Unbreak Me (Spellbound Treasure)

by Lex Valentine

  “The official word?” He cocked a brow up, knowing Bran had dug until he’d found the truth no matter how ugly it might be.

  Bran nodded curtly. “She killed him. Brutally. Viciously. She took great delight in making him suffer,” he said softly. “When the guards finally got in the office, they found her covered in his blood. She surrendered calmly, telling the guards she had nothing to live for now that you were dead. That’s when they told her that her father had lapsed into a coma.”

  Sucking in a harsh breath, Marcus realized that any one of the things she’d endured would have been enough to drive a normal person insane. But she’d withstood blow after blow. The Tait he’d seen at Crossroads might not have been the Tait of six years before, but she still retained a strength that surpassed that of most people. He recalled the way her hand shook as it emerged from the folds of the Alizar cloak. It was an indicator of her lack of control, and how much she’d been through.

  The old Tait had nerves of steel. Each of them in the unit had specialized skills. Branson excelled at infiltration and information. Marcus was a master of strategy and battle planning. Tait had simply been an assassin. A master of many weapons, she had been just as adept with none. Her body had been one giant versatile weapon…a virtual killing machine. Silent, deadly, and even brutal when called for, she had often been called a cold-blooded killer, but Marcus alone had known the emotional price she paid in private for her extraordinary talent. That talent had kept her alive when anyone else would have died. The shaking hands told Marcus the price of her life had come at the crippling of her talent.

  “Go on, tell me the rest of it,” he murmured, pressing Bran to give him all the details and explain exactly what had happened to Tait in the six years they’d been gone.

  His best friend leaned forward, his gaze meeting Marcus’s. “They court-martialed her. Wouldn’t let her see her father. Then they tried her for Price’s murder and sent her off to Eagle Island. At first, they wouldn’t protect her.” Bran’s gaze flashed fire. “I’m not sure what all she endured. There were whispers of rapes and torture.”

  Horror streaked through Marcus. Tait had skills ordinary criminals didn’t have, but they would have stripped her magic from her before locking her up. Thinking of her grieving and betrayed, left in a prison filled with the worst criminals in the realm without protection…he shuddered. He couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened to her.

  “Eventually, the General came out of his coma, but it was too late for him to do anything for Tait. All he could do was petition to have her moved out of general population. She ended up as Molly Dare’s cellmate for the next two years. Then the fire happened. She and Molly saved a lot of lives.”

  Bran sighed heavily. “There were a host of witnesses who saw the wall collapse on her. If I hadn’t seen her and heard her myself yesterday, I would swear she’s dead. Her father identified the body, for God’s sake,” he muttered in a rough tone.

  Picking up the article about the fire, Marcus’s fingers traced the lines of Tait’s beautiful face. “She switched places with Molly Dare. Molly is the one who died,” he whispered, his mind neatly dropping the puzzle pieces together.

  “But her hair, Ren,” Bran protested.

  Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know how she made the switch, but Molly is the one who'd died. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “I guess it makes sense. About the time Molly was released, a new assassin turned up in Hawksmoor. Very expensive and very good. Skilled in magic and rumored to have once been a trainee for the Pythian Elite. Apparently, the assassin has a tremor that causes her hands to shake. The rumor says that’s why she never made it into the Elite,” Bran told him in a matter of fact voice.

  “It’s Tait.” Marcus got up and began to pace. “Find the assassin. I want an address.”

  A white slip of paper floated to the table. “I already got it.” Bran looked up with solemn, dark eyes. “What are you going to do?”

  Drawing a deep breath, Marcus picked up the paper and stuffed it into his pocket. “Unmask the assassin,” he replied harshly.

