It was marvelous to stand under the hot water and rinse away the grime from our journey. Although the showers were rudimentary, the water was steaming hot and I managed to wash within the three-minute time limit we'd been warned about. My aches and pains felt better after the soak in the water, and I dressed in the items I'd been given. There was fresh underwear, some trousers the girl named Marianne had called jeans, and a white over-garment she'd called a t-shirt. She'd also given me something she said was a bra, which was unlike the chemise I usually wore and took some mastery to put on. I was surprised to find I was more comfortable in this foreign clothing than I usually was in the Fae gowns.
When Nissa emerged from her cubicle, she was wearing similar jeans and a t-shirt in blue, and she smiled warmly at me when she caught my eye. I managed a weak smile in return before we followed Marianne and Rowena to the large tent they called the mess. It was situated in the inner circle of tents and Rowena guided us to an empty table.
“What would you like to eat?” Rowena questioned. “It's a little late for breakfast, but I'm sure we can have something prepared for you.”
Nissa glanced at me and I shrugged, slumping into a chair. “I'm not hungry.”
“You must be starving by now, Angel. You need to eat something, please.”
I shook my head firmly. “I don't want anything.”
Marianne crouched at my side, placing a hand on my knee. “Conal told me you haven't eaten since they rescued you. You have to eat something, or you're going to get sick.”
I stared at her. “He didn't rescue me! He kidnapped me,” I snapped.
“Char— Angel. We don't mean you any harm,” Rowena said, a small line of tension marring her smooth forehead. “We're trying to help you.”
“Then you should let me go home to Tamekeel. Archangelo will be worried, he doesn't know where I am.” I turned my stricken gaze to Nissa. “He'll be very angry with me because I left the villa without permission. Nissa, you have to take me back!”
Marianne and Rowena's gazes met, clearly startled by my response. Marianne got to her feet, her eyes somber. “Let me see if I can get you some pancakes, I'm sure you'll enjoy them.”
The two women accompanied us back to the tent after a breakfast which Nissa ate and I refused. How did I know they hadn't tampered with the food, didn't intend to do me some harm?
A short while later, Conal Tremaine appeared, pushing the canvas flap of the tent out of the way to request Nissa join him to discuss some matters. Although angry with her, the thought of being left alone in this strange place terrified me. While I still felt the sting of her betrayal, Nissa was the only person I knew and had some degree of trust in.
Despite my pleas for her to stay, Nissa offered me a reassuring smile and followed Conal from the tent, promising to return as soon as she could. Only a few more seconds had passed before another stranger appeared in the doorway.
He limped into the tent, dragging a chair behind him, and settled it onto the canvas floor before easing himself onto it. “Can't sit on the floor in these damn tents, I'm afraid,” he announced gruffly. He offered me a smile, gray eyes twinkling. “You must be Angel. I'm Jerome Harding, the doctor here in this ragtag camp.”
I nodded wordlessly, as he stretched one leg out in front of him, vigorously rubbing his thigh. When he caught me watching, he smiled. “My pack was attacked many years ago, by another group of shapeshifters, and it left me with an injury which causes me grief to this very day. A tiger shapeshifter took a lump out of my thigh, and when I shifted back, I was left with this limp and a goodly amount of pain every day. Could have been worse, I suppose, might have lost the limb altogether, but we shifters are a tough bunch.”
For a few seconds, he watched me silently after making this announcement, as though he too, hoped for some flare of recognition. When it wasn't forthcoming, he straightened up in the chair, drawing his leg back. “How are you feeling?”
I eyed him suspiciously, not willing to respond.
“Conal tells me you'd been injured, before they picked you up. I'd like to examine you if I may.” His gaze flickered over the huge bite on my wrist, where the skin was bruised and cloudy liquid oozed from the broken surface.
I shook my head vehemently, struggling to control the tremors which rippled through my body.
“No matter, it can wait. I won't force you.” The man sat forward in his seat, leaning his elbows on his legs. “Can you tell me a little about yourself?”
