Brave

by Dawson, Zoe

  Chapter Eight

  Dakota

  She was upset about my disappearance, but I couldn’t see her after what had passed between us. I had to have time to regain my equilibrium before I did something eminently stupid. I couldn’t bear the sadness in her eyes. I wanted her to know me, but I was afraid to let go of the pain and numbness. I wasn’t sure how to live without them anymore.

  But while I sat in here for two days, the hours stretching out before me, I thought that maybe I wanted to try to heal. Try to put the pieces of my life back together. Alissa made me want to be brave.

  She bowed her head as if she was overcome, and my chest hurt like a million needles were stabbing into my lungs. How could I have let this happen? How could I have even for a moment leaned on her? She was so young and innocent. The horror of what I had endured was a stain, an abomination, and I didn’t want her touched by that.

  A lock fell from her upswept hair and settled like a soft breath against the nape of her neck. I didn’t mean to do it, but she was like star fire, with darkness all around. I was that darkness…and I was falling…falling.

  I should not have done this. This room should have stayed securely locked. I should have held onto my armor…except she made it invisible, nonexistent. In all this time alone, I hadn’t turned my weakness into strength; I had done nothing but allow it to consume me.

  The light found rich silver highlights in the lock of hair. She lifted her hand as if to push the curl back into place, but before she could, I snagged it. I gazed down at my hand, spreading the curl between my fingers, resting my fist against the curve of her shoulder. It was as if my hand did not belong to me—and yet it did. I felt every texture, every delicate strand of hair, every light breath she took. Smelled her natural, flowery fragrance. Felt the warmth of her.

  I trailed my knuckles in a light brush up her throat to a place beneath her ear that felt like down. I bent my head and pressed my mouth there, closing my eyes at the rush of emotion I felt for her.

  I stood silent, touching her. I was helpless. Helpless. I could not stop and get back my self-control.

  Stop me, I thought. Don’t let me. I could not remove my hand; could not speak. No sound at all came out of my mouth when I moved my lips.

  She turned toward me, her eyes wide and midnight blue. In the months I’d been alone, I had thought about women, but the flashbacks of Elsa killed those thoughts.

  Then Alissa had literally fallen into my hands. Her vulnerability seemed enormous, her stillness beneath my hand an act of immeasurable trust.

  With my hands I could chop a wood block in half or I could shape it into anything my imagination could conjure up…destruction and creation…and I could feel her heart in the fragile pulse of her throat, so light and quick. I lifted my other hand and cradled her face.

  Small. Delicate. Like the life of a small bird within my palms, something I could render so easily in wood. Lust flooded me. What I wanted…God, what I wanted…

  I thought of my damaged psyche, my purposeful plan, the edge of that beckoning cliff. It all seemed another universe, fantasy and mist, as if I’d never been alive until this instant. My two days of isolation had only made me more desperate for her. I was such a complete fool.

  I spread my hands, my thumbs brushing against her lips, my fingertips resting on her temples, palms flat against her cheekbones. Still she only stared at me. She had such pretty eyes, the lashes so long that I felt the sweep of them against my fingers.

  I stood there touching her, imagined her hair down and all around in a waterfall of white, her body, the voluptuous scent, the sounds. My throat tightened with a suppressed moan. I wanted to hold her, to gather her up and cradle her against me—and I wanted to overpower her. There was a terrible violence inside me. All I knew, all I had experienced and mastered in my life, was about healing.

  Without it I’d been ruined, destroyed. I hadn’t known how to get it back until she came into my life and showed me the way. I wasn’t sure I had the courage to take the steps necessary to fully repair that shattered part of me.

  “At first, I thought you made the walking stick so that you didn’t have to touch me. But, now, I know that isn’t true.”

  I shook my head, my throat so tight I didn’t know if I could even respond.

  “No,” I whispered. “I made it so you wouldn’t feel helpless. I know what that feels like, and it’s the worst feeling on earth. I didn’t want you to feel that way, ever.”