  Unbreak Me (Spellbound Treasure)

  Unbreak Me (Spellbound Treasure)

  Chapter Three

  Estep Realm

  Hawksmoor

  Hawksmoor happened to be the oldest city in Estep Realm. Earth-born humans had settled there following the discovery of a portal that led to other realms including Estep. They’d given the inhabitants of the realm Earth technology. However, over time Hawksmoor had fallen into disrepair when resistance to Earth ways rose and those capable of producing technology founded new, high-tech cities. Most of the magic capable humans left Hawksmoor for cities with better tech and more acceptance of magic. Riddled with slums of varying degrees, filled with the poor and the lawless, Hawksmoor was the perfect place for someone who didn’t want to be found.

  Tait’s house looked like a shack. Half the reason for its appearance could be attributed to magic. Inside, it didn’t look much better, and it was hardly bigger than her quarters at the Pythian Elite compound had been. It boasted a tiny bathroom, a small open kitchen, and a moderate sized room that served as both bedroom and living room. The large walk in closet had a trap door in the floor with an escape tunnel beneath. The pantry off the kitchen had a trap door in the ceiling. The bathroom had a portal secreted inside the miniscule linen closet. If Tait were ever trapped in her home, she had multiple means of escape.

  The main room of the house held a bed and a night stand in the corner between the bathroom and closet doors. A small table and two chairs took up space near the kitchen area. A desk with a laptop, a small loveseat, a floor lamp, and a flat panel television were the room’s only other furniture. To anyone who happened to catch a glimpse of the interior, Tait’s tech – her laptop and television – wasn’t visible. The laptop appeared to be a shoebox and the flat panel just looked like a cheap framed landscape print.

  The little house could actually withstand the types of attacks that were common in a slum city like Hawksmoor. A home invasion wouldn’t happen at her house, nor would a robbery or vandalism. However, someone with as much power as Tait would be able to breech her defenses. He might have to exert himself to get in, but he could. That was why she had built in escape routes. She never trusted that her defenses would hold.

  Emotionally, her defenses were much the same. She could withstand a certain amount of pressure, but at some point, she would crumble. In the three years she’d been at Eagle Island, she’d learned a lot about her own personal breaking point. The three years she’d been out had been about healing herself enough to become functional again.

  She’d learned that her shakes would never go away, but they only showed up under pressure or emotional strain. Her scars wouldn’t respond to her magic. They had been created with magic and as the victim, they could not be removed by her. Only the person who had scarred her or someone more powerful could take them away. She could have paid to have them removed, but her former appearance wouldn’t be an advantage and there was always the risk that someone would recognize her too. The scars helped preserve her anonymity.

  The beautiful strawberry blonde hair that had been her trademark would never return. It had all turned white in the first six weeks of her incarceration. Every time she saw it, she wanted to cry. It had probably been the only thing she had ever been vain about. Its loss felt worse than the loss of a limb or an eye would have. In fact, most of the reason she hid in the Alizar cloak was because of her hair. Even at home alone, she kept it tied up in a scarf or knit hat so she didn’t have to see it.

  The prison tattoo that snaked along the inside of her left forearm had been spellbound so that only parts of it showed. After she’d killed Price, when she’d known she would be caught and arrested, she’d put a spell on her skin so that the prison tattoo marking her as a murderer could be manipulated by her if she ever got her magic back. She wouldn’t be able to remove the tattoo, no one could do that except a warden, bu
t she could make it look like the mark of a thief if she had to. It was a trick that had stood her in good stead when she’d walked out of the fire decimated prison as Molly Dare, declaring that the murderer Tait Boland was dead.

  The morning after seeing her former lover, Tait remained holed up in her house, turning down assignments. She sat at her computer opening email offers of employment. Knowing her psyche had become fragile in the space of twenty-four hours, Tait couldn’t risk taking on a job. Besides, she needed time to process the fact that Marcus was alive.

  If she closed her eyes, she could feel the pulsing throb of the heartstone in her veins, even across the width of the realm. It had been close enough to the both of them the day before that whatever stasis it had fallen into had been unlocked. She wondered what would happen to it when Marcus married. She imagined it would once more fall into the stasis it had been in the past six years. He didn’t love her any longer therefore the emotion he’d put into his half of the stone would become null.

