A Terrible Love

by Eros, Marata

His existence had awoken my own.

  “Think about it, Mackey. Don't throw something away that could be amazing because you don't understand it.”

  I cast my eyes down at the printed hospital sheet, turning her words over in my mind.

  Carlie stands, the awkwardness a barrier between us. I'm distant for other reasons now. They have nothing to do with her.

  She leans close and kisses my cool cheek. “I love you, dancer.”

  I stare at her without tears. “I love you too.”

  Carlie walks out and that night I fall into fitful sleep. I dream of Cas, that he comes to me and tells me the truth. Who he is... that he loves me.

  I know it's only a dream.

  *

  Cas

  Cas watches Jewell sleep from the FBI guard station and she never knows. Just as she hasn't for almost two weeks.

  The doctor approaches. “Detective Steel, why don't you visit her when she is awake?” he asks.

  Because I can't. “How is she?” Cas evades the question with one of his own.

  The doctor sighs. “She improves, but is vulnerable to infection. Because she was in such good physical condition, we will put her leg in the brace tomorrow...”

  “Her face?” Cas turns and the doctor takes a step back from the aggression he sees there.

  “She won't be disfigured if that's what you're asking but she's going to look pretty beat up for awhile,” he answers with simple honesty.

  Cas nods. But before he walks away he says, “Don't tell her...”

  “You were here,” the doctor finishes. “You've made that abundantly clear, Agent Steel.”

  Cas gives a grim smile then walks away.

  The doctor knew she would never remember but Agent Steel brought her in. It was Agent Blaine “Cas” Steel who stayed by her side until she was stabilized. It took ten hours. She'd lost blood from the grazing head wound she'd received, and shock had worsened her condition.

  Yet, the young agent had stayed. His hard eyes scanning each face that got near the young dancer until he had cataloged them all.

  The doctor entered Jewell's room, watching her toss and turn in the bed. He thought he heard a word.

  Cas.

  He shrugged, it could be an old man's wishful thinking.

  *

  life

  I was so ready.

  Carlie is here to pick me up and there isn't a dry eye on the ward were I've been imprisoned. Excuse me, I mean... recovering.

  I have a soft cast on and a recurring appointment with a physical therapist. The horrible bruises are gone from underneath my eyes and I can breathe again.

  My parents have paid for the plastic surgeon that made my lightning strike of a scar look like a thin whip of nothing on my smooth forehead.

  A stylist had come to the hospital and colored my hair to its natural color.

  I was Jewell MacLeod again; I had always been her.

  When I walked out into the blinding strobes of the reporters’ cameras I frantically searched for Carlie, the nurse's steady hand a band of comfort on my thin arm, the crutch helping my bad side as I hobbled along.

  “Miss MacLeod!” a reporter exclaimed and I flinch away from a microphone crammed almost under my nose.

  “Tell us about your miraculous rescue!”

  There were shouted questions from all corners and all of them were ground glass on my nerves.

  Then, as if I was in a desert and seeing a mirage, Cas was there like he'd been that day at the audition.

  My eyes narrow down to pinpoints on his large body as it leans against a nondescript black SUV, dark leather and sunglasses to match. The cool January weather is a pewter backdrop to his inky form, muscular arms folded across his chest. He stands and with a loose graceful gait he strides with purpose.

  And he is coming toward me.

  One of the sharper reporters catches my shell-shocked look and they turned en masse to see a six feet four moving black wall of muscled male coming for the survivor of a serial killer team that he'd wiped out like the blight on society they were. A bullet for each sick mind.

  They part and watch him come down the middle of their stunned group. A lone cameraman recovers and lets his camera roll.

  The nurse lifts her hand from my arm and steps away with my crutch in her hand as Cas moves within inches of me and I tilt my head up to meet his eyes.

  Deep ebony meets green as I hold my emotions together by the thinnest thread.

  “Agent Steel! Agent Steel!” a tenacious woman reporter blares from beside us. “Tell us what plan the FBI has for Miss MacLeod.”

  “I don't know,” Cas says so quietly I can almost feel them lean forward to capture his words. Cas's hand brushes my cheek and I close my eyes and move my face into that warm caress as the heat from the cameras flash behind my closed lids.

  Then both hands cradle my face and my eyes open.

  He looks at me for a moment that is both savagely long and too brief. “My plan is to love her,” he says to me and me alone.

