When he'd left the following morning, I'd rolled onto my stomach and cried endlessly.
As the days passed and my health improved, Archangelo had spent hours with me, doing his best to help me recall him. He regaled me with many stories of our life together, reminding me repeatedly of how much we loved one another; but each night when he approached our bed, I couldn't stop a shudder of apprehension rippling across my skin.
He was a physically attractive man, tall and leanly muscled with an attractive halo of dark brown curls framing his features. With a strong square jaw, a cleft in the center of his chin and thick dark eyelashes, he was possessed of a full, lush mouth which could break into an appealing smile when he was in a good mood.
But there was something about his eyes which bothered me. Bright green, with flashing streaks of bronze in them when he experienced any extreme emotion, they should have been beautiful. Looking into them, I only ever endured a terrible chill. The eyes are the windows to the soul; the way to read someone's thoughts, hopes, and dreams. In Archangelo's eyes, I could only see desolation, the sparkle of malicious intent. His eyes were those of a cold-blooded killer and I couldn't understand why I loathed looking at them now, when I must have done so without any qualms before the illness.
I'd repeatedly analyzed my emotions in these past four weeks. Despite Archangelo's physical attributes, I didn't find him attractive. I experienced no swell of desire for him, had no sense of connection to him. Nothing suggested to my heart and soul that this was the man I loved, the man to whom I'd bonded with the intention of spending our lives together.
The terrible truth was that I found no satisfaction in his lovemaking. He was a virile man, seemed to be an experienced lover and gave the impression he'd been with many women – in stark contrast, he informed me, to my own virginal state prior to our marriage. I was convinced something was missing from our relationship. Archangelo took little interest in ascertaining my needs and desires, concentrating purely on his own pleasure
Increasingly, his demands were growing more intense, his lovemaking more violent. With the immense strength inherent to a vampire, he could easily harm me, a fact he'd taken great pains to be aware of when he'd first reentered our bed. But as the weeks passed, he seemed to forget his precautions. His touch was less gentle, and bruises increasingly appeared on my fair skin. I was grateful when he was away because it gave me a chance not only to recover, but to regain a sense of peace for a day or two.
Worse still, his desires in the bedroom were changing, morphing into needs I was increasingly uncomfortable with.
Last night had frightened me. At the height of his passion, Archangelo had reached for a blade he kept sheathed on the stand beside our bed. Before I could protest, he'd used the tip of the blade to slice a small wound above my right breast.
Shocked by the sudden pain, and ignoring my shrieks of objection, Archangelo had lowered his mouth to my breast, suckling against the wound. “Just a taste, my angel. I need to taste you,” he muttered, sucking strongly at the beads of blood weeping from my skin.
Escaping from him was impossible – lying over me, he'd kept me immobile by holding my hands above my head as he finished licking the wound and reached a climax deep inside my body. When he withdrew, I'd rolled over onto my side and cried silently, wondering how I'd found myself bonded to this terrible man.
Archangelo had lain wordlessly for a few minutes and then drawn me forcefully into his arms, apologizing repeatedly for his behavior. Confused and afraid, I'd finally fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Only to have him repeat the same actions, twice over, this morning.
Shuddering, I rolled onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut in the vain hope of expunging the memory. Archangelo had informed me last night that he was leaving at dawn, to deal with matters pertaining to the war. I was troubled to recognize the emotion I experienced as relief. Knowing he would be leaving, knowing it meant a few days of salvation from his demands, found me wishing it was morning already.
Until morning came, and with it, his brutal behavior. Not only had he forced himself upon me, but he'd nicked my skin twice more, sucking blood from the wounds.
When he'd finished satisfying himself, Archangelo had risen from the bed and kissed me, as if what he'd done was the most normal thing in the world. He'd left, promising to return as soon as he could.
Unwilling to even look at him, I'd lain mutely in bed as he bathed and dressed, slipping from the villa with a quiet click of the door latch.
