I wonder what the ambitious parents and their progeny would think if they had any idea of the truth beneath the identity that Ian arranged for me. Would they recoil in horror or would they be too blinded by the glare of the McClellan diamonds to care?
Not that it matters. The only man I can bear to think of in such intimate terms is--
Here.
My head turns in response to an attraction that my body acknowledges even before my conscious mind is aware of it. I glance around quickly, certain that I must be wrong. The Crystal Ball is exactly the sort of event that Ian stays away from.
At first, I see nothing apart from the mass of people. But then the crowd shifts enough to give me a clear view across the ballroom. I catch a glimpse of a head towering inches above smaller men, dark brown hair shot through with shards of gold, the sweep of broad, muscled shoulders tapering into a powerful back and--
My reaction is visceral. In an instant, the tempo of my heart increases. I am swept by a wave of heat that makes me belatedly aware of how cold I have felt throughout these long, empty days and nights. Shamelessly, I drink in the sight of him even as my thoughts tumble over each other.
Does his presence mean that the threat from the HPF is over? If that’s the case, I’m immensely relieved that he’s no longer putting himself in danger for my sake. But why would he choose to attend the Crystal Ball? Does he have a fondness for dancing that I don’t know about? Nervous laughter bubbles up in me at that thought. I press my lips together tightly.
Unlike many of the men, he is conservatively dressed in formal eveningwear, the black waistcoat and trousers contrasting with the ivory slash of his shirt, dove gray tie and matching waistcoat. The veneer of elegance suits him yet it is also at odds with the aura of barely contained power that he exudes. I cannot bring myself to look away from him.
“Is everything all right, dear?” my grandmother asks. Her beautiful face creases with concern. She follows the direction of my gaze and immediately brightens. “Oh, good, Helene and Marianne are here. Let’s go say ‘hello’.” She grasps my hand, intent on drawing me along.
“No!” I pull back sharply, fighting to control myself. At her startled look, I say more softly, “That is, you go. I’ll join you…later.” Much later as in never. My single greatest goal for the evening has just become to avoid contact with Ian for his own sake. There is nothing I yearn for more except to be with him, held by him, my breath filled with his, his mouth claiming me and his--
“You look flushed,” Edward says, glancing down at me. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s the heat,” I blurt even though the temperature inside the Crystal Palace is perfect. It would never be allowed to be anything else. “I’m just going to--” I gesture vaguely toward where I think the ladies’ room may be.
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll hold off the hordes of your would-be dance partners as long as I can but hurry back.”
With a nod that in no way expresses my true intentions, I flee. I can’t get away quickly enough even though there is really nowhere for me to go. I could hike across the park to the house but as secure as the park supposedly is, I’m not about to do that while weighted down with enough diamonds to buy a small country. Not to mention all the concern I’d cause Edward and Adele if I suddenly disappeared.
I just need a few minutes to myself. Ian may only be putting in a token appearance with the intention of leaving shortly. But even if he plans on remaining all the way through to the grand finale fireworks, the Crystal Palace is huge and it’s filled with hundreds of people. There’s no reason for our paths to cross.
A sudden thought occurs to me. What if he isn’t here alone? What if he’s with a companion? That debutante people were whispering he might be interested in, or the divorcee, the one who’s rumored to be into light bondage? The bolt of jealousy ignited by the thought of Ian with another woman makes me reel. The lights are suddenly too bright, the sounds too piercing. Colors swirl behind my eyes. My vision begins to blur around the edges as dizziness threatens.
Forgetting the ladies’ room, I push my way against the crowd toward the main doors. The sharp edge of panic is building inside me. I taste metal and realize that I’ve bitten my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
The physical pain is of no consequence but the emotional… That’s entirely different. I blink back tears as it occurs to me that not long ago I was afraid that I had no will of my own. As it turns out, I needn’t have worried. I’m perfectly capable of getting furiously angry at Ian, disobeying him without a single qualm, saying ‘no’ to him, arguing with him, and even sending him away. What I can’t do is stop longing for him. Logic, I’m realizing, has little part to play in human relationships. The heart wants what it wants, devoid of reason or sense.
Outside, I quickly move away from the guests who are still arriving. I’m not paying much attention to where I’m going until I realize that I’m standing beside the reflecting pool. By the time I notice, it’s too late. The dizziness returns with a vengeance, hurtling me into another agonizing memory.
The white-coated technicians are priming their machines. Soon the pain will begin. I open my mouth to scream but my throat is paralyzed. Panic strikes and I struggle to breathe only to realize that I can’t. I have never taken a breath, never eaten, hardly moved of my own volition. My body is maintained. My mind is left to fend for itself. As for my heart…
Where do the people go when they aren’t on the other side of the glass walls? Where am I when I am not awake to see them?
Time passes, moments merging one into another. Suddenly, in a flicker, there are more beings on the other side of the glass, many more, working intently. So many, so busy that I try to brace myself for the agony that is to come. It does but not in any way I could expect.
Motion--I am moving!
Different walls surround me, a room I have never seen before but I hardly notice.
