Oh, there was no way in hell. He reached for his blades and came up empty-handed. Shite. Where were his weapons?
The four of them shuffled forward.
Julius took a step back, shaking his head.
Glanced around for something to use as a weapon. The only thing in the room was a scarred table the size of a barn door with planks for seating—all one-piece and heavy as hell.
That’s okay. He could fight. He’d take out all four of these bastards, or go out in a blaze trying. He raised his fists.
Then, something happened. Something he couldn’t explain. In his mind, he wanted to fight. Was determined to kick ass and take names.
But his body . . . he lowered his fists. He turned to the table, giving his back to gap-tooth Vince and his chums and he shrugged out of the coat.
No. Fight! Fight, damn it!
The communal cell grew quiet. Liquid dripped down the walls. A rat scurried across the floor.
He broke out in a cold sweat as his hand went to his falls and undid the buttons with quick, efficient jerks. The placket fell.
Then, so too did his pants.
The men erupted into laughter. Cat-calls. Whistles and applause.
Heat infused his face. He started to tremble. Fuck that, he was shaking in his goddamn boots. What the hell was he doing?
His muscles flexed and strained as he tried to fight his body’s actions. Still, he stretched his torso out over the rough wooden table. Bared his goddamned ass like a cat in heat. Shit. No. Not doing this. His skin crawled, raising his hair. This isn’t going to happen. He couldn’t even lift his head from the scarred wood, as if something held him there, though no one did.
Jesus, had he been mesmerized?
He opened his mouth. Opened it with the intent of telling them to stay away. With the aim of spewing forth every vile, imaginative threat he could conjure. “I get a bit above myself sometimes, lads. Could use a lesson.” No, no, no! “Why don’t you come show me what you’ve got?” Jesus. He was going to be sick.
The flat slap of bare feet on stone came closer as men surrounded the table. Him.
From behind came the rustle of clothing.
He tried to look back, to see who the hell was back there. Tried to push himself off the table.
Something soft hit the floor.
No. Please, please don’t let this happen.
The asshole in his line of sight reached down and lowered his pants a bit. Grabbed his half-aroused knob and jerked off to the show.
Julius’ vision blurred. He wanted to fight. To get up and run. Anything but lay here in fucking supplication.
Meaty hands stroked his ass cheeks. Spread them. Oh, fuck no.
Someone else grabbed a fist full of his hair. Lifted his head. “Open.”
Julius stared. Something was moving in his pubic hair. He had lice.
His mouth opened. Not to do as asked, damn it, but to tell them to fuck off.
“Look it ’ow scairt ’is eyes are.” The lice-infested asshole laughed. “Funny to look so fucking scairt when ’e acts like a xsperienced rent boy, eh?”
Julius reached out and Kat’s warm fingers enclosed his. Jesus. That couldn’t have happened. He never would’ve allowed . . . but he remembered the burn. How he thought they’d ripped—
He gagged and bolted for the bathroom.
Kat rushed after Julius, reaching him as the first wrenching gag filled the room. “Jules, don’t.” She grabbed him. Wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her legs around his waist. “Please, stop. Breathe, Jules. You can’t get sick remember? Breathe.”
No, vampires couldn’t vomit. They didn’t eat. Didn’t have organs. But the darkness keeping them alive, keeping them solid and real could be removed. Ejected. She’d heard of such things. She’d be damned if she’d let it happen to him.
“Come on. Breathe, Jules.” She tightened her hold. With each heave, his muscles tensed, flexed under her hands. “Relax. Let your body relax. We’re okay. We’re safe. Everything’s all right, baby.”
Before her own transformation, she hadn’t understood how it could be that a vampire could have such human-like reactions. Now, even though she knew she wasn’t human, even though she knew she was empty of everything save the darkness keeping her alive, she still felt everything the same way she’d had as a human.
His muscles convulsed as another dry heave racked his body. She wasn’t reaching him. Couldn’t. He didn’t seem able to stop. He choked. Gagged. Shuddered in her arms. Tried to speak and then gagged again.