  “Oh, Dakota,” she said softly. “Please,” she begged me.

  “What do you want?” I said, my heart fragmenting and colliding back together.

  “You. I want all of you,” she said, her eyes brimming with the truth of her words.

  And then my mouth was on hers. It was there as if I had willed it and hadn’t even moved, as if my mouth had always been against hers. Against that heat and softness.

  She made a low urgent sound, a crazy kind of sound full of fear.

  I sensed that fear, sensed the cause of it, and with a hoarse sound, I shifted her head back and pressed harder on her mouth, cupping the back of her head. Her butt hit the table with the bumblebees on it and it shook.

  Her savage kiss tasted of tears and pain and fear-driven desperation. And for me, there was a taste of fury, like the fury that had filled me when I knew I wanted her. I knew it was going to happen. It was just a matter of time.

  Because I needed her.

  It was a raw, consuming pressure that was connected to the ugly, monstrous piece I was holding back from her. And, man, I needed her to have that piece, to see what she would do with it, see if her magic could banish it, heal it, fix it, bring me back.

  I wanted to give to her what she asked for. All of me…including the demons.

  Her low sob broke against my mouth, and I dragged my hand up her back, molding us together in a crushing hold, my other hand immobilizing her head as my mouth turned hot, hungry and ravaging. Locking her arms around me, I yielded everything—my mouth, my body, my strength—driven by a need that burned through to my very soul.

  And, she answered me in kind. It was as if my desperation fired the desperation in her, and suddenly everything was out of control.

  Widening my stance, I dragged her up into the cradle of my thighs, the hard ridge of my dick meshing with her softness, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, for the thick, pulsing urgency swelling inside me.

  Alissa groaned and dragged her mouth away, her breathing harsh and ragged as she lifted her hips against me, a violent shudder coursing through her that I felt with every cell, because my merciless hold fused us body to body. Alissa wrapped her legs around me, giving me partial access to the heat that was denied me by the barrier of our clothing.

  My breathing harsh against her ear, I gripped her around her slender hips, locking her against me, my body thrusting, driving, urgent against hers. Alissa clung to me, and the glorious feel of her against me sent my senses reeling into a mindless need as she struggled to get under my sweater and shirt to my skin.

  Dragging her hands up my naked back, her fingers digging into my straining muscles as she twisted her body against mine, trying to bring me closer, tighter, harder.

  Grinding out a guttural denial, I dragged her head against my neck, then hiked her higher, holding her immobile against me, my embrace viselike. Alissa stilled as she must have realized I was carrying her toward my bed.

  She uttered a keening cry and convulsively tightened her hold when I tried to separate her from me. A tremor coursed through me, and I buried my face against her neck, my hand spanning her head. On a shuddering intake of air, I braced one knee on the mattress, steadying our combined weight as I carried her down onto the bed, her legs still locked around me. She sobbed out her need as I collapsed on top of her, my weight settling heavy in the cradle of her thighs. Sensations and emotions raged through me, and she flexed her legs, thrusting up against me, an incoherent need evident in the tautness of her body. I met her
urgent thrust with one of my own, the clothing that separated us the only obstruction against the breaking storm.

  My breathing harsh and out of control, I twisted and grasped her leg, trying to break her hold. “Alissa—honey, let go. Let go.” I shuddered, then pulled free, my voice hoarse and desperate. “Your clothes—damn—Alissa, help me, babe.”

  She turned her face against my neck and let her legs go slack, heat and hunger and urgency making her writhe against me. My touch was rough and frantic. I stripped away her jeans and she yanked my sweater and shirt over my head and bared my back to the cool air.

  I shivered, my skin burning hot, and felt a tingle of pain, as if a colder wind was blowing across broken and bleeding skin.

  My chest heaved, even as she struggled with the rest of her clothes. I fought it, but it was no use. The grayness swamped me and I jerked my head up.