By the time Nissa arrived, I'd soaked some of the pain away in a bath, easing the stinging between my legs and the ache in my limbs from the many bruises Archangelo had inflicted. The three cuts he'd made were vivid reminders of the assaults he'd perpetrated and I pulled a simple cotton gown over my body, pleased to see it covered the bruises and cuts. The last thing I wanted was Nissa to see them; to see pity in her eyes was more than I could bear. Worse still would be if she confronted Archangelo and was dismissed from protecting me. She was the only person I could cling to in this strange world, the one person who seemed to genuinely care and treated me with respect and fondness. To lose her now would be untenable.
I could hear Nissa busying herself in the sitting room, setting the small table in preparation for breakfast arriving from the kitchens downstairs. She was humming softly and I wished I could be so happy.
Dropping the hairbrush onto the counter, I was startled to discover a gold ring sitting beside it. Had it been there when I picked up the brush? I was almost positive it hadn't.
I touched the ring hesitantly, before picking it up to examine it closely. Exquisitely designed, and yet deceptively simple, it was made of strands of shimmering gold, twisted together, and drawn into a tiny, perfectly formed heart.
Mesmerized by its beauty, I placed it in the palm of my hand, wondering where it could possibly have come from. I dismissed the thought that perhaps Archangelo had left it for me instantly. It wasn't in a box, nor was it extravagantly gift-wrapped – both marks of Archangelo's largesse. Plus, he always gave me his gifts personally, I'm sure to delight in the proof of how generous he was.
Could someone have left it in the bathing room by mistake? The villa servants were often in and out, to clean, or to replace the bathing towels – but I didn't think anyone who owned a ring as stunningly delicate as this was likely to leave it here by mistake.
Without conscious thought, I lifted the ring, holding it between my thumb and forefinger, powerless to stop myself from slipping it onto my finger. It didn't seem surprising to find it fit perfectly and I admired the piece, watching it glimmer in the early morning sunlight. This was, I felt quite certain, the type of jewelry I preferred. Simple and uncluttered, so completely unlike the ornate rings Archangelo insisted I'd selected for our bonding.
“That's where it belongs.”
With a sharp intake of breath, I tore the ring from my finger and dropped it onto the bench, staring at the gold band as if the voice had emanated from inside it.
“Please, put it back on. It belongs to you.” The voice was insistent, gentle in tone and cadence.
“No,” I whispered, acutely aware of Nissa's presence in the other room.
“It does belong to you, love,” the voice insisted. “I gave it to you.”
Shaking my head, I backed away from the counter, the flutter of my heart indicating rapidly mounting anxiety. “Leave me alone, I'm begging you. Please, you must leave me alone.”
“I won't harm you, love. How could I possibly harm you? I'm merely one voice, one person alone, who speaks to you.”
“You're a fiend,” I hissed, repeating what I'd heard from both Archangelo and Bran. “You caused the deterioration in my mental health, you nearly drove me out of my mind!”
“That's what they want you to believe, love. Archangelo and Bran want you to think that.”
“Go away! Please, go away!” My instinct was to turn and wrench open the door, run away from what I was hearing. But Nissa was ou
t there; I couldn't explain this to her and even if I tried, how would I explain hearing this voice in my head? She would have no option but to tell Archangelo of my setback and Bran would increase the dosage of medication.
“You are correct, my love. Archangelo and Bran will increase the medication if they discover you are hearing my voice. You must not tell Nissa, despite how much you trust in her. It's imperative you don't tell anyone.”
A glance at my reflection confirmed that my eyes had widened to the point where I looked curiously like an owl. “How do you know what I'm thinking!” I hissed.
He sighed, taking a few seconds before he spoke. “This will be difficult to explain, my love, and as I told you when we spoke last time, I cannot keep this connection to you open for long. The short answer is that I do exist within your mind.”
Panic welled in my chest and I shook my head vehemently.
The voice spoke swiftly, as if aware of my growing sense of disbelief. “I promise you love; you are not crazy. Hearing my voice is a completely natural occurrence for you; at least, it was before this began. My name is Lucas.”