  I stand up on tiptoe, my casted leg dangling and Cas scoops me up by my waist with one arm, the other holds my head as he presses me to his lips and the cameras flash and burn.

  Our love etched forever for the world to see.

  20

  one year later

  I watch his forearm muscles ripple as Cas puts the finishing touches on the spare room. It's a narcissistic mess of floor to ceiling mirrors with metal barres bisecting all that rippling glass.

  He steps away from tightening the last screw, the last lick of paint on the ceiling still tacky, the inset surround sound speakers unobtrusively tucked in the corners of the ceiling and nearly invisible, so closely they resemble the surrounding paint color.

  I walk smoothly to him in the center of the wood floor, moving into first position. I slowly rise on my toes and he captures me around my waist, jerking me to him hard, pecking my face everywhere with petal soft kisses that promise harder ones to come.

  “You like it?” he asks between hard pants and harder kisses.

  “I do, Agent Steel,” I say, my arms twined around his neck. “Only one week until I begin at SPB...”

  “I'm so proud of you, Jewell,” Cas interrupts me in a low voice, planting a sweet kiss on my open mouth, cinching me tighter against himself.

  “Stop doing it standing up, you sluts,” Carlie says casually as she waltzes inside the newly refurbished dance studio. “Wow,” she breathes, “this is so completely the bomb, just sayin'.”

  I think so too. “Yes, it is.” I smile at Cas and he turns to Carlie. “Timing sucks as usual, Carlie.”

  She puckers her face and sticks out a tongue. “So deal, don't you have a murderer or someone to catch?”

  He sighs. “Always,” he says, pushing a hand through hair that's grown out... to about an inch. Just enough to grip, I think with a small smile.

  He leans down, grabbing the back of the knot of my hair and pulling my face against his. Kissing me thoroughly he says against my mouth, “You okay, babe?”

  I nod.

  He looks over at Carlie. “I'll be back.”

  “Yeah, pal... like the Terminator.”

  He scowls and she grins. “Just go, Cas...” I laugh and he does, swatting my ass as he leaves. Of course, that makes me want him to stay. Badly. I feel it all the way to my toes... and other places.

  “Gawd girl, you got it bad.”

  I look at Carlie who's all smiles. “Yeah I do.”

  “I don't know why.” She rolls her eyes.

  When the silence comes I know what she's here for. She doesn't pull punches. “So tomorrow's a year,” she says, meeting my eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “You gonna do it?”

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “It can't be easy....” she says with sympathy.

  I lace my hands together and blow my hair up and away from my eyes. When I look at her I tell the truth, “It's bigger than me. Shelby died. Instructor Boel... and all tho
se girls...” I clasp my hands tighter, the knuckles whitening with just the thought of speaking at the memorial.

  “For Faith,” I say.

  Carlie smiles at me and I smile back. “For Faith,” she repeats. When she hugs me I cry real tears, wet ones.

  They won't be my last but they are no longer as sad.

  *

  I wear black and look for a friendly face in the sea of faces that stare at me. My eyes hit on Carlie and Amber and my shoulders relax, the tenseness I didn't realize was there eases further when a large strong palm warms the small of my back.

  I clear my throat and begin to speak, the flowers bright dots against a black velvet backdrop of the mourners’ clothes.

  “A year ago today, I was in hiding... and in so doing, I helped no one. The following people impacted my life and died because of their association with me.”

  I bite my lip for a moment and Cas squeezes my hip, his solid warm presence behind me affirming me, uplifting me.

  I continue, “Though I no longer blame myself for the choices of two very disturbed people, I want to acknowledge that I am who I am today because of Patrick Boel and my fellow dancer, Shelby Lynne.” I choke back my tears but they break through my voice like a horse at the starting gate. “They believed in me without knowing who I truly was. And for that, I will always be grateful...”

  People stand. They add their flowers to the others until there is a mountain of fragrance and color covering the grave markers. A rainbow of hope.

  When my last word echoes into the silence, I allow Cas to half carry me to our car.

  The reporters wait like vultures, their eyes trained on the ring finger of my left hand. They miss nothing.

  But Brock is there. Actually, I’ve almost got myself trained into thinking of him by his proper name, Luke Adams, partner to my future husband, Blaine “Cas” Steel.

  He'd always be Cas to me.

  That was the one thing he'd always given me.

  His name. Now I would have both.

  Luke blocks the reporters view of us as we slide into the SUV, secure behind the black tinted windows, and slam the door after he sweeps inside the rig.

