by Zoe Forward
From the way he simply stared at her, she guessed yes.
The silence was killing her. “What’s going on here?”
“No fucking idea.” He muttered something under his breath that she couldn’t make out.
He stepped toward her and slid a finger under her chin to tilt her face upward. Their eyes met and held. “I’m sorry someone hurt you. That you had to fight for your life and went through a windshield.” In a whisper, he added, “I should’ve been there.”
The grit in his voice, the despair, as if he’d let her down, packed one hell of a punch.
What was she supposed to do with that?
Oh dear…God. His hold on her face, how his thumb gently stroked over the skin on her jaw…
How he moved in so she could feel the hard surfaces of his body, the concrete chest and abs…
All of it swirled together, turning her mind to mush, which was bad when she needed to remain alert. Death…her death was on the line. But she was about to make a very bad decision to let him do whatever the hell he wanted after that declaration.
“I made a promise to erase Dom’s kiss. To make you forget. I never go back on my promises.”
Like his promise to help her get answers?
He didn’t lower his head, but stood there, hesitant. “You’re too hurt right now.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She slid her good hand up his shoulders and neck. His muscles twitched under her touch, and his chest rose and fell more rapidly. Feeling how much just her hand on him affected him encouraged her to continue. Cradling the back of his head, she pressed her body into his. As she pulled him toward her mouth, his incredible size and power registered but didn’t intimidate. Didn’t scare her.
Her mouth touched his. Warmth on warmth. Once… Twice… Three times. His lips were a lot softer than they appeared. The roughness of his facial scruff scratched her skin.
He did nothing in return. She couldn’t force him to act.
She began to pull away, but one of his hands spanned the back of her neck, keeping her in place. Then his lips moved over hers, at first tentative with the lightest touch as if he expected hell and damnation to rain down. Then he pressed in for a real kiss, pulling her tight to him until every possible part of his hard body made contact with hers.
Wow. Oh wow. She forgot about all external pain. Electricity shot through her. This was a kiss.
He moved his hands to either side of her face. Her heart swelled from how much the move made her feel cherished. This wasn’t the move of a spy-assassin-killer about to ram a knife in her gut. His mouth returned to hers and moved down her neck to her shoulder to lick over one of her wounds. “Your beautiful skin this damaged makes me furious. If that asshole wasn’t dead, I’d rip him to shreds.”
Chills skirted along her skin.
She sifted her fingers through his roguish hair, raking her nails over his scalp and digging in. Her body bowed toward him.
He grabbed his left arm to cradle it into his body, putting a wedge between them. On a sharp hiss, he rolled away from her to have his back against the wall. His breaths came in short, choppy gasps. She could’ve sworn he cursed under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Intuitively, she felt something dark trying to influence him. She scrutinized the tattooed band around his wrist, unclear how it worked. “Who exactly are you cursed to serve and why would they care about me?”
He held up his hand to stop her approach. “Need…gimme a sec.” Two short inhales. “Don’t come close.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m now under orders to kill you.” He groaned and stared heavenward. “Fuck.”
“The curse…it’s punishing you?” She stared, fixated on the tattooed band around the wrist on the arm he held. “Are you going to attack me now that you made good on your promise?”
He dropped his head and tugged in three short breaths while rolling his head back and forth.
Yet, she didn’t move. Her body readied with tension to fight.
He wheezed out, “No. Not now. Promised…swore to help you. Want to keep you safe.” He sucked in a sharp breath and bucked forward.
“How does it work? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
She opened her mouth to speak but bit back the accusation he wasn’t fine.
Danger flashed over and over in her mind. Her muscles tightened as she strained to be attentive to his every breath, every move. Yet, he remained in place.
“I’m good. Swear,” he said, eyes closed.
“Okay,” she said sarcastically. “I’m going to sit down over there on the sofa. Because I went through a windshield, and I haven’t slept in a long time. And you don’t look like you have it entirely under control.”
She collapsed on the sofa in front of the TV, slumping until she could rest her head against its back. Fatigue hounded her to close her eyes.
He’d been ordered to kill her. Stay awake. Watch him.
Buuut…this was Roman. Who just kissed her. Who had promised to help her. He wasn’t a person who went back on promises.
In the small amount of time she’d spent with him, she realized Dom was right. Honor dictated his life. He promised to help her and he’d live up to it. How much would the curse punish him for doing so, though, since it was at odds with his orders? She watched him out of her peripheral vision. When he sat stiffly on the other side of the sofa in silence, she lolled her head to stare at him. Strain paled the crinkles around his eyes. His gaze turned to meet hers.
“I’m sorry; it’s my fault the curse is hurting you,” she said.
“This isn’t your fault. There’s a lot going on that you’re somehow wrapped up in, but I haven’t figured it all out yet. What I do know is none of this is your doing.” His pupils dilated as his gaze dropped to her lips, likely replaying their kiss in his head just like she was.
