by Nashoda Rose
“You won’t hurt me.” I repeated as the snake Ink on Waleron’s neck awakened, red eyes beaming and the sleek body slithering across his skin. “I know you. I know you won’t hurt me.”
“You know nothing about me anymore. If you did, you’d hate me.” Waleron released me and I collapsed against the table.
“Xamien. Office.” Waleron walked out of the kitchen.
I followed Waleron into my study and shut the door. “What the hell was that?” Fuck, Delara didn’t need this shit from Waleron. She already had Tarek threatening her.
“Leave it, Xamien.”
“I’ll say this once. You hurt her, we will have a serious problem between us.”
“I said, leave it.”
“I’ll leave it as soon as you acknowledge what I’m telling you.”
Waleron nodded, then walked over to the window, parted the curtain, and peered out into the garden. “If the Wraiths find out Abby is alive, they will hold you responsible as well.”
“I knew that the second you asked to bring her here. They’re trying to find an excuse to take away your Taldeburu and this would be the catalyst. But it might have a positive outcome. I suspect the majority of Scars will be in favor of Abby remaining alive. They’ll stand behind us.”
“And if it goes to the Deaconry?”
“Mariana, Genevieve and Zurina will side with you.”
“I’m uncertain what Zurina will do anymore. She fought me on Tarek’s execution. He is free today because she believed he deserved a second chance.”
“Yes, but I understand she stood behind your decision on Balen’s release. Zurina detests death. Just as she fought against you for Tarek’s death, she will stand behind you on Abby living.”
“Until she learns that Abby drank the vampire’s blood on purpose. It was not an accident.”
Now that I hadn’t known. “Why the hell would she do that? Word was it was a drunken mistake.”
Waleron half turned toward me, his expression grave. “It matters little why. But if the Deaconry find out, there will be no judge and jury.”
“Christ,” I said, walking over to my desk and leaned against it, arms crossed. “I’ll attend the Deaconry if it comes to that.”
Waleron’s brows rose. “You have refused to sit on the Deaconry for centuries. Why is this so important?”
“Because the girl deserves to live.” I paused and then added, “And because Delara would ask it of me.”
The sound of the curtain ripping filled the silence. Waleron let the material go and walked to the door. His hand was on the handle and the heated fury radiated from him. Regardless of whether or not Delara and I fucked, she was a friend and I’d stand by her.
“Damien has one day with her. I need him back in Toronto to hunt Tarek. We’re down warriors with Kilter and Rayne on the island and Delara here.” Waleron opened the door. “After Tarek is caught, it will be decided what will be done with Damien and Abby.”
“My brother won’t go willingly and I won’t help you. I suspect he will be put in Rest before he gives Abby up this time. Damien should remain here with her.”
“No. Abby is not ready. We agreed to this. When she is trustworthy, then she can be released and join us. Until then, she remains here without him.”
“We agreed to that when Damien didn’t know she lived.” Even though Waleron was able to mask his emotions from me, the tension in the air was thick. “My brother is going to hate you more than me come tomorrow.” I shrugged. “If you’re staying, there are five empty rooms on the second floor. Take any room you please—except Delara’s, of course.”
Waleron flinched. Then he Traced.
The warm, fresh blood rushed through his veins and his heart thumped against my cheek. With every inhale the iron scent of blood invaded my nostrils as he held me.
It was Damien’s blood. Sweet, succulent blood I’d tasted once before and craved ever since.
Damien’s Ink, Simian, had been the only thing that was able to control me that day. I’d been a newly turned vampire and starving. The undeniable appetite had eaten away my sanity. There was nothing that could stop my madness except to feed. I’d cursed, screamed, fought, salivating for the taste of blood.
I was so stupid. I’d fallen in love with a woman-hating Scar who was famous for hunting and killing vampires. And I wanted every part of him. Had from the moment I’d seen him picking out a peach at the grocery store. It seemed like an eternity since that day.