I dropped my gaze to the floor, rubbing a thumb in a rhythmic, agitated pattern over the back of my wrist.
“You're married to Archangelo; I'm told?”
I brushed my fingertips over the elaborate rings on my finger and nodded cautiously.
“How long have you been married? Can you tell me?”
“I— I don't know.”
One gray eyebrow rose in question, but he didn't pursue the subject. “I understand you've been very ill. I'd like to help you if I can. Can you tell me about this illness you've suffered?”
“I must go home,” I muttered. “Please, I have to go home. I need the medication; without it, I'll get sick again.”
“What symptoms do you suffer, Angel?” the doctor asked quietly. “Maybe we have something here we can give you, which will help.”
I shook my head, but I grew more desperate by the hour. I was well overdue for medication, and I feared what would happen if the voices returned. This grey-haired man seemed… gentle and kind, if a little gruff in his approach initially, but I found myself warming to him. “I hear voices,” I whispered. “I have nightmares. I hear the voices of people I don't know, and they seem to come from inside my head.”
“Do you know why that happens?” he probed gently. “Did your… husband, or the doctor who provided the medication explain it to you?”
I swallowed heavily, my throat suddenly dry. “It happens because… because of the marks put on me when I was abducted.”
Jerome watched me for a moment, his gaze intense before he spoke again. “You were abducted?”
I nodded uncertainly.
“By whom?”
He must be playing dumb. Surely, he had to know what had been done to me? “By the renegades of course… these people. That man, Conal Tremaine. He tortured me for information regarding my husband, the Fae, the plans for the assault against the city of Zaen. He tortured me by burning these marks onto my body, drove me out of my mind with dark magic.” I waved one arm at him, sure that he'd be able to see the strange silver markings which marred my skin in the morning sunlight flowing through the tent's mesh window.
He remained perfectly calm, waiting for me to settle and lower my arm, gripping my fingers together in my lap. “You remember it happening, Angel? Do you recall the abduction, what was done to you?”
Doubt filled me when I admitted the truth. “No.”
“Your husband, Archangelo. He told you what had happened to you?”
I nodded, uncertainty flooding my mind in a torrent as I considered the unspoken implication behind his words. “You're trying to trick me,” I accused.
Jerome shook his head. “No, Angel. I'm not trying to deceive you, or trick you in any way. I merely want to understand your situation, to try and help you.”
Agitated and frightened, I clambered to my feet. “No. No! I don't believe you. Please, leave me alone and let me go home! Archangelo will be worried about me!”
Jerome got to his feet, holding his hands out in front of him. “All right, Angel. I won't ask you anything more. My apologies, if I have upset you.” He picked up the chair, limping through the doorway of the tent before he stopped and turned back. “I promise you, Angel, we don't mean you any harm.”
He disappeared and I paced back and forth across the small area of the tent, the agitation growing deeper still in my chest.
Chapter 8: My name is Charlotte…
Waking swiftly the following morning, I sat up on the mattress and struggled to get my bearings. I inhaled
deeply, before lying back against the pillow and listening to the birds chirping overhead in the early morning sunlight.
I'd dreamed of Conal Tremaine. His invasion into my mind had been powerful, and intensely sensual. In the dream, he'd slipped into my tent, slowly stripping away his clothes to reveal a muscular physique. His broad shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist, and the muscle in his chest and abdomen was fascinating in its perfection. I'd craved the opportunity to run my fingers across the smoothly defined ridges.
Completely naked, he'd walked leisurely across the tent towards me, dropping to his knees and tugging the zipper down on the sleeping bag I'd been cocooned in.
Pulling the material away from my body, his hungry eyes had grazed across my naked form, tracing a path across every aspect of my body. His attention lingered at the swell of my breasts; still longer at the juncture of my thighs. Blushing furiously, I recalled the undiluted desire which burned in his black eyes.
He'd lain down beside me and I'd experienced no fear, even as he molded his body to mine, wrapping his muscled arms around my waist, and pressed himself close. He lowered his mouth to mine and I stifled a moan, opening my lips to his and willing to accept everything he offered me.