Inappropriately, humor bubbled out of her. “Kill order aside, you think I’m hot. It’s okay to admit it. Guys like you who are into clandestine bullshit like girls who can hold their own. I’m an irresistible badass. I got your number.” She reached over to put her hand over his. His entire body tensed. “I think you’re hot as hell, too. What did I do in my past that makes it necessary for me to die?”
He continued to stare at her without responding, but he rotated his wrist to interlace his fingers with hers.
“I’d like some sort of explanation,” she said. “I’d like to understand something about my life. Like how someone found me here and why he tried to abduct me. Why didn’t he simply kill me? Was he transporting me for some reason? Do I know something important?” The memory loss headache blossomed.
Roman’s stoic mask fell, and his brows dropped low. He leaned close to trace the scabbed glass cuts on her face with his index finger. “I like that you’re a fighter and killed the asshole. Do these hurt?”
“Not so much anymore.” She liked that he liked that about her. “You’ve got to knock it off. Stop looking at me like that, or I’ll kiss you again.”
He rotated her wrist and touched the tattoo of his name in a gentle, respectful way that sent shivers up her arm. “I like that this is here.”
She reached out and traced the wrinkles at the corner of his right eye. “Who are you, Roman? Why is someone as powerful as you curse-bound to humans? Who are you cursed to serve?”
His eyes darkened.
“Does me touching you hurt? I’ll stop.” She pulled her hand out of his clasp and fingers away from his eye.
“I’m…okay.” It came out shaky. “My brothers and I were tricked about forty years ago and cursed into serving the reigning monarch of England. I must do his or her bidding for eternity. We’re required to fight inhuman threats to humanity.”
“You were forced into the
curse?”
“It wasn’t by choice. Initially we agreed helping the monarch sounded reasonable, but then a witch twisted our vow of assistance to curse bound us to the Crown.”
“That sucks. Bet you hate being told what to do by some entitled snob.” She clasped her hands tightly together to avoid tracing the ridges of his forearm muscles. She wanted to feel their strength beneath her fingertips and follow the inked lines representing light or sunrays up the forearm closest to her. Looked like two small feet clad in armor poked out from the sleeve of his T-shirt, perhaps a person kneeling.
His lips twitched into a tentative smile. “The king asked that I kill you. Actually, there wasn’t any asking. He ordered I do it without asking questions, even though he thinks you’re human, which violates our accord, since I only eliminate Britain’s inhuman threats. My handler knows you’re lycan. So that means the order holds. You seem to have assassinated a few people, and the king feels he’s next on your list.”
“Maybe I was a super spy, too, or an assassin. I do have these kickass fighting skills. But I couldn’t even tell you what your king looks like. There’s nothing in my head about him one way or another.” She shrugged.
“Dom said you have no memory. He’s never wrong. The fact he likes you means you have a purpose in this world. But I…” He buried his head in his hands. “If I disobey…if we disobey, the curse hurts me. It might kill me.” He held up his hand that had a tattoo band. “I often wonder if I cut off my arm at the wrist, under the tattoo that witch put on me, if I’d be free.”
“Wouldn’t recommend that. Curses don’t work that way.” She froze, eyes wide. “Wow, I just remembered that. I feel pretty sure it’ll burn a new band into your skin above your hacked-off nub.”
“Bad imagery. No limb hacking. Got it.”
His humor had her almost smiling. “Have you tried to get the curse lifted?”
“Uh, yeah.” He gave her a wide-eyed silent “of course.” He said, “You think we haven’t tried everything and consulted with everyone? The king has got a solid hand on my choke chain.”
Unable to resist, she leaned in and lifted the edge of his short sleeve to see the tattooed image. A kneeling angel. But not a normal angel. Battle armor covered the figure’s body to the point its head and face were hidden by a Medieval-looking metal helmet. Its wings lifted upward to Roman’s shoulder. She traced the long sword gripped in the angel’s right hand and a small pendant in its left hand. “This is incredible work. The detail is almost impossibly perfect.”
That pendant looked the same as the one he wore…
She reached for the two that hung on strong chains around his neck, knowing this was a bit of an overstep on her part, but she had to know. She’d seen them briefly while on the plane when he bent over to pick something up. His breath caught when her hand slid across the warm skin of his chest. A quick glance up for his permission found his eyelids had dropped to half-mast and his mouth parted.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You can look.”
A bronze pendant had the image of an angel; perhaps the one in the tattoo. The other had the same symbol as that on the pendant the angel held in its left hand, a circle in the center of a stylized star. To its right were flames, but to the left of the circle was water. She released the pendants, muttering, “Sorry. Had to know.”
He glanced down at the ink on his arm and back to her, tipping his head to the side. “Not everyone can see that tattoo. None pick up that he’s holding my hexenspiegel, which protects me from spells.”
“It’s kind of hard to miss the tattoo since it takes up most of your upper arm.” Her finger tingled when she touched the image again, sensing its energy. Unlike the curse band, this energy was positive, almost comforting…protective. She whispered, “It’s not a normal tattoo, aside from the fact that not everyone can see it.”
