped this long ago, long before it went as far as it did—and all I can do to make it right is to end it right now.” He shook his head, his eyes growing haunted. “I was part of you self-destructing once, and I remember all too well the blisters that came from digging your grave. I’m not doing that again. I can’t. You will always have my sympathy for everything you’ve been through, but I’ve got my own shit to deal with.”
As he fell silent, she wrapped her arms around herself. In a whisper, she said, “All this just because I didn’t want to be knocked out?”
“It’s not just about the needing. You know it isn’t. If I were you, I’d take Jane’s advice and talk to someone. Maybe…” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t fucking know anything anymore. The only thing I’m sure of is that we can’t keep doing this. It’s getting us both worse than nowhere.”
“You feel something for me,” she said, kicking her chin up. “I know it’s not love, but you feel—”
“I feel sorry for you. That’s where I’m at. Because you’re just a victim. You’re no one but a victim who likes to suffer. Even if I could fall in love with you, there’s nothing about you to get truly attached to. You’re just a ghost who’s not really here… any more than I am. And in our case, two wrongs do not make a right.”
At that, he turned his back on her and walked out, leaving her to reel in pain and loss, leaving her to confront his twisted vision of her past, her present, her future… leaving her alone in a way that had nothing to do with the fact that she was by herself.
The door, as it shut behind him, made no sound whatsoever.
SIXTY-ONE
As Tohr stepped out into the hall, he was crazed, incoherent, on the verge of a violent breakdown. Jesus Christ, he had to get out of here, get away from her. And to think he’d called her insane?
He was a fucking madman at the moment.
When he looked up, Lassiter was right in front of him. “Not now—”
The angel hauled back and cocked him so hard, he didn’t just see stars; he saw whole fucking galaxies of them.
As
he hit the concrete wall behind him, the angel grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him back again, rattling his molars.
When his vision finally cleared, that pierced face was nothing short of a demon’s mask, the features distorted by the kind of anger that required a gravedigger’s cleanup.
“You’re an asshole,” Lassiter barked. “A total fucking asshole.”
Tohr tilted to the side and spit out blood. “Was it Maury or Ellen who taught you to judge character.”
A long finger was shoved into his face. “Listen to me very carefully, because I’m going to say this only once.”
“Wouldn’t you rather hit me again? I know I’d get more out of it—”
Lassiter threw him into the wall again. “Shut up. And listen to me. You win.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got what you wanted. Wellsie’s condemned for eternity—”
“What the—”
The third slam cut him off. “It’s over. Done.” He pointed to the closed door of Autumn’s room. “You just killed your chance when you ripped her apart.”
Tohr lost it, his emotions detonating. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about—you don’t know shit! You haven’t had a clue about any of this, not me, not her—not your job! What the fuck have you done here for the last year? Nothing! You’ve been sitting on your ass watching talk shows while my Wellsie’s disappearing! You’re a goddamn waste of time!”
“Really. Okay—you’re so fucking brilliant, how about this.” Lassiter released him and stepped back. “I quit.”
“You can’t quit—”
Lassiter flashed his middle finger. “I just did.”
The angel turned away and stalked down the hall.
“You’re fucking quitting! That’s great—fucking great! Talk about staying true to someone’s character, you selfish son of a bitch!”
All he got was another bird flipped over the shoulder.
With a vicious curse, Tohr made a move to go after the guy, but then stopped himself. Spinning around, he threw out a quick jab, punching the concrete so hard, he felt his knuckles break. And what do you know, the pounding pain in the back of his hand wasn’t even close to the agony in his chest.
He was absolutely raw, inside and out.
Taking off in the opposite direction from that angel, he found himself at the heavy steel door that opened into the parking lot. With no clue what he was doing or where he was going, he sent it flying wide on its hinges, and marched out into the chilly air, going to the right, heading up the incline, passing the empty spaces that were demarcated with yellow paint.
He went all the way to the back, to the farthest wall, and sat his ass down on the cold, hard asphalt, his shoulders against the damp concrete.
As he breathed hard, he felt like he was in the goddamn tropics—likely the tail end of the needing’s effect on his body: Even though he’d been out like a light from the drugs, he had had plenty of exposure, his balls aching as if he’d put them in a vise, his cock still hard, his joints sore as if he had strained even in the morphine haze.
Gritting his teeth, he sat alone and stared straight ahead, into the darkness.
This was the only safe place for him at the moment.
Probably for a while.
When Layla heard shouting, she poked her head out of the gymnasium to see who was yelling—and immediately ducked back inside. Tohr and Lassiter were having a set-to, and that was not anything she had to get involved with.
She had her own problems.
In spite of Autumn’s needing, she had stayed down in the clinic for the night, knowing she had spent some time up at the Sanctuary recently, so there was no reason to worry about her cycle. More to the point, however, she had nowhere else to go. Qhuinn and John were no doubt talking to the king and the Primale at the main house, and soon enough she would be summoned to learn of her fate.