Now he was here. Where I’d never wanted him to be, but denying Damien in my arms was impossible.
We sat in silence for a long time. Him holding me, his hand gently caressing my hair, down my back, then back up again.
“Abb. Why? Why the fuck did you leave me?” He kissed my temple with the familiar, plush lips I’d dreamt about for the last eight months.
His hands on either side of my head, he forced me to look at him. I closed my eyes, afraid of what I’d see.
How could I look at him? Face the contempt. The betrayal. The hurt lingering in his dark eyes.
But at one time there’d been love. I’d seen it and heard it in his voice that day he’d begged me not to go, begged Waleron to kill him, too.
He kissed my brow, the tip of my nose, the corner of my lips, and the guilt over the pain I’d caused him magnified.
“Babe, please talk to me.”
Oh God, the gentle harmony of his voice made my skin tingle and my heart race.
His thumb wiped the stray tears under my eyes. “Open your eyes, Abb.”
Not yet. I didn’t want to face reality yet.
Then the plush velvet touch of his mouth on mine, and I gasped then sank into his slow, sensual kiss.
Damien groaned, deepening his kiss.
The magnetic pull between us ignited as the urgency and hunger we’d been denied for months took hold.
My thirst for his blood washed away as I tasted him another way. Damien’s kiss. This man who’d saved me and yet… I’d never wanted to be saved. I’d never wanted to live like this.
A monster. A killer. A vampire.
He drew back, scowling. “Damn it, Simian. Fuck off.”
His Ink. My protector. He wanted to be released.
Damien’s thumb rubbed over my swollen lower lip. “Abb, please say something.”
Were there any words? Painful truths, maybe; but couldn’t he just hold me? For a little while before—before what?
I hated who I was. Hated vampires more than anything in this world for what they’d done to my mother. Yet, now I was one. And Damien hunted monsters like me.
“I don’t care, Abb. I don’t give a fuck if you drink blood.” Damien kissed me again, this time fierce and bruising. “Please just talk to me.”
He didn’t deserve this. Me. What I’d put him through. But I’d been blinded by one night in his arms. Had drowned in him, never to surface again. He owned my body. My soul. I was his completely, and for that reason I could never be with him.
I shifted from his arms and finally opened my eyes. I was met with pure anguish and concern, but mixed with that was my Damien, the arrogant Scar I’d met and fallen in love with. “I asked you to kill me and you didn’t. I never wanted to live like this.”
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Abb. How could I ever kill you? How? Fuck, babe, that wasn’t an option. It never was, I told you that.”
He reached for me, but I did what I knew would force him to keep his distance—I hissed, revealing my fangs.
“Don’t do this,” he said. But he lowered his arms.
“Waleron was supposed to kill me. Instead, he brought me here to live locked away like a wild animal.”
He reached for me again. “Abb, let me—”
I hissed again.
“Fuck.” He shook his head and sighed, leaning against the wall.
My voice was crass and rough as I spoke. “I hate. Not just myself, but everything. I hate this place. I hate Waleron. Xamien. I hate every single thing that lives i
n this world. Even you, Damien. I hate you for loving me.”
The muscles in his cheek twitched and the sorrow I saw in his eyes was replaced with wrath. That was what I wanted. To make him hate me.
“Abb, don’t you dare fuckin’ do this.”
But I had no choice. He had to hate me enough to kill me or… be tricked into releasing me from this cage so I could get someone else to do it.
One way or another, I was leaving here today.
I TOUCHED THE WHITE GAUZE bandage on my neck and trailed my finger over it, the stickiness of one corner of the upturned tape catching my skin. I pushed it back down, ignoring the tenderness as I pressed harder than necessary.
The hybrid vampire witch Xamien had living in the attic had sunk her teeth into me yesterday and then picked me up, tossing me across the room as if I were a weightless, plastic figurine. My body had slammed into the wall then crashed to the floor. I’d hit hard, leaving my side knitted with bruises.