“Angel, breakfast is prepared!” Nissa called from the bedroom. “Hurry up – you must be starving by now!”
The sound of her voice made me jump and I edged closer to the door, pressing my palms to my temples. “No! I don't know any Lucas! Go away, please, just go away! Don't you see? If I'm hearing you, it means I'm descending into the madness again, and I can't survive it; I won't survive it!”
I could hear the deep resignation in his voice when he spoke. “All right, love. I'll leave you. But please, I'm begging you to keep the ring. Will you grant me this one wish, and I swear to you I will not speak to you again.”
I wavered, transfixed by the pretty gold band on the countertop. Unable to stop myself, I walked across and picked up the ring, clasping it in my palm.
“Keep it somewhere safe, love. Don't wear it, because Archangelo threw it away when he placed his rings on your finger. He will become suspicious if he discovers you with it.”
Silence descended over my mind and I waited for the voice – Lucas – to speak again. When more than a minute had passed, and Nissa had called a second time, I tentatively whispered his name in the quiet room but received no response.
Unclenching my palm, I stared at the delicate ring again. Without analyzing why, I decided to keep it. A strong wave of conviction washed over me, instilling the suggestion in my mind that it really was my ring.
I wasn't going to give it up.
Chapter 4: The Question Remains…
My thoughts were far away as I toiled, the sketchpad resting against my bent knee and the charcoal moving steadily over the paper, despite my lack of attentiveness. The weather was glorious, azure blue skies and brilliant sunshine, yet I remained stuck inside, in a villa which was rapidly becoming a prison.
I'd cautiously requested permission from Archangelo to leave the villa five days ago, wanting only to venture as far as the grounds, to sit in the manicured gardens I could see beneath the windows. His response had been a resounding refusal. Feeling in good health, I'd disagreed, arguing that some fresh air and exercise would be good for me.
Archangelo's reaction had been explosive, his temper erupting into a furious tirade because I'd questioned him. His outburst was terrifying, and I'd been left quaking in fear, unable to meet his eyes before he'd slammed through the villa door, tearing it from the hinges.
He'd returned a few hours later, deeply repentant. He blamed his fury on the pressure he was under, caused by the preparations for the final assault on Zaen. Holding me close, he kissed me repeatedly, whispering his apologies and begging my understanding. To keep the peace, I had offered him forgiveness, but I remained deeply troubled by his temper. Had he always been this volatile? Not for the first time, I questioned why I'd allowed myself to be bonded to him. If I was honest, I had no answers, couldn't understand what I had found attractive in this man.
Sighing heavily, I turned my attention back to the sketchpad and gazed, wide-eyed at what I'd drawn.
I'd sketched a man – and I had no idea who he might be.
I traced over the face repeatedly with my eyes, trying to place him, where I might have met him. He was incredibly handsome, with intense black eyes and a well-defined jaw. I'd drawn a hint of dimples in his cheeks, and the muscle in his neck and jaw had been sharply defined with a few deft strokes of the charcoal. He seemed immensely powerful; potent and sensual and my eyes wandered across the lips I'd drawn. They were full lips, carnally seductive and I trembled when I imagined touching them with my own.
Startled by such an intense physical reaction, I dropped the sketchpad and stood up abruptly, stepping over to the window to gaze outside while I gathered my thoughts.
Was he someone I'd met? Did I know him in the past? He didn't look as if he were Fae. He seemed to be human, although there was something rugged and wild about him, an almost animal-like slant to his eyes.
“You do know him.”
“You promised to leave me alone!” I hissed. I glanced back at the sketch anxiously, wondering if there was a link between the darkly handsome man I'd drawn, and the deep voice emanating from inside my head.
“You love us both.”
“Angel, cook wants to know if you are ready for lunch—”
I shrieked when Nissa spoke unexpectedly and she eyed me in alarm. “You look like you've seen a ghost,” she remarked, hurrying to my side.
With a deep inhalation of breath, I tried to steady my nerves. “I'm fine.”