  I lay my head on Cas's shoulder and he presses a kiss against my temple. “I'm proud of you, babe.”

  I turn my face to his, tears held tightly inside my eyes; I keep them wide so they won't fall. I've cried enough. “You think?” I ask.

  “I do.” Then he kisses me like his partner isn't in the front seat and twenty reporters aren’t circling the vehicle like sharks.

  That's how Cas always kisses me.

  The End

  A Word About A TERRIBLE LOVE

  I've been wanting to write this contemporary romance for over a year. I love, love paranormal works and have always been infatuated by the alpha male character, both in real life and fiction so when the idea for ATL struck and it didn't have a stitch of paranormal element, I hesitated. Finally, “the voices” wouldn't stop chattering and I wrote. A girl that's in hiding from grave danger, from her family no less? That has a hot FBI agent posing as a lover... or is he “posing?” That was the excitement in writing ATL. Devin Castile. In a word-yum. He's a man that isn't easily moved by emotion until he meets the subject of his protection; then Jewell crashes into him like a tidal wave he can't swim against. Jewell is likewise fighting an uphill battle. Born to dance and live like all people want, it is her very talent that finally gets her noticed by just the person she endeavors to escape. Thrown in a stressful college schedule with friends she doesn't want for the wrong reasons and the scene is set for a full-rolling drama of unflinching chemistry, love, betrayal and tragedy.

  I loved writing ATL as much as my paranormal dark erotica series, The Druid Breeders. But for different reasons.

  I thank each and every one of you for taking the time to read this work.

  A Note of Gratitude to my Readers:

  I began TDB with the encouragement of my husband and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue.

  There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support. But know this: TDB novellas continued past HARVEST only because of you.

  I truly feel connected to my readers. It is obvious to me, but I'll say the words anyway for clarity: a written work is just words on pages if they are not read by my readers. As I write this I get a lump in my throat; your enjoyment of my work affects me that deeply.

  You guys are the greatest, each and every one of ya~

  Marata xo

  Disclaimer:

  I have taken great liberties in my rendition of the fictional Seattle Pacific Ballet and with my fantastical thoughts about the beautiful art of ballet. Likewise, I mean absolutely no offense against the FBI, any and all references are purely fictional and in no way should be taken literally or as a reflection on that institution.

  Acknowledgments:

  You, my reader.

  My husband, who is my biggest fan.

  Hazel Novak, my copy editor.

  My Aussie Girl, I love ya.

  Rônin

  Crystal (who was somehow the loveable and witty Carlie)

  BDH, a big supporter of my work, and of me as well; priceless~

  DB, who has a case of Reviewer's Ass, I've been told... you keep me sane.

  Works by Marata Eros

  Dark Erotica Works:

  The Druid Breeders, 1-8

  The Siren Breeders, 1 & 2

  *The breeder series' are dark urban fantasy, horror erotica works which may contain disturbing scenes, marginal/forced non-consent sex, taboo concepts and graphic violence. It is intended for a mature adult audience and is very different than the work you've just enjoyed.

  Future Titles 2013:

  BROLACH (The Demon Breeders, #1)

  BRANDON (The Siren Breeders, #3)

  Druid Breeders (untitled, #9)

  Dara Nichols' Adventures Bundle, Short Stories 1-8

  3500-5500 words each (non-romantic, sexual & naughty encounters)

  #1, A Hard Lesson, where Dara Nichols gets “schooled” by a few students...

  #2, To Protect and Service, Dara gets pulled over by the cops and taken in hand...

  #3, The Thirteenth Floor, Dara attends a professors' symposium & things heat up in the elevator...

  #4, The Boardroom, Dara's sexual encounter with her students is discovered and she receives some much-deserved discipline...

  #5, The Four Whoresmen, Dara takes a weekend getaway at a remote ranch and gets man-handled...

  #6, The Masquerader's Balls, Dara and Zoe get nailed by a couple of masked men...

  #7, The Ball Player, Dara takes one for the team at the local gym...

  #8, The Cock Tale, Dara and Zoe teach university president Craig Taylor a lesson in discipline at his own party...

  Disclaimer: My Dara Nichols Adventure titles are a completely different “flavor” from the work that you've just enjoyed. These are explicit erotica centered around sexual, non-romantic encounters. My short stories are more sexual in nature and my novellas are more sensual/romantic tension/erotic romance-driven.

  Connect with Marata Eros:

  Blog

  Facebook

  goodreads

  Twitter