Fable of Happiness Book One

by Pepper Winters

I shoved knuckles into stone and rolled onto my back at the onslaught of agony. One of my knuckles cracked, and excruciation blazed through my hand.

  However, instead of groaning in pain, I groaned in gratefulness. I kissed fresh blood trickling from a cut. I cradled the rapidly swelling appendage and sucked in untainted air.

  With practice born from self-preservation, I snatched up all the memories and hurled them back into the blackness where they belonged.

  They should never have escaped.

  I’m getting worse.

  With shaky legs, I climbed to my feet, stumbled up the steps, and ran through the kitchen to outside.

  I didn’t stop.

  I ran, and I ran.

  I ran until splinters and stitches hurt my lungs.

  And then, I ran some more.

  I circled the valley twice, I skirted the cave, I followed the river, and by the time the sun slipped from morning to afternoon, I fell to my ass in the wild grass meadow and flopped onto my back, breathless, wrung out, and more wretched than I’d been since that first year of living on my own.

  Why now?

  Why had my chosen amnesia faltered?

  Her.

  That’s why.

  I didn’t move as the sun cast me in heat, drying my sweat and burning my exposed skin. I wanted to forget the past few days. I wished I could erase any and all moments where a girl had trespassed, offered herself to me, and then successfully ripped open my carefully patched-up wounds.

  Damn her.

  Screw every person who ever existed.

  I didn’t need anyone.

  I didn’t want anyone.

  And I definitely don’t want her.

  Forgetfulness was the only way I could survive. I fucking refused to live in fear of what was inside my head. Not for anyone.

  Releasing a tattered breath, I sat up and picked a piece of long grass. Chewing the sweet tartness from the stem, I scowled at the mansion before me. At the ivy dripping from the roof, at the flowers growing in the gutters, at the stonework that had once housed sex and screams and now echoed with its crimes.

  She’s still in there.

  I dropped my stare to the ground, trying to see through soil and concrete to the prisoner who’d made me touch myself.

  I thought I could do this. That I could give in to sex after hiding from it for so long and not stir up the hornet’s nest inside my fragmented mind.

  Fucking stupid really.

  I should know better.

  And you know what you need to do then, right?

  I couldn’t keep her.

  Sex for me would forever be tainted. It was better for everyone if I abstained for the rest of my life. If I had to choose between pleasure and insanity or celibacy and forgetfulness, then I would choose a blank memory each time.

  In a couple of years, all of this nonsense would be forgotten. I wouldn’t remember a girl with strength in her arms and seduction in her eyes. I wouldn’t recall her name or how her tongue felt on my cock.

  She would be yet another hollow void inside me, keeping me safe from my past.

  Get it over with.

  Pushing to my feet, I curled my hands.

  No more procrastinating.

  Today was her last day. No more favors. No more surviving.

  I’m done.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WHEN THE DOOR OPENED, I knew something had changed.

  There was no lust in his eyes. No food in his hands. No challenge or dominance in the way he stepped over the threshold.

  There was only acceptance, grim determination, and a coldness that slinked through the air and settled like frost upon my skin.

  “Get up.” He waved his hand as if through sheer will he could levitate me to my feet.

  I sucked in a breath at the emptiness in his tone. His long hair hung damply to his shoulders. His bare feet were dusty and smudged, while his slacks were stained with pollen and wherever else he’d been. His chest was naked, revealing glistening sweat and the undeniable scent of a male who’d been physically active.

  Pushing to my feet, I dropped my gaze to his hands. One looked bruised with a fresh scab that’d barely stopped bleeding. On instinct, I stepped toward him. “What happened to your hand?”

  He grunted and backed up. “Doesn’t matter.” Stepping aside, he pointed at the open door. “Ladies first.”

  Undiluted fear injected into my veins. “Where...where are you taking me?”

  His forehead furrowed, and he shook his head as if his patience regarding me had run out. “You wanted sunlight. I’m giving you sunlight.”

