by Jaci Burton
He looked at her, silent for a few moments before saying, “I can’t.”
She rested her hip against the counter and crossed her arms. “Bullshit. You mean you don’t want to.”
At least he had the good sense not to answer her. She was right.
“How the hell can you heal so fast, Dalton? And don’t tell me it was Georgie’s magic. She already said it wasn’t her.”
Dalton sat down and leaned back in the chair and tapped his fingers against the tabletop. Now he wouldn’t look at her.
“Trying to come up with a plausible explanation?”
He continued to look away from her.
“You won’t tell me, will you?”
He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Isabelle, I can’t. This is complicated.”
“All this bullshit about you wanting me to trust you. But you can’t trust me with your secrets. And it must be some powerful secret for you to be able to recover like that.” She pivoted and walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“You can’t go out there by yourself.”
“Watch me.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She was out the door, slamming it behind her before he could finish the sentence. And then she ran, needing distance between them.
She didn’t go up to the main house; instead, she deviated halfway and headed toward the dock. Dusk cast a gray cloak over the orange ball as it sank into the water. She sat on the old dock, feeling it sway under her body as she found a spot and watched the water undulate the boats anchored there.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow.
But it was quiet here and she had time to clear her head and think about Dalton and what had happened. She felt safe here, no warning signals blaring in her head that she was in any kind of danger. And thankfully, no voices.
It was dark. Fireflies danced around her, over the water, flitting in and around the trees on the other side of the lake. Carefree, they twirled around and up into the sky, then zoomed back toward land again, their yellow blinkers lighting the way like a beacon in the night.
She could use a beacon because she felt like she was fumbling in the dark, when instead she wanted clarity, to be able to fly around without a care or a thought other than the breeze blowing through her hair.
Sadly, unlike the fireflies, she was grounded, her mind muddled with thoughts of Dalton. She was beginning to wonder exactly what kind of man he was. First that strange glow surrounding him when they made love, and now the almost Superman healing ability. Who was her supposed savior, anyway?
She’d followed him blindly because he’d saved her life in Sicily. But what did she really know about him? And what were his motives in sparing her? What was in it for him?
And what was happening to her? Tase seemed to be gaining a foothold in her mind more and more. She wanted to be strong, yet she felt like she was weakening. She didn’t want to be weak. She didn’t want to give in and become one of the demons again. She’d rather die.
She felt more isolated than ever, and no one here would give her answers. She massaged her temples, wishing she could talk to Angelique. She missed her sister. Angie would know what to say to make her feel better. She’d help her reason this out, and maybe come up with some logical explanations for what was going on here.
Then again, nothing had been logical in her life since she found out she was part demon. Why should this situation be any different? She already felt like an alien in this foreign body. Why not add a glowing, self-healing lover to the mix?
She sighed and stared across the water, realizing the fireflies weren’t going to give her any answers. She was tired. But she couldn’t face Dalton.
He didn’t trust her. And now, after all this time, she no longer trusted him, either. He had a secret. A big one. And he refused to tell her what it was.
So where did that leave them? Where did that leave her?
Alone, as usual. Right back where she’d started.
Kill him.
She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge that voice. She was stronger than the specter trying to invade her mind.
You shouldn’t trust him. You have to kill him before he kills you.
How long before Tase succeeded in making her do just that? She’d almost killed Dalton today. Maybe next time Dalton wouldn’t be so lucky.
She might not trust him, but she cared about him, would never want to hurt him. He’d saved her life in Italy, and maybe she didn’t know why, but she owed him for that.
She had to get away from here, away from Dalton, where she couldn’t hurt him or anyone else.
She stood and headed down the walkway, careful to keep her gaze on the house. Dalton hadn’t come out, but he might any minute. Once she moved past the house she ran like hell, figuring it was only a matter of time before he’d come looking for her and not be able to find her.
He’d come after her. She didn’t want to be found. It wasn’t safe for Dalton with her there. Not after what she’d done today. Things were out of her control, more so now than ever before. The demon in her was coming out, growing stronger, and it was dangerous.
She headed toward the swamp and the thick trees, hoping they would swallow her up. She pushed hard, running until her chest ached from the effort, until she was forced to slow, lean forward, and rest her hands above her knees to catch her breath.
She had no idea where she was, and didn’t care. It was so dark outside she felt enveloped by it, yet found it strangely comforting; she was no longer frightened or appalled by the smells and sounds of the swamp. Maybe the demon side of her was growing, coming out, and that’s why she didn’t mind being here in the murky woods.
This place seemed suitable for a demon. It was dark, it was depressing, and it smelled bad.
Honestly, she didn’t care, as long as wherever she ended up was away from Dalton.