  The rebels had taken us to their camp and tortured us for a week, trying to learn about the next shipment of drugs. But we had known nothing about it. They chained us, but Elsa broke free, and it was as if that was all they needed. Dr. Sanchez screamed her name and I watched as they grabbed her and took her down to the ground, the light of lust in their eyes.

  I felt Alissa’s hands on me, but her voice was drowned out by Elsa’s frantic and desperate screams. The man with the scar walked over to me, and I dropped my head to try to avoid what I knew was coming, but he grabbed my hair and jerked my head up, saying in French. “Watch and I’ll let you have a turn.”

  A man held her arms as she kicked out with her legs, her feet, but they subdued her. Four men to one small, beautiful woman who I’d promised to protect. I elbowed that scar-faced bastard in the face, my gut roiling with sickness and fury. I screamed. “No. You fuckers! Let her go! Let her fucking go!”

  But they ripped her dirty scrubs off her hips, and I shook with fury, disgust and my fucking helplessness when one of them undid his pants and knelt down on top of her and shoved himself against her. Her screams were deafening, her cries twisting me into something ugly and dangerous.

  I pulled harder as the next man took his turn and her cries got weaker, her screams fainter.

  Dr. Sanchez broke free then, and one of the rebels clubbed him until he lay still in the mud. I heard something in the distance…gunfire? I couldn’t be sure. She’d stopped moving completely when a fourth man covered her. She turned and looked at me, the utter emptiness of her eyes set the demons free in me and they howled with a ferocity that I couldn’t control.

  The last man took out a knife and plunged it into her chest. Then he froze as more gunfire whizzed across the compound. His head exploded and his body dropped across Elsa. I shut down, my gut writhing with my defenselessness, my horror and rage. I couldn’t go any further and frantically shoved those memories away from me like a man fighting for his life.

  I looked down into her eyes, my chest heaving, tears I hadn’t realized were running down my face. I scrambled off her, the desire in me freezing into something sick and twisted. I couldn’t do this now, not with the memory fresh and new inside my head. I couldn’t stain her with that filth.

  I tried to bolt, but her arms came from behind and locked around my heaving chest. I wanted to end this. I couldn’t be with her, not with Elsa’s brutal gang rape a constant reminder of how I lost myself in the mud and blood of the Ivory Coast.

  “Oh, fuck. Make the pain go away,” I cried and broke away from her as I took a few steps, but then I didn’t know which way to go. I just wandered around the room lost in my agony.

  “Dakota,” she said, so softly, her voice breaking on my name. I turned toward her, needing her more in that moment than I had needed anyone in my life. She ran to me, locked her arms around me.

  I grabbed her around the waist and slid down her soft, welcoming body, sinking to my knees, my burning, wet face pressed to her belly.

  She buried her hands in my hair and held me against her. It felt as though she was my only lifeline and she was fighting to keep me alive, like I had fought to keep Elsa alive.

  “They raped her,” the horror in me made me whisper. I’d never said it out loud before. “They killed her and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it, Alissa.” My throat constricted and I sobbed against her. “I promised her I would protect her. I promised.” I couldn’t tell her the rest of it. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see her eyes change and the shock of the blood on my hands mirrored there.

  She knelt down. She took my face in her hands and forced my eyes to hers. Hers were streaming with tears and something I didn’t dare define, because my heart was breaking…breaking.

  She peppered my face with kisses. Quick short ones, then longer ones, until she found my mouth. She brushed at my tears with her thumbs. “Stay with me tonight. Promise me you won’t leave me.”

  I sent my hands into her warm, fragrant hair. “Seriously? After that you still want to be with me?” I said, my voice broke.

  “Yes, Dakota. Promise me.”

  “All right.”

  “Say it.”

  “I promise.”

  “I know you always try to keep your promises,” she whispered.

  As I had unraveled, she now proceeded to remake me, knit me together, like the elusive, elven creature she resembled, with starlight and promises, and dreams and aching hope. She urged me to stand and slipped her hand around mine. I followed her and stood still while she unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, pushing them and my briefs off me.