  I didn’t move. “You’re taking me to a bedroom upstairs?”

  He swallowed, his throat moving with sinew and power. “No.”

  “To the library?”

  “No.”

  “To the living room?”

  “No.” Crossing his arms, his nostrils flared. “Move. We’re running out of time.”

  Goosebumps prickled and stayed on high alert as his biceps bunched. He attempted to look unruffled and unaffected, but he’d forgotten I could read him well. And beneath his masked deception lurked the truth. The jumpy adrenaline. The twitchy need to get whatever this was over and done with.

  He hasn’t asked for a sexual favor. He hasn’t given me the option to serve and survive another day.

  More ice layered the frost already on my skin.

  He’s finished with this.

  With me.

  How I knew, I didn’t fully understand. Was it in the torment in his eyes? Was it in the tension in his body? He’d changed, and there was no hint of the man who’d fed me, almost kissed me, and sometimes showed a heartbreakingly vulnerable pain buried deep within.

  This man was locked and chained. His silvery scars seemed to shimmer in the light, bringing forth persecution instead of pleasure.

  I backed against the wall. “On second thought, I’ll stay. Tomorrow, once you’ve gotten some sleep, perhaps—”

  “Not tomorrow. Today.” He snapped his fingers. “Come.” Striding toward me, he bared his teeth. “You only have two choices. Walk out of here by your own free will or be dragged out by your hair.”

  I froze. My eyes tangled with his, searching, seeking, desperately trying to understand where our little deal had gone wrong. “Did I do something to offend you?”

  He chuckled blackly. “Of course. Your very presence offends me.”

  I flinched. “Yet you came quite happily by my hand...and my mouth.”

  His eyes turned dark; his brow lowered. “Two mistakes I’m about to rectify.”

  “I’m not a mistake. I’m real. I’m human. I have a heartbeat. A home. A family!”

  “And I used to have those things.” He shrugged. “Didn’t stop bad things from happening to me.” Reaching out, he grabbed my wrist.

  I snatched it out of his hold. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Then do as I say.” Stepping away, he pointed at the door again. “Move.”

  I moved.

  If only to give myself time to figure out what the hell had happened.

  Keep him talking.

  As I stepped from the cell, my back crawled as he followed on my heels. Glancing over my shoulder, I asked, “Where did you go before? I was prepared to do what you asked. I ate the food you gave me and I’m grateful. I’m grateful enough that I would’ve pleasured you—”

  “Enough.” He winced and worked out his bruised and bleeding hand.

  “What happened?”

  He scowled. “I was reminded of something.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of why I like to live alone.”

  “No one should live alone. I live alone, and it sucks.”

  He looked up, catching my stare. “I should. I did. And I will again.”

  My heart lurched. “What does that mean?”

  He didn’t reply, waiting for me to scale the steps before pointing down the hallway to the kitchen. My knees quaked as I went where he directed. Common se
nse told me it’d only been a few days since I’d entered this house, but somehow, it felt as if a year had gone by. As if the kitchen was an old friend and the threshold was a hug from the last piece of safety I’d ever know.

  “Get outside.” His anger pushed me forward.

  As my socked feet stepped from inside to out and daisies crushed beneath my soles, the scrape of metal on stone ripped my head around.

  Oh, shit.

  “Hey...wait.” I held up my hands, backing away as fast as I could. “Please. You said you wouldn’t. You agreed.”

  He hefted the heavy shovel in his hands. “I agreed to a day-by-day basis. Yesterday, it pleased me to keep you alive. Today, it does not.” The tonelessness of his voice petrified me.

  It was as if he’d buried every part of himself that made him care. He looked trapped. Utterly, horribly trapped and controlled by things he couldn’t break free of.

  Even now, even when faced with my murderer, I suffered a pang of sympathy.

  I spread my arms as if to embrace him—cruelty and confusion and all. “You want to be alone again? Okay. Fine, I’ll leave. Right now. You’ll never have to see me or anyone else again.”