She kept walking, heading deeper into the swamp. Wetness seeped into her shoes, and walking became more difficult as she stalked through the thick mud. She had no flashlight, no idea where she was going. After a while she realized she’d become hopelessly lost, and she didn’t mind. Not this time. Not anymore. She was sick to her stomach. She found a thick fallen trunk and sat on it, figuring she was far enough into the woods now that maybe Dalton wouldn’t find her. And she’d hear him if he came for her. She could run then. She’d have to.
She’d never hurt Dalton. The human part of her, anyway.
The demon? Now that part of her she didn’t know at all. And it was obviously the demon that had taken over while she held that rifle. That was the side of her that Tase could so easily manipulate. But how could she let that happen? Why couldn’t she tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t?
How could she make herself stronger so she could fight it?
What would have happened had Dalton not been able to heal so well?
She knew the answer to that. He’d be dead. And the demon would be in control now. The Isabelle she knew-the only part of herself she really understood-would be gone.
Tears filled her eyes and she used her hands to wipe them away. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. This wasn’t about her. This was about what she was capable of doing, if not now, then eventually.
Dalton shouldn’t have saved her back in Italy. He should have destroyed her like he’d been ordered to do. The Realm of Light was smart about those things. They knew.
She wasn’t worth saving. Good God, there were children back there at the main house. What if she’d succeeded in killing Dalton? Would she have marched up there, laser rifle in hand, and done the same to Georgie, to the men, women, and children up there?
Tase would like that. Destroying the innocent. She’d have been damned for sure. That was what frightened her the most. She knew she could do that. Deep down in the most secret, horrible part of herself that she never wanted to face, but knew existed, she knew that she could kill, that
she could take someone’s life without hesitation.
And a part of her would enjoy it.
She clutched her head. “That’s sick. So, so sick. What’s wrong with me?” She tilted her head back and stared up at the low hanging cypress limbs, the mosslike tendrils of fingers reaching out to her. She wished they would take her away, drown her in the swamp.
“Dalton, why did you save me? Why would you do this to me?”
“Because I thought you were worth saving.”
She hadn’t even heard him. In this place filled with heavy roots, sticky muck, mud and water, no one should be able to get to her without her hearing them.
But Dalton had. And she wasn’t at all surprised. She sighed, drew her knees up to her chest and laid her forehead on them.
Defeat settled over her like a heavy weight. She’d tried so hard to put distance between them, and even in that she’d failed. She couldn’t even manage successfully to be noble.
“Go away, Dalton. Leave me alone.”
He was behind her, probably about twenty-five feet or so from the sound of his voice. “The last thing you need right now is to be alone. What the hell were you thinking, coming out this far by yourself? Do you even have a flashlight?”
“No. Do you?”
“No. But I know the area.”
“And I don’t care.”
“Let’s go back.”
“No.” She lifted her head, peered ahead to see if she could figure out where she could run.
“Nowhere.”
“What?”
“There’s no place you can go that I couldn’t find you. Don’t even try it.”
He was so smug about it, too. She’d just bet right now he was smiling, certain he’d won this battle. That a little reassurance and she’d be placated and ready to go back with him. Well, he was wrong. This time he wasn’t going to win. She wasn’t going back to endanger him and the rest of the people he held dear. She planted her feet and launched upright, shooting forward at a dead run. She didn’t even bother to look back because she knew Dalton would be right on her heels. She flew across the water, hoping like hell it would continue to be only ankle deep, because she had no idea how to gauge its depth in this midnight dark bayou. She cleared her mind and focused on pushing one foot in front of the other, keeping her gaze on what was in front of her.
Don’t think. Don’t panic. Don’t feel.
She wasn’t prepared to be tackled and flung forward into the mud and water. She’d thought she was outrunning him-until his arms wrapped around her waist and they both went down.
She came up furious, kicking and scratching, tearing at him with all the fury she’d held inside. She was angry. Angry at her fate, because she couldn’t eliminate this blood of evil inside her, angry at Dalton because he hadn’t killed her when he should have. And angry at herself, because despite it all, she still cared enough to want to live, to want everything fixed, to want to throw her arms around Dalton and beg him to make it all right.
Dalton bore the brunt of Isabelle’s attack, knowing she was striking out mainly in fear. He’d seen that fear today when she thought she’d hurt him. He knew it wasn’t the human Isabelle who had fired that laser. She’d been manipulated. The human Isabelle had hesitated. The demon in her could have easily taken Tase’s suggestion and fired. She didn’t. Tase had to alter the game a bit so Isabelle shot him. Which meant she was fighting the demon inside her, and she was winning. Why couldn’t she see that? Why did she run? He didn’t want her to hurt herself, and she couldn’t hurt him. Not like this. Now it was the human Isabelle attacking him, and he knew she had to let off some steam.
After several minutes of kicking and scratching, she began to wear down. He let her go at him for as long as it took. He knew what this was like-this pain, fear, and confusion, not knowing who or what you were or whether you could control your impulses.