Even now, tendrils of desire snaked through my groin and I blushed furiously in the dawn light. The dream had been so real; I could still recall the sensation of his skin pressed against mine.
How could Conal Tremaine have such an effect on me? He was the enemy, the man who'd tried to kill me. Archangelo had warned me repeatedly – Conal Tremaine wouldn't be satisfied until I was dead.
Was it the truth?
Pushing thoughts of Conal from my mind, I got up, quietly locating clothing and a towel. After the dream I'd experienced, the thought of a shower was appealing. A cold one.
I came to a standstill in the middle of the tent. In my weeks with Archangelo, he had never made me feel the way one dream about Conal Tremaine had managed to do. I squirmed uncomfortably, filled with shame at the thought.
Another notion crossed my mind. The entire sum of my memories consisted of these past six weeks. Weeks in which Archangelo's 'love' had gradually morphed into a desire to dominate, bully and threaten me, descending into both physical and verbal abuse. Could Nissa be right? Was I being tricked by Archangelo, Bran, and the Drâghici? Was Queen Aethelwine part of a conspiracy to keep me drugged and compliant?
“Good morning, Angel.” Nissa rolled over and stretched, greeting me with a cautious smile. Yesterday we'd barely spoken as I'd struggled to cope with her betrayal.
“Do you truly believe them?”
Nissa sat up, pushing silky black hair back from her face. Her eyes were filled with honesty when she responded, her expression serene. “Yes, I do.”
I rubbed my fingers across the massive bruise on my forearm, where Archangelo had bitten. It looked even worse this morning, the skin around the bite red and inflamed. “Why didn't you tell me?”
Nissa huffed out a sigh of frustration. “If' I'd told you, your situation would have been even more tenuous than it was already. Bran would have increased the medication dosage, they'd have removed me from serving you, and most likely killed me. Eventually, they would have killed you. If Archangelo's abuse had escalated further, I have no doubt he would have killed you.” She paused, watching me cautiously. “I had to be certain myself, Angel. Before I could do anything, say anything – I needed to be certain that what I suspected was the truth.”
I considered her confession, clutching the clothes and towel tightly to my chest.
Nissa took my silence as an optimistic sign, standing up gracefully and striding over to stand by my side. “Angel, I did what I thought was best for you, to protect you.” Hesitantly, she squeezed my shoulder. “I don't believe these people have any intentions of harming you.” She motioned towards her blade, half-tucked below her mattress. “They didn't attempt to disarm me. Why would they allow me to keep a weapon if their intentions were to harm us?”
Her statement made sense. The first thing the renegades should have done was remove Nissa's weapon. They'd made no attempt to do so, nor had they done us any injury in the few days we'd been with them. I was apparently free to come and go as I pleased around the encampment, with only Nissa as my companion.
Inhaling sharply, staring intently at a bright spot of sunlight on the floor, the pieces began to fall into place.
I'd heard Archangelo calling the visions I'd been having 'recollections'. His innocent comment had disturbed me at the time, and now I realized he'd spoken the truth. The voices I heard, the things I saw. They were real.
Who was I?
These people knew me – yet I didn't know myself. What was my relationship with them? Who did I know among this large group of people and how did I know them? How had I met them? Where was my family? Did I have a family?
My arm throbbed painfully and I gasped, my eyes filling with tears. Archangelo had lied to me. Aethelwine had allowed the deception to proceed. The Drâghici had used me to their own ends.
“My arm hurts,” I whimpered.
“Come, Angel. Let me take you to see the doctor, Jerome,” Nissa urged. “He can help you, I'm sure.” She draped an arm around my waist, drawing me towards the tent flap as my world collapsed around me.
≈†◊◊†◊◊†◊◊†≈
Sitting on a hospital gurney, I watched in mute surprise as Doctor Harding used an item he called a Hjördis to treat the wound on my arm. My eyes widened as the deep cut began to glow and then healed over before my astounded gaze.