The new wound on my neck was just another scar to add to my collection. Reminders of why it was safer locked away. Every burn. Every mark Drake scored into me. It was him tormenting me. Never letting me go.
That was what he’d done to me. That was what woke me in the middle of the night screaming. He was the only thing I feared. Pain, death, torture… none of it frightened me anymore. But him and the power he had over me… he owned me, and that fear I couldn’t bury, because if he was alive, one day the monster would find me again.
My only hope was that no one discovered I was the little girl, the powerful Healer, who’d been killed in the fire along with her Talde ten years ago. It was my only chance to stay hidden from Drake.
I stood under the hot spray until the trembling stopped, then turned off the taps and climbed out of the tub. As I reached for a towel on the hook, I heard footsteps on the hardwood floor outside the door.
The steps stopped outside the bathroom door. I expected a knock and for Xamien to ask if I was okay. Often he’d come check up on me if I woke in the night screaming; instead, the doorknob turned and the door swung open.
My breath hitched and I yanked the white towel up in front of me while I staggered back a few steps. A shiver brushed through me as the cool air from the open door hit my wet skin and the humid air dissipated.
I clutched the towel to me as I met the hard, gray eyes of a man I’d never seen before. The first thought that came into my head was panther—a deadly panther. Sleek and lean—his muscles defining every inch of him even through his clothing.
It was as if he was ready and eager to pounce on whatever prey he had in his sights. And at the moment, that was me. His look was softened by the lazy walnut curls that fell in disarray over his head and the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth, as if he were… amused.
“Who are you?” Maybe I should’ve asked what the hell he was doing walking into my bathroom in the middle of the night, but I was more concerned as to who he was and what he was capable of. He had to be a Scar because Xamien rarely allowed anyone in his manor except Scars; although, he had allowed the vampire witch to be incarcerated in the attic.
“Are you a Scar?” The shields around my thoughts to hide my abilities were pretty resilient, but it still made me uneasy meeting new Scars. This guy, with his cocky stance and arrogant expression, looked like he had an overabundance of confidence. I only hoped he didn’t have an ability to match.
“Sure am. But if you’d rather I be something else, I’m willing to play for a night.”
Oh, my God. What a dick. “You’re standing in my bathroom, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed.” His eyes boldly roamed down the length of my body, hesitating on my foot where my disfigured Ink tattoo lay, and then dragged back up to meet my eyes again. His expression remained composed and unconcerned as he casually leaned his shoulder up against the doorframe and crossed his arms.
“Can you please leave?” I attempted to keep my voice courteous like I always did, but there was grit to it this time and it echoed in the bathroom.
“A polite little thing, aren’t you,” he replied in a harsh baritone.
My blood pumped faster through my veins as the sexy sound vibrated through me. The nightmare had obviously damaged my brain. “If you don’t leave, I’m calling Xamien.”
The corners of his lips twitched. “I don’t think you will.”
I glared. “Why not?”
“Because you like me.”
I snorted. “I don’t even know you. And I certainly don’t like strange men who come into my bathroom in the middle of the night.” The clip in my hair slipped out and fell to the floor, making a clink as it bounced off the ceramic tiles. My hair tumbled down my back and over my shoulders. His eyes watched the strands until they settled in place, then his gaze slid over my skin to linger on my collarbone before dragging up the curve of my neck.
Goose bumps scattered across my wet skin as his eyes changed from a light charcoal gray to glistening black, like wet pavement in the night. It was utterly captivating… and I didn’t like it one bit.
Scars had much stronger emotions than humans, sometimes so powerful that it was debilitating, but I’d never had my body react to a man this way. Not that I had much experience.
The muscles in his arms flexed and my eyes darted to the ink etched into his skin in an intricate pattern from his elbow upward to disappear beneath his plain black T-shirt. I peered closer, trying to distinguish if it was his Ink, but it was nearly impossible to tell them from a regular tattoo. My only advantage was I had a connection with Inks. I studied his tattoo, searching for the familiar living being beneath—
“You see, you like me.”