The level of liquid in my chamber is suddenly dropping. Terror fills me. How can I exist without the medium that has sustained me all this time?
I begin to thrash and am restrained. A tube is forced down my throat. Air fills my lungs for the first time.
Light unfiltered by fluid strikes my eyes. Sounds assail me…the murmur of voices, the beep of machinery…
I am strapped down on a hard surface. Something that I can’t see is attached to my head. Pain and fear are so much my normal companions that I hardly notice them anymore. But suddenly there is more…much more…something faint, elusive, growing…
Someone.
Awareness explodes within me. For the first time, I have words and with them a flood of concepts and ideas that they illuminate. From all that, my mind forms a single, transforming thought:
I.
I exist. I am.
I blink and Ian is coming toward me out of the shadows. His stride is steady, his eyes intent. The world is falling away before me. I reach out frantically, feeling the brush of his fingers, the touch of his breath in the moment before hope slips from my grasp and I plummet into drowning darkness.
Chapter Four
Ian
“Amelia!”
I lunge forward as she’s about to fall into the reflecting pool. All the breath goes out of me. What the hell? Edward told me she was all right, back to classes with the damn Russian and the usual social round. I wasn’t going to follow her when I saw her leaving the ball but she looked upset and I couldn’t stop myself--
Several of my men are converging out of the shadows. I order them off with a jerk of my head and carry her to a stone bench far enough away from the entrance that the guests who are still arriving won’t see us.
Her face is pale against my shoulder, the delicate fringe of her lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. I can barely feel the faint rise and fall of her breath. She was always slender but now she’s too damn light. I mutter a curse and sit down, holding her on my lap.
“Amelia, sweetheart, wake up.” I can hear the fear in my vo
ice. What if there’s really something wrong? She’s been going flat out ever since she awoke, thanks in no small measure to me. Could sensory overload have done this to her? What if she doesn’t wake up? Everyone who knew squat about the customization protocols used when she was imprinted got vaporized when the Institute was destroyed by the HPF. Where will I find someone to help her? I should have known better. Should have taken better care of her. She was entrusted to me and all I’ve done is--
Her lashes flutter. She stirs in my arms. Relief hits me so hard that I gasp, sucking in air. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down.
She makes a soft sound and opens her eyes. For a moment, they’re filled with confusion but then she focuses on me. At once, she stiffens.
“Ian--”
Yeah, Ian. The guy who fucked you with cold calculation while he told you about the demons that urge him to forget that you’re a thinking, feeling human being and use you like the possession that the law says you are.
That guy.
I still have nightmares about the Club, something I didn’t tell her. Lately, they’ve gotten a hell of a lot worse because she’s in them.
“It’s all right,” I say quickly. “I’ll let you go in a second. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
Her hand grips the lapel of my evening jacket. “Don’t,” she murmurs.
Don’t what? Hold her? Talk to her? What?
“Don’t let go.”
Oh, shit. It’s hard enough to hold on to my resolve where she’s concerned without her giving me any excuse not to.
“Just for a minute,” Amelia murmurs. “That’s all. I just need to--” A shudder runs through her.
I can’t help myself. My arms tighten around her. I touch my lips to her forehead as I inhale the unique, arousing scent of pure Amelia. She feels so fragile in my arms but I don’t doubt her strength and courage any more than I do her passionate, honest, and giving nature. She’s generous to a fault. She certainly has been with me and apparently still is given that she isn’t pushing me away, screaming bloody murder, and demanding that I never come near her again. After ten days without her, it’s all I can do not to carry her farther into the park, find a secluded spot and--
“Need to what, sweetheart?”
She doesn’t answer, only presses closer to me. I’m savoring the feel of her, not even trying any more to figure out what’s going on, when she gives a soft sigh.
I know that I have to put a stop to this. There’s no question about that. Life can be murky as hell but where she’s concerned right and wrong are so clear that the blinding clarity feels like an ice pick straight through my skull.
Let her go.
Simple, no brainer. Besides, I already did that when I told her the truth about myself and walked away from her.
There’s no going back from that. Is there?
I look down and see my hand wrapped around her wrist. How the hell did it get there?
Her bones feel so delicate under my fingers. At least I’m not squeezing, just holding lightly. I’ve got that much control left, although I can’t say how much longer even that will last.
The light of the floating lanterns, falling across her face, reveals a small injury to her lower lip.
“You’re hurt.” My voice is unintentionally harsh. I wince at the sound of it. The last thing I want to do is frighten her. The mere thought of doing so is like a knife twisting in me.
The tip of her tongue touches her lip for just an instant. A flare of heat moves through me.
“It’s nothing,” she says softly. Her eyes still won’t meet mine. She’s so damn lovely but far too pale. I can see the faint blue tracing of a blood vessel along the side of her forehead. She looks as though she’s become almost translucent. The thought that she’s fading away scares the shit out of me.