“All done,” he murmured, brushing his fingers across what was now a red and shiny scar. “The mark will fade in a few days.”
“How does that work?” I questioned.
He caught my eye and grinned. “Wasn't too long ago that I was asking you that very same question, Angel.”
I straightened my shoulders, angling my head defiantly when I spoke. “Perhaps you should call me Charlotte; apparently, that's my real name.”
His smile widened and his eyes shone with delight. “All right. Charlotte it is. About time too, I was having a hell of a time remembering to call you Angel.” He placed the Hjördis in his pocket and studied my still-bruised face. “I'd like to examine the rest of you, if you'd agree. I have some ointment which will assist with healing those bruises.”
With a glance at Nissa to gauge her reaction, I quietly agreed.
“Lie down, please. Let's have a look at you.”
Doing as he asked, I lay back on the gurney and watched him anxiously as he began to probe the bruising on my face and neck. Nissa moved closer, gripping my fingers in silent support and I offered her a grateful smile.
Doctor Harding was silent for a few minutes, his attention focused on the bruising on my neck. He probed the skin gently before he straightened up. “No broken bones, fortunately.” There was a split-second pause before he spoke again. “Are there other injuries?”
I nodded, my mouth and tongue suddenly dry. The extent of bruising from Archangelo's 'lovemaking' was becoming more apparent with each passing day, many areas on my body now covered in deep, plum-colored marks. There were some shallow bites across my breast and torso, and some cuts across my breasts. I would be much too embarrassed to tell him about the constant ache between my legs from Archangelo's brutal rapes.
The word echoed in my head and I realized with mounting horror, that was what it had been. Rape. Archangelo had professed to love me, pretended he was my husband, had sex with me – multiple times – when he had no right to do so.
He was the enemy.
He was the man these people had said they were fighting against, for both their lives and their freedom.
I clenched Nissa's hand, a sudden onslaught of nausea clutching at my stomach.
I'd been raped. Raped repeatedly, by a man who had lied to me. A man who'd convinced me we were bonded to one another – a man whose entire involvement in my life was based on deceit.
Wrenching aw
ay from Nissa, I began to tremble. “Excuse me,” I muttered, lurching from the gurney and stumbling away.
I made it outside, sprinting towards the makeshift shower block, clutching a hand to my mouth to hold back the meager contents of my stomach. Spying a scrubbing brush by the canvas wall, I snatched it up and stumbled into an empty shower cubicle. Beneath the spray of icy water, I stripped away my clothes in forceful movements, throwing them to the floor beneath my feet.
I felt no pain as I scraped the brush across my skin, frantically scouring at my breasts, my groin. I had to rid myself of the memory of his touch, wanted to purge the sensation of his body plundering mine.
Sobs burst from my throat when I recalled Archangelo's actions, how easily he'd manipulated me. Who was I? How did I fit in here? I scrubbed uncontrollably at my skin – wanting to erase the past weeks from my soul.
I heard movement outside, hushed conversations were conducted as I sobbed hysterically, still scrubbing unceasingly at my body. Blood began to pool with the water around my feet but I didn't care, only wanting to rid myself of the all-consuming sensation of being dirty down to my bones.
“Charlotte! Oh, my God, Charlotte!” Rowena plunged into the shower cubicle with me, gripping my arms and wrenching the brush from my hand, throwing it away. Ignoring the water which rapidly soaked her clothes, Rowena pulled me into her arms and held me close as I sobbed. “Marianne! Get Jerome!”
“Help me, please help me!” I begged, wishing I could stop the shakes wracking my body. Agitation built up, as though ants were crawling beneath my skin and making me lurch and jump uncontrollably when they bit into my flesh.
Rowena clutched me to her breast, whispering soothing words as I slumped to the floor of the shower taking her with me. My chest constricted, a torrent of pain circulating through my nervous system and I gasped, doubling over in agony. Pain sliced through every square inch of skin, each nerve ending screaming its torture.
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