Gaia, she had to help him. She rested her cheek on his back and forced herself to calm and center. Opening her chakras, she let the Earth’s energy flow through her. Sent little burst of healing and calm into her mate.
“Shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe, baby, breathe.”
He coughed. Took a deep breath. Rested his face on the edge of the bowl and released a sob. The hoarse sound so full of mourning, of loss, it broke her heart. Made her eyes fill with tears.
“Shh. Jules don’t cry. You’re gonna hurt your eyes.” She rocked with him. Squeezed him tight to let him know he wasn’t alone. “Please, please stop, Jules. Shh. Take a deep breath. Don’t hurt your eyes anymore.”
What was she doing? To think she could heal him. Give well-being and peace to someone who’d spent so long in the bowels of hell. She didn’t even know what happened. Had he remembered something? Everything? She shouldn’t have lost her temper. Shouldn’t have said anything. She was stupid. Arrogant. Out of her depth. She had no idea what to do. How to ease him.
So she held him. She held him in a full body hug so tight she darned near became one with him. She kissed him. His back. His neck. Everywhere she could reach. She held him and she cried. Wept silently, right along with him. She prayed, begged Gaia to give him some peace. Some kind of comfort to ease his torment.
When he calmed in her arms, when he allowed her to pull him back into her embrace, she rubbed her cheek against his. Held her hand over his eyes and used her Magic to ease any new damage he’d done.
“Talk to me, Jules. Did you remember something?”
He snorted and while he didn’t try to leave her embrace, he turned his face away. His muscles tensed as another tremor wracked him.
She had to get him to talk. Keeping these emotions bottled up wasn’t good. “Was Vince someone special?”
He pulled away, got up, grabbed her toothbrush and squeezed some paste onto it. “I’m not gay.”
For a moment, she stared while he brushed his teeth. When she’d seen the name, she had made the assumption he’d had a lover named Vince. But maybe it was the name of a family member. Did people do that? She supposed it wasn’t that different from a memorial tattoo. She frowned.
He finished and came and sat next to her again.
She reached out. Trailed her fingers down his arm. “I thought maybe it was a memorial for—”
“Family and friends are remembered in a tattoo. Not cut into skin.” He brought his hands up on either side of his head, fisted them. “They’re in other places—arms, over the heart, on the shoulder—not cut into a fucking tramp stamp.”
What was he saying? Vince wasn’t friend or family and Jules wasn’t gay so . . . . She eased herself up to her knees and crawled into his lap, facing him. She was half afraid he’d bolt before they’d sorted everything out and she was determined to make it as difficult as possible for him to get away.
“You’ve lived a long time, Jules. People . . . men . . . experiment. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
His sigh blew across her face. “I’m not making a commentary about the state of morals today. I could give a shit about the sexual orientation of others. I’m talking about myself.” He faced her. “Me. I’m. Not. Gay. Never experimented. Didn’t have a boyfriend named . . . . I didn’t let . . . . I never . . . .” His mouth twisted. “It wasn’t fucking consensual, all right?”
Kat reached out to touch his face, wishing she could see his eyes. Cupped his cheeks.
Nodded. He was raped. She nodded again and the motion seemed to reverberate through her body as she started to shake. He was raped and his attacker carved his name into his skin.
Gaia, she was terrified. Not of him, but for him. How could she make him understand that while she was horrified and wished it never happened that this didn’t change him or how she felt?
He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub and, unable to let go, her hands ended up at his throat. The thick muscles of his neck and shoulders shivered under her hands. He was so strong. How could . . .? She shook her head. Strength had nothing to do with anything. If there’d been more than one of them or if he’d been caught unaware. . . . “Before or after Katherine the Great?”
“After. I think. Had to be. They called me a rent boy.”
Rent boy? Gaia, the images that brought to mind were heartbreaking. She forced herself away from those thoughts before she started crying again.