My eyes shot back to his and a rare emotion rose inside me—anger. It clawed at my shield as he stood in the doorway as if it was his right to be there. “Are you done having your fun? I’d like to go back to bed.”
The corners of his lips curved upward and I caught a glimpse of his perfect white teeth. “Don’t think I’ll be done for a while.” The word done came out as a drawl that lingered in the air between us.
For years, I’d kept my emotions contained, yet within one minute this guy was charging them like a wild boar. I had the urge to walk up to him, smack him in the face, then slam the door on him. It was an urge that surprised me. I hadn’t thought of reacting to anyone in a long time. I was calm, patient, and disconnected, but all of those feelings were teetering on a tightrope. What I didn’t like was the strange whirl in my stomach, as if I was nervous.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“None of your business.” Scars were immortal and aged until thirty-two, so it was hard for me to guess how long he’d been around. I was only twenty, and for a Scar that was really young.
“Oh, baby, right now, you are my business.”
A splattering of sensations peppered through me and begged to come out and play. I couldn’t let them. I wouldn’t let him unhinge me with a few looks and a couple words. I was stronger than that. But there was something about him that put me on edge.
God, why was he just staring at me as if he could see right through my towel? Why wasn’t I calling Xamien? He was close enough to speak telepathically, but I hadn’t used that form of communication since I was ten.
Fine. If he wasn’t going to leave, then I was. I leaned over for another towel to cover my shoulders, but I kept my eyes on him. I wasn’t stupid, and suspected if I took my eyes off him, he’d take advantage. I didn’t know how yet, but I wasn’t taking any chances with this asshole. But I should’ve been paying attention to what I was doing.
It happened fast. I leaned too far. My heel slipped in the puddle of water beneath my feet, and I lost my balance. I scrambled to grab hold of something, and that something was the towel rack. But even my one-hundred-fifteen pounds was too much for it, and the metal rod snapped out of the holder and clanged to the floor.
A weird, strangled cry emerged from my throat as I landed sitting on the toilet
with the bundle of towels now on the floor at my feet—including the one I’d been using.
My cheeks burned as I grabbed one and pulled it up in front of me, then jumped back to my feet. Our gazes clashed and I noticed the quick change in his expression from lowered brows over his annoyed charcoal eyes to amusement again.
He grinned and half snorted. “Impressive.”
Momentarily speechless, I had no idea how to respond. The polite response would be a shy, embarrassed smile; my gut response was to tell him to get the fuck out. Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself. It was safer that way. I had to stay safe.
No confrontation. Simple. Yet there was nothing simple about this man. I could see it hidden in the depths of his eyes—dark, hard. And he’d changed expressions so quickly, as if not wanting me to witness the dark parts of him.
He crossed his ankles, appearing casual and comfortable, and I ground my teeth together. “So, do you normally shower in the middle of the night?”
“So, are you normally rude?”
He laughed and a soft curl fell in front of his eyes. He casually pushed it back behind his ear. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
No. And I didn’t care.
“Jasper Kyelin.”
Kyelin. Then it clicked. The rogue Scar. The mercenary or assassin—both. He’d stayed here briefly a few times, but I’d never met him.
“And your name, sunshine?”
Sunshine? God, I hate endearments. They were degrading. I wanted to tell him to take his sunshine and shove it up his ass where the sun didn’t shine, but I wouldn’t play his game, and from his cocky, amused attitude, this was a game and I was the pawn. “My name is Max, not sunshine, although I suspect you already know that,” I replied.
He shrugged.
Yeah, he had. God, his asshole meter was rising by the second. “You’re Xamien’s little pet.”
The meter shot off the scale and exploded. I met his eyes and held them, glaring. Bastard. I had no intention of having any further conversation with him. He was quickly proving my theory that people rarely listened, and if they did, they didn’t give a shit. It was all pretenses to get something from you for their own benefit. The question was… what did Jasper want from me?