Faced with possible exile—or worse, death for aiding a traitor—she had spent the hours upon hours upon hours walking around the edges of the gym’s honey-colored floor, passing the bleachers and the benches, and the entrances into the PT suite, and the doors out into the corridor. And then going back by them all again.
Her anxiety was such that it spooled out tension like a wool spinner, the twisted threads reaching up to encircle her throat and winding down to constrict her gut.
She thought relentlessly about Xcor and his second lieutenant. She had been used by them both—but especially the latter. Xcor hadn’t wanted to partake of her vein. He had fought it—and when she had overridden him, there had been deep regret in his eyes because he had known exactly what position he was putting her in. The other soldier had had no such compulsion.
Indeed, she blamed him—whatever fell upon her head, it was his doing. Mayhap she would be reincarnated as a ghost and could haunt him for the rest of his nights… of course, that was assuming she would be put to death. And if she was not, what was she going to do? Surely they would strip her of her duties herein as well as her Chosen status. Where would she go? She had nothing of her own, nothing that had not been provided at the behest of the king or the Primale.
Continuing on her loop, she confronted yet again the emptiness of her breathing days, and wondered what purpose she would serve in the future—
The door opened at the far end, and she stopped.
All four of them had come to find her: The king, the Primale, Qhuinn and John Matthew.
Straightening her spine, she crossed the gym down its middle, holding their eyes. When she got close enough, she curtsied down to the floor and did not wait to be addressed. Court manners were the least of her problems.
“My lord. I am prepared to accept all responsibility—”
“Rise, Chosen.” A hand appeared in front of her face. “Rise and be at ease.”
As she gasped and looked up, the king’s smile was gentle, and he didn’t wait for her to respond. Bending to her, he gathered her palm in his and helped her up from her supplication. And when she glanced at the Primale, his eyes seemed impossibly kind.
She just shook her head and addressed Wrath. “My lord, I fed your enemy—”
“Did you know who he was at the time?”
“No, but—”
“Did you believe that you were helping a fallen soldier?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Have you sought him out again?”
“Absolutely not, but—”
“Did you in fact tell John and Qhuinn where he was when you were leaving town last night.”
“Yes, but—”
“Enough with the buts then.” The king smiled again and put his hand to her face, brushing her cheek lightly in spite of his blindness. “You’ve got a big heart, and they knew it. They took advantage of your trust, and used you.”
Phury nodded. “I should have told you who you were feeding in the first place, but the war’s a messy, nasty business, and I didn’t want you to get sucked into it. It never dawned on me that Throe would seek you out—but I shouldn’t be surprised. The Band of Bastards is ruthless to the core.”
In a rush, she put her free hand up to her mouth, holding in a sob. “I’m so sorry—I swear to the both of you—I had no idea—”
Phury stepped in and drew her against him. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.… I don’t want you to think about this again.”
As she turned her head to the side to rest it upon his heavy pectoral, she knew that wasn’t possible. Unwittingly or not, she had betrayed the only family she had, and that wasn’t the kind of thing someone could just shrug off—even if her stupidity was forgiven. And these past tense hours, when her fate had been unknown and her loneliness revealed to its fullest extent, were not going to be brushed away, either.
“The only thing I ask,” Wrath said, “is that if he contacts you again—if any of them do—you tell us immediately.”
She pulled free and had the temerity to reach for the king’s dagger hand. As if Wrath knew w
hat she wanted, he gave his palm over to her readily, the great black diamond flashing on his finger.
Bowing her head and placing her lips upon the symbol of the monarchy, she spoke in the Old Language. “With all that I have, and all that I am, I so swear.”
As she made the pact with her king, in front of the Primale and two witnesses, an image of Xcor played across her mind’s eye. She remembered every detail about his face and his warrior’s body—
From out of nowhere, a shot of heat speared through her.
It mattered not, however. Her body might be a traitor; her heart and soul were not.
Straightening, she stared at the king. “Let me help you find him,” she heard herself say. “My blood is in his veins. I can—”
Qhuinn cut her off. “Absolutely not. No fucking way—”
She ignored him. “Let me prove to you my fealty.”
Wrath shook his head. “You don’t have to. You’re a female of worth, and we’re not endangering your life.”
“I agree,” the Primale said. “We’ll deal with those fighters. They’re nothing for you to worry about—and now I want you to take care of yourself. You look exhausted, and you must be starved—go get yourself some food and have a sleep at the mansion.”
Wrath nodded. “I’m sorry we took so long to come to you. Beth and I were down in Manhattan having some R and R, and we just arrived back at nightfall.”
Layla nodded and agreed with everything else that was said, but only because she was suddenly too exhausted to stay on her feet much longer. Fortunately, the king and the Primale left soon thereafter, and then Qhuinn and John took over, leading her back to the mansion, taking her to the kitchen, and sitting her down at the counter as they popped open refrigerator and pantry doors.
It was sweet of them to want to wait on her, especially given that they didn’t know their way around even boiling an egg. The thought of food turned her stomach, however, making her gag.
“No, please,” she said, waving away leftovers from First Meal. “Oh… dearest Virgin Scribe… no.”