Nissa's attention turned to the window, surveying the scene below. “Did you see something untoward?”
“No, it's nothing.” I glanced anxiously towards the sketchpad and quickly refocused my attention on Nissa, but she'd seen where my gaze landed if only momentarily. She turned and picked up the sketchpad, studying the picture I'd drawn.
“Who is this?” she demanded quietly, her voice deceptively calm.
“I— I don't know,” I admitted. “I was daydreaming, and when I glanced down at the sketchpad, that's what I'd drawn.”
Nissa tore the page from the pad, hurrying across to the fireplace. She snatched up the matches and lit one, holding it to the page until it caught alight and then dropped it into the grate, watching as it burnt. “You must never draw him again,” Nissa warned resolutely, turning to face me. “Never.”
“Do you know who he is?” I questioned, watching the paper darken and curl.
Nissa shook her head.
I stared at her for long seconds, seeing the lie in her orange eyes. The Fae can't lie, but I suspected she was lying by omission. “You do know him, don't you?”
Nissa gripped my arms and shook me a little. “Angel, for the love of the Gods, you must never tell Archangelo about this,” she pleaded, her eyes filled with panic.
A trickle of alarm swam through my own veins. “Why?” I demanded. “Tell me who he is.”
Nissa released me abruptly, slumping onto the couch and dropping her head into her hands. “I can't tell you, Angel. It's more than my life's worth to reveal that information.” She lifted her head, her gaze serious. “All I can say is that you must never let Archangelo know you drew him. And never draw his likeness again. If Archangelo or Bran were to find out—” She stopped, biting her lip nervously.
“If they find out? What?” I dropped onto the couch beside her, taking her hands in mine. “Please, Nissa. What's going on? Please tell me what you know.”
Nissa scrambled to her feet, her usually smooth motion lost to panic. She paced the floor nervously. “I can't tell you anything.”
“I think you can.” I scrutinized her, watching her pace back and forth. “Who is he?”
Nissa shook her head. “No, Angel! I won't tell you, and we cannot discuss this! I can only tell you one thing – if Archangelo discovers you've drawn him, he and Bran will increase the dosage of that medication they are giving you.” She took a deep breath and turned towards th
e door. “I'll tell the cook to prepare your lunch. And then, I must go on an errand. I will be back before darkness falls.”
She slipped from the room before I had an opportunity to argue, and I stared after her, wondering why the usually brave Nissa was so frightened.
Chapter 5: The Monster Within
In the next few days, I tried everything to persuade Nissa to reveal the identity of the man. It was a hopeless venture, she refused to discuss it. I noticed she wasn't her usual self; she seemed distracted and she was constantly anxious.
Most of my time was spent in solitude – Nissa insisted on running several mysterious errands and I was left with the protection of a male guard. Unlike Nissa, he didn't interact, merely standing guard outside the door.
Archangelo had been away for more than a week, and I wondered again where he was, what he might be doing. He'd boasted about the final assault on the rebel's stronghold – was that where he was? Guilt assuaged me each night as I went to bed, knowing I was thankful Archangelo remained absent. I loathed the thought of his return and worried constantly about such a mindset regarding my bonded husband.
The man I'd sketched was on my mind constantly. It was an outlandish idea, but I felt as though I should know him.
I'd heard nothing further from the voice inside my head – and was torn between unease over hearing from him again, and distress over the possibility that I wouldn't. I held a fervent desire to know if he could help unravel the mystery. He'd told me I'd loved them both, both him and the man in the sketch. How could that be?
I was sorely tempted to draw the handsome stranger but refrained from doing so because I didn't want to anger Nissa. There was little need to sketch him – it seemed as if his handsome face was now burnt into my consciousness and when I shut my eyes, I could see him clearly – but I harbored a tangible desire to have something concrete, thought that perhaps if I could look at a sketch it might trigger some recollection of how I knew the man's face. I resisted the temptation, keeping my promise to Nissa.
Knowledge Protects (The Nememiah Chronicles Book 5) Page 3