  “You’re determined. I’ll give you that.” He squeezed his eyes closed as if my voice physically hurt him. “But you’re not leaving. Not by your method, at least.” Opening his gaze, he pointed the shovel in my face. “Now, walk. Get away from my house.”

  My heart tripped over itself in panic. “Please...whatever your name is. Please, don’t do this.” God, why hadn’t I pushed for his name? Why didn’t I try harder to connect with him? He needed connection. He needed something.

  He needs help.

  “Walk.” Striding toward me, he pushed the edge of the shovel into my chest. “Enjoy the sun. Look upon my valley. Don’t spend your last moments begging.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes as he pushed my shoulder to spin me around, then shoved me forward.

  I stumbled but didn’t fall.

  The blade of the shovel bit into my shoulder blades, marching me ahead.

  I had no choice.

  I let him push me to my death.

  Think!

  Don’t let him do this!

  I sniffed back tears and shoved away panic, embracing the clearheadedness of certainty. This time, I didn’t doubt that he would kill me. Passion didn’t direct this. Rage didn’t conduct his actions.

  This was him, drowning beneath madness, and I wouldn’t be able to negotiate or plead. Sex wouldn’t change his mind. Conversation would most likely make him snap.

  It’s over, Gem.

  I balled my hands.

  It’s not over.

  Not yet.

  My mind whirled with options.

  Self-defense classes shook off cobwebs and shot back into memory. I’d been good. I’d been strong. If I could tackle him and take him by surprise, I might earn enough time to run.

  Looking past the swaying fields of grass, beyond the trees ringing the clearing of the house, I focused on the cliff face. The same cliff I’d stupidly descended into this nightmare.

  If I can get to that, I can vanish.

  I doubted he could climb, and even if he could, he wouldn’t have the stamina that I’d built up over the years, nor the swiftness that came from training a body to have muscles where others only had weaknesses.

  My index fingers could hold my entire body weight. My foot could anchor me on a precipice with just my toes. If it took every ounce of effort and every trick I could muster, I would commit because this was my life.

  And I’m not willing to give it up.

  The house grew smaller behind us. The river became louder the closer we went. Late afternoon sunshine beat down upon us, its heat welcome but also mocking. Sweat beaded on my spine and slicked between my breasts, my pulse whizzing with adrenaline.

  This was my last chance. My boots were still in the bathroom from where he’d carried me after my shower. The borrowed sweater and slacks I wore were more suited for a decadent dinner instead of rock climbing away from a monster.

  I had no supplies, no PLB, nothing but my eagerness to return home and get as far away from this valley as possible.

  And that’s enough.

  It has to be.

  Shadows fell over us as he pushed me into a thicket of trees. Deeper and deeper, the sounds of wildlife slowly faded the farther from sunlight we went.

  Only once we reached a patch of earth where nothing grew—no trees, no flowers, not even a dandelion—did he drop the shovel from my shoulder blades and growl, “Stop.”

  I stopped.

  I sucked in a breath.

  I turned to face him.

  Bracing myself, I let viciousness overcome me. I wasn’t naturally a fighter. I didn’t like arguments and preferred to swallow my opinions instead of getting into a debate. However, this time, I would break every bone in his body if it meant he’d stop threatening me.

  Tenacity made me try to appeal to him one last time. “Listen to me. Know me. I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again. My name is Gemma Ashford. I have a baby brother who I adore, and we lost our father a few years ago. My mother doesn’t understand me, and I struggle to find genuine friends. I live alone in a house I love, but I sometimes get so lonely I would rather get lost in a national park than sit by myself for another night. That’s how I found you. I followed a ribboned track that looked aged and afraid and just as lonely as me.”

  “Quiet.” He pinched the bridge of his nose before tossing me the shovel and pointing at the ground. “Dig.”