I take a breath and shift her a little on my lap, enough so that hopefully she won’t be aware of the erection that’s straining against my trousers. My cock has absolutely no sense of timing or anything else apart from the need to be deep inside her, thrusting hard, driving us both to--
I clear my throat and ask, “What happened? Why did you faint?”
She hesitates and I can tell that she’s debating what to tell me. Finally, she says, “I just got a little dizzy, that’s all.”
She’s withholding something. I don’t have a clue what it is but I’m certain all the same. I can’t blame her for not trusting me but I also can’t stop myself from resenting the fact that she doesn’t.
“If you weren’t feeling well,” I say, “you’d tell someone, right? Edward or Adele, someone. You wouldn’t keep that to yourself.”
The question seems to surprise her. “Yes, of course I would but I’m fine.”
That’s obviously not true but I don’t want to argue about it so I change direction. “You shouldn’t have come out here alone.”
The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me. I sent her away because I’m a danger to her but I don’t trust anyone else to keep her safe, not even my own men. No wonder I’m tied up in knots, unable to sleep even when I get the chance, and so on edge that Hollis and Gab are tip-toeing around me.
“I needed some fresh air,” she says.
I nod, pretending to understand. “It’s a crush in there.”
She’s silent for a moment before she finally lifts her eyes to mine. Her gaze is unfathomable, her voice a thread of sound that makes me want to draw her even closer. “I didn’t think you would be here.”
What does that mean? That my presence makes her uncomfortable or… It hits me then, what I’m feeling from her. She’s deeply, profoundly sad, as though her world has turned as dark and bleak as my own.
My chest feels as though it’s about to crack. The need to comfort her is so overpowering that I know I’m on the verge of forgetting everything else and giving into it. Rather than let that happen, I stand abruptly, steadying her on her feet. I pull my hands away and take a quick step back but I can’t help devouring her with my eyes.
Distantly, I notice that she’s draped in diamonds. They encircle her throat and extend down over her delicate collarbones, clasp her wrists, adorn her ears, and nestle in her upswept hair. But their brilliance fades to insignificance beside the woman herself. Her gown is a deep, rich velvet, the color of aged claret. It’s the perfect foil for alabaster skin suffused with a slight blush. Her chestnut hair has been mildly tamed and swept up to expose the delicate line of her throat. I stare at the pulse fluttering there and fight the urge to press my lips to it.
Hoarsely, I ask, “Amelia, what’s wrong? And don’t tell me again that you’re fine because you obviously aren’t.”
She doesn’t answer me directly but she does ask, “Why are you here?”
I run down a quick mental list of plausible reasons. Escorting my mother and sister is probably my best pick but I refuse to hide behind women.
“I need to know that you’re safe.” What the hell? Is telling her the truth becoming a habit?
She shoots me an anxious look. “The HPF--?”
“Gone,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to worry about them anymore.”
“And the--”
She pauses delicately as I recall giving her the short version of what I intended to do to the HPF leaders once they were captured. Reduce them to babbling husks of men, was how I think I put it. Way to go, Slade, sensitive and reassuring as always.
“The information you wanted,” she says. “Did you get it?”
“Edward and I have everything we need,” I assure her, wanting to drop the subject. “We’ll track the money, find out who was behind them. You don’t need to worry about that either.”
She nods and I think she’s relieved that she’s safe but then she opens her mouth and completely blows my world apart. “Thank God! I’ve been so worried about you.”
About me? I’m the bad guy, sweetheart. The one other people lie awake at night worrying might be coming after them. Evil people, s
cumbags but still human in their own special ways.
“Going after the HPF was a horrible thing to have to do,” she continues, oblivious to my thoughts. She’s looking at me with those huge aquamarine eyes that are filled with an emotion I don’t want to recognize because it looks dangerously like compassion. The shriveled thing in my chest that passes for a heart twists at the thought.
“I’m so sorry that you were dragged into all this,” she says.
I’ve had nothing to drink. I don’t touch drugs no matter how legal they are. So why am I hearing things?
And seeing them, too, because her eyes are glistening with tears, as though she’s done something terrible that she can’t ever forgive herself for. I’m so far out of my depth, so baffled that I can barely string a few words together.
“Uh…I think you’ve got it backwards. You’re the one who didn’t ask for any of this.”
She looks at me as though I can’t possibly be this obtuse. How little she knows! When it comes to Amelia, I’ve cornered the market on dumb and dumber.
Patiently, she says, “You’re doing all this for my sake. That makes it my responsibility.” She straightens her shoulders, tilts her chin up, and meets my gaze head on. Her voice is small but unwavering as she says, “I’m very well aware that Susannah sprang me on you with no warning. You never asked to be involved with me. And now I also know the harm I’ve caused you. What you’ve had to relive because of me. If there was some way that I could undo all that--”
She thinks this is her fault? She thinks I’d be better off never having known her? How is it possible for an intelligent, seemingly rational woman to get everything turned inside out like that?
No memories. No experience. No context. Knowledge but nothing to put it up against, no way to make sense of anything except gut instinct which, in this case at least, is dead wrong. That’s how.
Anew: Book Two: Hunted Page 4