  Then she urged me down into the bed, drew the blankets over us and wrapped her arms around me.

  “Don’t leave, Dakota, please,” she begged. “Don’t leave me.”

  For a long time, I was nowhere. Just breathing. Breathing was effort enough; it seemed my chest could not hold sufficient air to allow my brain to think or my body to move. So I simply let myself lie safe and warm in her arms.

  Slowly, small realities intruded on my consciousness. My body was hot, silky skin pressed against me from my neck and down until it twined with my legs. The sensations crystallized into a thought. Alissa. I mumbled the word, turning my head. With an effort I lifted myself onto my elbow and looked down at her.

  She stirred, her hair a wild tumble of starlight on my pillow.

  The crisis was forcing me to make a decision. I was so fucked up. I needed to make a change. I needed to be something more for her.

  She opened her eyes and stared up at me. “You didn’t leave me.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t ever want to leave you.”

  “Good,” she whispered against my shoulder, burying her face into the hollow of my neck, breathing deep, kissing my collarbone, sending shivers of pleasure rippling throughout my body.

  “Did you love her?”

  “Who?”

  “Elsa?”

  “No. I barely knew her. I didn’t even know her last name. Not until I was rescued. She was a good nurse and a sweet person. And she was so scared. I just didn’t want anything to happen to her or Dr. Sanchez. We were all that was left of that camp. Its legacy.”

  She took a deep breath. “Can I show you something, Dakota?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You can show me anything, tell me anything, babe.”

  “Could you get the light?”

  I reached over and turned it on, blinking a little until my eyes adjusted. She pushed her arms outside of the sheet and blankets and I saw the fine white scars. As a nurse, I knew exactly what they were and how she got them.

  Chapter Nine

  Alissa

  I bared my arms to him. I wanted him to see the scars that were part of me, to know that part of me. Because he had shown me what he believed was the ugly part of him.

  “Oh, Alissa.” He met my gaze, his expression drawn. He gently smoothed his hand through my hair.

  “I knew you would know immediately what they were, because I’m sure you’ve seen them before.”

  “I have. How old were you when you started cutting yourself?”

&nbs
p; I looked up at him and his arms tightened around me. “Ten,” I whispered.

  “Oh, God. Alissa.” His voice was raw with compassion.

  The memory was old and had lost its power to hurt me, especially here in Dakota’s tight embrace. “I was so empty most of time. Everything seemed so neutral. My mother never looked at me and actually saw me. Saw me. She just saw a child she never wanted, a stranger. I was a mistake. She never actually said it, but I always knew. My parents are selfish, emotionally bankrupt people. I felt like I was going invisible, disappearing. So, after the first time, it hurt, yeah, but at least I knew I was alive, that the numbness in me wasn’t going to take over and make me like them. My parents are extremely wealthy, but all the money in the world doesn’t make a difference. They don’t love me. They never will.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with them. You are so lovable and sweet, kind and gentle. A beautiful soul. They are idiots if they can’t see all your beauty.”

  I nodded. “Thank you for saying that. I tried to believe it was true, but sometimes I would lose that part of me.”

  “How did you stop?”

  “Charlie.”

  “Your friend.”

  My love for Charlie welled up inside me. “Yes. My BFF. He saw the blood leaking through my shirtsleeve, and he got very upset. He made me promise not to do it ever again. He gave me a cell phone and told me in no uncertain terms that when I felt sad, to call him. We would talk. He was so amazing. He saved me from that. In return, I had to text him pictures of my travels so that he could experience what I experienced and live through me.”

  “He sounds like a great guy. I’d really like to meet him.”

  A hollowness opened up in me, but I filled it with the warmth of Dakota. “That was the year he gave me the Pooh backpack.”

  He smoothed his hands over my arms. “Thank you for sharing that with me, sharing something so personal. I’m thankful you only did it once and that Charlie was there to help you to see what a wonderful, caring person you are. You’ll have me as a friend, too.”