  I caught it, wrapping shaking fingers around the wooden handle. “I get loneliness, you know. I know what it’s like to create habits that don’t work around others. I know how hard it is to let someone in because you think, once you do, that the loneliness will be a thousand times worse when they’re gone.”

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me!”

  “You’re right.” I nodded, clinging to the shovel. “I don’t. But I could...if you told me. If you stopped being such a bastard and saw that, despite how you’ve treated me, regardless of your abuse, I’m still open to understanding.”

  He marched into me, his hand swooping toward my throat.

  I didn’t let him get purchase. Not a third time. He would not be strangling me today. Dancing backward, I held up the shovel as a weapon. “Give me your name.”

  “I don’t have a name.” He crouched into a predator stance. A hunter ready to pounce. “I suggest you dig. Now.”

  I shoved back hair that’d swung forward and stuck to my cheek. “You expect me to dig my own grave?”

  “I expect you to do what you’re told.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  His lips spread into a thin grimace. “Then I guess I’ll be the one digging.”

  I looked down at my feet. At the barren land and the aura of death. “Is that what this place is? A tomb for whoever used to live in that house with you?”

  He stiffened. “You think me capable of killing everyone I come into contact with?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He cocked his head. “If you’re so sure of what I am, then why are you still trying to talk to me? Why are you still being nice?” He raked both hands through his hair, swiping the long wildness behind his ears. “You say you’re lonely. You try to use your own experiences to convince me to open up to you. But what you’re not following is, I have nothing to confess. I have nothing I want to share with you—mentally or physically. I like being alone. I like silence because silence is safe. And you?” He laughed icily, unable to hide the pain lying beneath. Pain that took my breath away. “You fuck all of that up. I have no silence. I have no safety. And I’m done.”

  He sprung.

  Instinct took over.

  I parried to the side and raised the shovel.

  Bowling into me, he tried to tackle me to the earth. If I hadn’t refreshed myself on self-defense moves, I would’ve fallen and been his before I hit
the ground. Instead, I let muscle memory take over.

  I rolled with him.

  I kicked out my leg and struck his thigh, sending him collapsing onto his back. His hands reached for my throat, throwing his whole weight at me. My hands clutched the shovel. In a sharp twist, I wrapped my legs around his torso and spun upward instead of letting him pin me into the dirt.

  He didn’t get my throat, but he did snatch my arms.

  That connection sent shockwaves through both of us.

  My legs spasmed around his waist.

  Electricity struck us as if a lightning bolt had shot from the sun.

  For a second, everything stopped.

  Nothing else mattered.

  Only shock and lust and pain.

  So much fucking pain.

  We were a collision.

  A disturbed, confused, broken demolishment of everything that we’d been before this.

  This.

  Oh, God.

  What is this?

  Shock widened his eyes, mirroring mine. We quaked as we paused in our fight. Our bodies trembled as if we hummed at the same bone-breaking frequency. His heart pounded into mine, drilling its way into my chest, trying to understand what the hell was happening.

  Black desire drenched him as his hands turned hot against my skin, digging into my biceps as the icy madness left his stare, unable to hide the complex depth he hid.

  My core went wet.

  My heart went wild.

  I wanted him as much as I wanted to be free.

  Apologies once again glowed in his dark gaze. Awe and fascination, interest and fear all morphed together and painted his face with the truth.

  Each flicker of emotion sliced and diced me. It corrupted my mind from hurting him to helping him. Helping the man intending to kill me.

  Gem!

  Stop it!

  His hips rocked up, sending more blood-scorching currents through me. I matched his rock, sitting heavier on him, disgusted with myself that I could fight him but not me.

  A hoarse groan escaped him.

  I sucked in a breath.

  For a split second, his lips parted, and his hands came up to cup my face. His thumbs traced my cheekbones with the most exquisite reverence and care. His eyes dropped to my lips. His throat worked as he swallowed. The tightness in his body melted into need.

  And it affected me.