“It’s not.”
“Is it somehow magical? Not like the curse, but different?”
“I didn’t choose to have it inked on me.” He ran a pointer finger across the angel’s face. “After the first time I worked with one of God’s angels, it appeared.”
“A guardian angel chose you?” Wonder suffused her voice. “Why can’t everyone see the tattoo?”
“I’m not entirely sure since it’s only been there about two years. Those who intend to harm me can’t see it.”
“A guardian angel…incredible. What’s a hexenspiegel? I feel like I should know but I can’t…” She dropped her gaze. “Remember.”
He twisted the star pendant. “They reflect away evil energy or omens and can send the negative energy back to the sender. Simple version is they protect me against spells.”
“It didn’t protect you against the curse?”
“The curse happened before I was smart enough to wear one all the time. I’m also pretty sure it wouldn’t have been powerful enough to protect against this particular curse.”
“Why do you think all of this happening?”
He stared at her as if looking into her soul then reached up and moved his thumb across her cheek. “I don’t know. We need to understand more about you to figure this out. For starters, who trained you? The fighting skills you have aren’t typical for a female of our species. Most are closeted under heavy guard and coddled. There aren’t very many of you left, which makes the entire species paranoid of extinction if they don’t impose lockdown at all times. According to the Council, it’s blasphemy to consider training you to fight. I don’t agree with them. It’s machismo horseshit on their part, at least from my perspective.”
“So I’m an anomaly?”
“On many levels. Magic. Fighting skills. Being alone without your family. I suspect your family probably isn’t plugged in to the Council or regular lycan society.”
“For whatever I did in the past, do you think I deserve to die? That I might revert to that?”
He sucked in a startled breath. His body bowed over and he massaged his wrist while gritting out, “No. Fuck, I hate this curse.” He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling. As if talking to some deity in the heavens, he said, “She can see the tattoo. That’s got to mean something.”
His suffering tore at her with desperation to help him. She could tell this was a guy who’d grit and bear most pain without any outward sign. So this had to be serious hurt.
“What’s it doing to you?” she asked.
He rubbed his wrist harder and breathed short choppy breaths. His dark hair fell over his brow.
She said, “When you go against your orders the curse punishes you?”
Roman’s eyelids squeezed shut as he gulped as if he couldn’t breathe. Between gasps, he said, “Have to do what the Crown orders.”
Maybe talking would distract him from the pain. She moved toward him on instinct to comfort him but stopped before she touched him. What if her touch hurt him worse? “Can I do anything?”
He shook his head and clasped his trembling hands together. He bowed his head and breathed shallowly. “It’s their way of controlling me. If I don’t do what they order…”
“I’m sorry. Would it help if I left?”
“I’d be forced to chase you.”
“I don’t know what to do.” She hated this for him.
“Are you going to kill the king?”
“I don’t have any terrorist or assassination plans right now that I know of. Maybe the old me was evil. You tell me. Did you find out something?”
He shook his head. Color returned to his face. “Nothing solid yet.”
They sat in silence while his breathing slowly improved.
She waved at the TV. “You mind if I watch the news? To see if the wreck made headlines?”
“Sure.” He said it tentatively, as if not sure what to expect next.
She flipped on the TV. They watched various news channels in silence. Nothing a
bout her as an international wanted person. “Why do you think someone tried to kidnap me?”
“Might’ve been a contract killer the king hired.”
A contract killer? That meant there’d be more. Not good.
She fidgeted, too aware of him next to her. “I can feel you staring at me.” She didn’t look his way.
“Did you really go through the windshield?”
“I don’t recommend it. The bastard also shot me in the arm. The one opposite yesterday.” She clasped her hands in her lap to hold them steady and hide their tremble. A side-glance confirmed he still stared.
“Let me see.” He leaned toward her.
“The bullet went through. I’m 100 percent sure it’ll heal like the one before.” She rolled up her sleeve to show that wound entirely gone. “Guess I was aiming for symmetrical scars, but doesn’t look like I scar. It doesn’t hurt very much anymore.” She waved him off. Nervous about his closeness, she wanted space. She needed to think. “You okay if I shower? I promise not to bolt through the window.” She stared at the bathroom. “I want the blood off.”
“Go.” His facial expression didn’t deviate from its closed glower. He had to be fighting his own demons like regretting the kiss and denying the order to kill her.
Nova stood in front of the vanity mirror in the bathroom, shaking. Bile rose in her throat as she stared at the monstrous image of herself. Her face looked more like a badly done cross-stitch project than someone real.
She pressed her fingers into her eyes, stemming the flow of tears. She wasn’t going to do this. No falling apart. She was alive. Anyone else, anyone human, would’ve died. She should be grateful for the miracle given to her. The damage would heal—faster than a human, maybe by morning. Incredible.
These tears weren’t entirely about the damage. She fought back the terror of being alone, and of remembering nothing. At this point, the chance of spontaneous return of memory was zero percent. Utterly alone, with no chance to recall anyone or anything of importance.