Been there, done that.
He finally turned her around and pulled her back against his chest, crouching down so she could catch her breath. With his free hand he pulled her hair away from her face. She was dragging in air, shallow and fast.
“Slow down, Isabelle.”
“I feel sick,” she said, her voice hoarse as she wheezed in and out.
“You’re breathing too fast. You need to bring it down.” He breathed with her, loud enough so she could hear his rhythm. She sucked in air, then blew it out, taking it down a notch, trying to match him. “That’s it. In and out, slow and easy.”
When he had her calmed, he stood and lifted her out of the mud and carried her to the bank, then sat and placed her on his lap. She laid her head against his chest, her palm there, too. He felt his heart beating against her hand and closed his eyes, just … absorbing her.
What was he going to do with her? How was he going to help her?
“I can’t do this, Dalton.”
He stroked her mud covered hair. “Yeah, you can.”
She pushed back and looked at him. Her face was a ragged mess of tears, caked mud, and agony. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what I did, what I could do.”
“Yes, I do. And you won’t.”
She shook her head. There was a sadness in her eyes he wanted to obliterate, to make her realize she could change who and what she was.
If he could, anyone could. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Not when she was so raw. She wouldn’t believe him, wouldn’t understand. And he wasn’t ready.
“They’re getting stronger.” She pushed away, stood, and turned to face him. “I can’t fight them if they take over when I’m sleeping. Or if the demon part of me does.”
He didn’t make a move, just sat on the hill watching her. “You didn’t kill me, Isabelle.”
“I could have.”
“If the demon side of you was so strong, it would have latched on to Tase’s suggestion, found me, and fired. But you fought him and he had to manipulate you to win. You know what that signals to me? Hesitation. Internal battle. The human side of you warring with the demon side. If the demon side of you had taken over, you’d have pointed that laser and fired without a second’s hesitation.”
She flinched at that.
“But you didn’t. You held it there and did nothing until you thought you were hitting Tase with that laser. Your human side is winning this battle, Isabelle. Have any demons attacked since we’ve been here?”
“No.”
“That’s because they don’t know where we are. They can’t fix a signal on you because you won’t let them. You’re stronger than they are. You have more fight and determination in you than you think. Maybe it’s time you start believing in yourself.”
“I can’t.”
She looked so damned defeated, her chin tucked down on her chest, her arms wrapped tight around her middle. It was goddamned infuriating. “Why is it so hard? I believe in you. You’re here because I believed you could be saved.”
Her head snapped up. “Why? Why do you think that?”
He shrugged. “Because I know how strong you are. I saw it in Italy. Your determination, your refusal to quit despite insurmountable odds. Where did that Isabelle go?”
“I don’t know.”
He stood, went to her, lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. “I want that Isabelle back. Fight for her.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid, Dalton. I’ve never been afraid before, and I hate this feeling. What if I lose myself? What if I hurt someone?”
“I won’t let it happen.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
He could do more than she thought. “No, I can’t, but I can help you if you let me. I won’t let them get to you. I won’t let the demon inside you take over. I won’t lose you.”
She grasped his arms, laid her forehead against his chest. “I don’t want to lose you, either. I’ve never allowed myself to care about anyone before.” She tilted her head back and looked at him, her eyes clear and guileless. “I care about you. I have al
l these feelings rolling around inside me, and they’re all centered around you. I think that scares me most of all.”
He sucked in a breath and held it. This was the worst thing that could have happened. He shouldn’t want Isabelle to care for him. But he did. Because he had feelings for her, too. Feelings he had no business having. Not with what needed to happen between them.
Talk about lousy timing. The cosmos had a warped sense of humor sometimes. He tilted his head back and stared up into the heavens, wondering if after all this time he’d found love, only to have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
He looked down at Isabelle, and everything else went away. He didn’t care that they stood in the middle of the swamp, that it was night, that he should get them both back to the house.
“I don’t ever want you to be afraid to care about me.” He pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers.
She let out a soft sigh, her lips opening under his. He tasted mud, and smiled against her mouth as he pressed more firmly, sliding his tongue inside to lick against hers. He wanted-no, demanded that she be his. He wouldn’t take anything less.
Something about Isabelle always called to the more dominant, darker side of himself. He stopped questioning it, stopped fighting it, and let it take over.
This bayou, where secrets hid and darkness lived, was the perfect place. He held her and dropped down on the mossy bank, pulling her on top of him, needing to feel the full length of her body stretched out over his. She moaned against him, splayed her hands over his chest as she wriggled into position on top of him, then pulled her mouth from his to stare down at him.
She had the face of an angel, and when her lips curled, the smile of the devil himself. Wicked, tempting him to want things he knew he shouldn’t.
He wanted them anyway.
“I’m covered in mud,” she said, rocking her pelvis against his cock.