  She didn’t understand why he'd wanted it so badly if he hated her. He’d paid a fortune for both pieces. The only answer that made sense to her was his wanting to remove the piece of his soul from his half and destroy her half. There could be no other explanation for his determination to have it.

  Tait shuddered. The dull ache of her loss sharpened within her. She'd feel it when he removed the incantations binding his soul to his half of the stone. She'd feel it when he destroyed her half. Already she had braced for the pain, expecting it any time after she’d left him the day before. The darkness that always hovered at the edge of her sanity now pressed closer.

  Turning off the computer, she began to clean her small space, preferring action to sitting and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Dressed in loose dark sweat pants and a dark long sleeved t-shirt, her hair had been bundled into a magical snood that masked its true color with threads of deep purple and indigo that matched her eyes. Even though Hawksmoor residents tended to dress in old-fashioned clothing, tunics, breeches and cloaks, Tait couldn’t forgo the comfort of the modern clothing she’d worn when she lived in Falconaire. The physical labor of cleaning practically required her to wear the more comfortable modern clothing. It made the scrubbing much easier.

  Sweeping and mopping were mindless chores she often did to force herself off the couch and away from the unpleasant memories trying to invade her thoughts. However, her success at keeping the memories at bay varied. Most of the time, she could work until her body hit the point of exhaustion, which usually kept her brain from engaging. But there were days when nothing worked. Then, she lay huddled on the couch or in her bed, arms clutched about herself as the past ricocheted in her brain, wracking her body with a level of emotional pain leaving her weeping and vulnerable.

  On those days, the only protection she had were the spells she’d placed around her home. If someone strong enough to break them wanted in, she'd be unable to stop them. Her past usually held her in a grip so tight she might have been in a coma.

  As she swept, she asked herself anew why she bothered with any of it. For three years she’d clung to life, trying to heal her wounds. Yet, she’d had no reason to. She’d thought Marcus was dead. She’d had no reason to live, and yet she’d worked hard to save her life such as it was. Now, that she knew he was alive, but didn’t want her, the urge to just step off a bridge had become stronger than at any time in her life.

  Putting the broom into the pantry, she reached to close the door and stopped as a thrumming began deep in her body. Her breath caught in her throat. The heartstone. It was nearby. That meant Marcus was close as well. She started toward her closet, panic welling within her. She needed the cloak. If Marcus was in this neighborhood it was because he’d found her.

  Someone pounded on the door. “Open the door, Molly .”

  The tremors hit her instantly. He knew the truth. She closed her eyes briefly. If he knew how she’d escaped prison, he must know everything, including what had been done to her. Revulsion swept through her and bile rose in her throat. She couldn’t give him the closure he probably wanted. She couldn’t talk about those three years in prison. Not even for him.

  Tait turned away from the closet, squaring her shoulders. Let him see the scars. Let him see how ugly she was now. He would be repulsed and would leave her alone. Then maybe she could put it all behind her.

  A sibilant whisper came through the oak of the door. “You know I can break this lock if I want to. Open the door!”

  With shaking hands, she complied. Marcus brushed her aside and stepped inside. On autopilot, she closed the door and followed him into the room. He came to a stop in front of her small sofa, hard grey eyes assessing the small room. Then he reached into the pocket of his black duster and pulled out the heartstone.

  Her heart slammed against her ribs. Memories washed over her, and she gasped, sinking onto her desk chair, her head in her hands. Visions of the two of them flashed through her head. Naked, entwined bodies, kisses of love and passion, words spoken from the heart…a sob escaped her and she covered her face with her shaking hands.

  “Stop. Please. Put it away.”

  She heard a rustle of clothing and peered at him from between her fingers. He pocketed the stone, pulled off his duster, and tossed it over the back of the sofa. He took a step toward her. “Yesterday you wanted it at any price.”

  She shuddered as his soft voice wafted over her. “I made a mistake.”