He shook his head. “The fucked-up thing is I wanted to fight. Hated every second and—” His voice cracked and he broke off. Shook his head. “I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t fight.”
Oh, she knew why—the Watcher, that sick bastard—but she couldn’t say, not without causing him to have another seizure. In time, though, he’d remember the rest. Hopefully, before he recalled anything more. Then again would knowing he’d been under the control of a stronger being be harder for him to accept or easier?
Gaia help him, there would be more. Three hundred years’ worth of more.
A fat tear tailed underneath the bandage and she thumbed it away. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re okay.”
“No. You don’t understand. I wasn’t tied down while some back-wood did me. I participated.” Another tear fell from beneath the bandage leaving a jagged trail in its wake. His jaw flexed. “I’m a head-job, all right? I screamed in my head while that bastard fucked me and all the while I spit-shined his buddy’s dick.” His mouth twisted. “I let him stuff my mouth full of—”
She kissed him. A sweet, chaste melding of lips. Because she didn’t care what had been in his mouth. Or anywhere else. He was hers. And she was his. And that’s all that mattered in the end.
Lilith and Abaddon became good friends. She became a proficient witch and proclaimed to all who would listen that she was as powerful as the goddess. She gave a body to Abaddon in thanks for the lessons he gave her in Magic and told him, “From now on, we’ll call you Tanin’iver. No one will know who you really are. You belong to me now.” Abaddon took the body and possessed it, tainting the flesh with his evil.
The goddess didn’t punish Lilith nor Abaddon, but she kept a close watch on them.
Chapter 11
Jesus, hadn’t she heard him? Didn’t she understand?
Kat ended the kiss and leaned her forehead against his.
“I’m sorry, Jules. I wish you never even met Vince. I wish I could erase that day from your life. Make it all disappear. But understand this—it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change you. Or how I see you.”
She pulled him into her embrace, wrapped herself around him and he let her because he was stunned. She fucking astounded him. He’d just finished telling her how dirty he was and here she clung to him. Surrounded him with her pristine body. He shouldn’t allow it. He should push her away for her own good. There was something greedy in him, though. Greedy and needful and it raised its head and roared at the thought of pushing her away. Instead, he hung on for dear life. For the first time, he’d found someone he could trust. Could count on. That was who she was. She was truly, generously sweet. Kind.
“Okay.” She sniffed. Pulled away to frame his face in her hands. “I want you back in bed.”
She had to be kidding. No way in hell was he gonna try to sleep after what he’d remembered. “I’ve only been up for a few hours.”
“Yes, but they’ve been busy hours.”
Jesus, she wasn’t going to let it go. She lifted her weight off his legs and he tightened his hold. Got to his feet with her still in his arms.
She latched on to his shoulders with a death-grip, wrapped her legs tighter around his hips. “Damn it, Jules! I said I want you to rest.”
He looked at her—the bright, shining her he saw when his eyes were covered—and his mouth curved a little. “I’m going.” He shrugged. “But you’re going, too.” He strode into the bedroom, his arms full of outraged female.
“This is not resting. You’re never gonna have enough energy to heal if you insist on carting my weight around, too. Put me down.”
When he reached the bed, he knelt on the mattress. Knee-walked to the halfway point and eased her onto the bed with her head on the pillow. Before she could move, he sprawled out between her thighs. Let his cheek rest against her belly, his heart near her heat, and closed his eyes.
Kat froze. She stared at the top of Julius’ still head as she tried to calm her breathing. He’d scared the crap out of her when he’d walked in here, laid her down and planted himself right between her thighs. She’d thought . . . what? That he was going to try to prove his manhood? She shook her head. She’d thought the worst. Again.
He hadn’t harmed her. Didn’t do anything more than use her for a pillow. Still, her skirt had ridden up, exposing a lot of leg. “Jules, you need to let me up.”
“You should rest, too.” His arms tightened around her leg.
Sleep? She needed to do some research into finding a way to save her Magic. Into the name Mary Jane Kelly. “I’ve got things I need—”
His voice was whisper soft. “Don’t leave.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I swear to God, I won’t fight you anymore, please—”
“Okay.” Her stomach went queasy. What was wrong with her? Despite everything she’d learned about him, she still had him cast in the role of villain. True, he was a bit . . . gritty. He was gruff and he cussed far too much. She couldn’t imagine when he might have last used that word “Please.” He’d been through so much, how could she begrudge him a little physical contact?
She eased his hair away from his face, the longish curls soft as Oscar’s fur as they slid through her fingers. “Will you at least tell my why you’ve been acting . . . .” Gaia, she didn’t want to offend him, nor end their truce but she needed answers.
“Like a bastard?” His head lifted a fraction of an inch. “How would you behave? Think about it. You don’t remember much and what you do remember is yourself behaving in ways you would never behave. You’re wounded. Blind. Have no friends, no—”
“You have me.”
The air whooshed between his lips. She expected him to argue, to deny her right to him, their right to each other, but instead, he said, “I remember my brother.”
If his arms hadn’t tightened around her leg, she would’ve bounded straight out of bed. “You have a brother?”
“Had.”
Of course. How old was he? At least three hundred . . . any family he’d had when human would be long dead. “What do you remember of him?”
“He looked like me . . . like I did before I screwed myself up.”
She tightened her fingers in his hair. “Stop it.”
“Seriously . . . like on a scale from Inigo Montoya to Freddy Kruger, how bad is it?”
“Inigo who?”
His sigh tickled her thigh. “Princess Bride. You know, the dude with single slashes on his cheeks who wanted to avenge his dad.”
She snorted. “He was barely scarred.”
“That’s the point. The scale is barely to totally fucked-up.”
“You’re not that bad off.”
“Thanks . . . so what, more like Darth Vader? Do I need to get a mask?”
She laughed and his head bounced a little on her belly. “More like Scar, I think.”
“Who?”
“The uncle in The Lion King.”
He lifted on one elbow, staring up her body through that damned bandage.
“You’re blushing. Why?”
“I cusse
d.”
One tawny brow lifted over his bandage. “When?”
“In my thoughts.”
He shook his head. “You blush when you cuss in your head?”
She turned her face to the side. The way his shoulder pressed against her a little with every breath . . . she was getting aroused, wet. Much more and he’d notice.
“What was his name? Your brother.”
“Julian. I used to tease him that I was the better-looking twin. He used to tease me that that was because the Good Lord ran out of brains.”
Her lips twitched. “Did you like each other?”
“Yeah. We just liked to screw about.” He shifted a little, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her and she almost moaned out loud. Stop it! Think about feet. Toenail fungus. Dry, cracked skin. “What was he like?”
He was quiet for a long time. “Don’t want to talk about that.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
He lifted onto his elbow again, his mouth set into a grim line. “Why did you lie to me about the hood?”
“What hood?”
“I told you about my dream. You said it wasn’t real.” He held up his hand, wriggling his little finger. “But it was. They put the hood on me. Then they cut my finger off and it didn’t grow back the same.”
She sucked in a breath. Like his eye. “I wasn’t there. I didn’t know.”
“Where?”
Revelations Industries. Mother had encouraged the director of RI to take Julius. She wasn’t surprised they’d kept him under a hood—not with his mesmerist abilities. “I don’t want to force your memories, Jules. Even if I did, I don’t know a whole lot about you. I could make a wrong assumption about what you’re remembering, give you the wrong information, and slow the whole process.”
“And the felo-de-se curse? You said you could help me with that.”
She nodded. This was a healthier conversation to have. “We could try a meditation. A way for you to cleanse your mind of the curse. Or we could leave it alone. Eventually, the curse will stop on its own—it won’t last forever.”
The Knight: The Original's Trilogy - Book 3 Page 10