  Even to her own ears her voice sounded weak and rusty. Marcus stepped closer to her. She could smell the scent of soap on his skin. Heat began to trickle through her body.

  “I don’t think so, Tait. I’m the one who made the mistake,” he whispered.

  He knelt beside her, and his hands wrapped around her wrists, pulling them away from her face. His gentleness pushed the darkness closer. She balanced on a knife edge of sanity, trembling and more fragile than at any time in her life. His gaze softened as he took in the fine network of scars that marred her face. He pushed up the left sleeve of her shirt, his thumb caressing the prison tattoo.

  “Please. You need to go. I can’t give you the closure you seek,” she said hoarsely, her face deliberately turned away from him.

  His right hand came up to cup her cheek, and his touch nearly unraveled the tiny bit of control to which she clung. He stroked her skin, his fingertips snagging on the scars.

  “They hurt you. You don’t know how badly I want their names. They deserve what Bran and I would dish out to them.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “Yesterday, you wanted to hurt me.”

  His left hand came up to cradle her other cheek. He held her immobile, her face between his gentle palms.

  “I already told you I’m the one who made the mistake.” He leaned closer and his breath caressed her for an instant before his lips brushed her forehead.

  This time the tears not only burned her eyes, they escaped. “Please, Marcus. I don’t need your pity. Please just leave me alone,” she rasped; her voice sounded agonized even to her own ears.

  “I can’t. We made promises the night before my mission. I don’t break my word.”

  She shut her eyes tightly, unable to look at him a moment longer, uncaring that he saw her tears. “I release you. I won’t hold you to any promise. I am not the same woman I was that night.” Her mouth twisted into a grimace. “She’s dead, Marcus, just as surely as if that prison wall had fallen on her. Look at how I live. I’m not long for this world, you know. And you are destined for great things. You’ll need a great woman on your side, not an ex-con who can’t even use her real name.”

  Dark emotion flashed in his eyes, and the expression on his face turned stony. “You are what I need, Tait. What I’ve always needed. I’ll find a way to right the wrong that’s been done to you.”

  She shook her head. “You can’t. I did it. I killed him. And you forget. Yesterday you didn’t need me.”

  The emotion in his eyes flared as if heated. He rose to his feet
, pulling her up into his arms. “Yes, I did. And I knew it too, but I let my anger control me.” His hands skated down her back, stroking her through the thin cotton of her t-shirt. “I’ve been a prisoner of war and a slave for six years. It’s been… difficult… trying to find my feet in this world again, especially without you. I never wanted to believe that you’d betrayed us, but the evidence was overwhelming. When we escaped, I didn’t think I needed to check my facts and look into what had happened to us, but seeing you yesterday, seeing how changed you were and how desperate you were for the stone… I sent Bran out to bring me back the truth.”

  Standing stiffly within the circle of his arms, Tait felt her mouth quirk up a little as she thought of Branson out hunting down facts. He would have found them too. Bran had always been good at his job. Her thoughts jerked back to the man who held her as he dipped his head, his mouth finding the spot on her neck just beneath her ear. Warm lips caressed her skin. His mouth opened and the dampness of his tongue tickled her. She shivered, and he began to suck on her flesh.

  “N-no, Marcus. No,” she whispered, afraid of the sensations that began to pulse within her body. It had been a long time since she’d felt any kind of desire, and she didn’t trust herself. Nor did she trust Marcus.

  She tried to push him away, and when he didn’t budge, for a split second, she remembered the feel of hard hands holding her, hurting her, violating her. Fear and loathing lashed her, causing her to stiffen, her body automatically falling into a pose of revulsion.

  “Holy fuck!”

  Marcus’s hissed words accompanied the loosening of his hold on her. His arms dropped, and when she looked up at him, she found his eyes filled with horror.

  “It’s true, isn’t it? The rumors about what they did to you.” His grim tone told her he knew everything, at least everything that had been widely known in the prison. Some things had been kept secret because it wouldn’t have been good for the warden’s political career had his most deviant proclivities come to light.