by Lucian Bane
The shocked look she gave him was more telling than all her answers she’d given to all his questions.
“You didn’t know this?”
She shook her head in all seriousness, looking like she’d just learned there wasn’t really a Santa Claus. The idea that she not only didn’t know how pretty she was but had likely been told the extreme opposite all her life, made rage burn in his gut.
The need to immediately erase that lie from her mind hit him hard. “Well, it’s the truth. You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
She lowered her head at that. “Chantilly is the other woman?”
“Yes. And my mother.”
The smile she gave him made him sick. For anybody to get that much joy over such a simple thing indicated extreme depravation of basic needs. No pets, no compliments. Sexually abused. Call a sick bastard Master. “Is Master the one who hurt you?”
She shook her head a lot. “No more questions, no more questions. I think you’re beautiful too.” She smiled brightly at him and at seeing her on some kind of ledge in her gaze, he got alarmed.
“No more questions,” he hurried.
“I like possums,” she blurted. “Baby possums.”
For the first time since Solomon had left college, he wished his major had been criminal psychology. She was a puzzle waiting to be solved that led to a sick tunnel to some hell. “You like possums?” He struggled to get the crazy train back on track.
She nodded quickly, telling him the window of opportunity would be random and short-lived. “Baby possums.”
Solomon realized her mind needed careful directing. But now that he realized how fragile she might be psychologically, he needed to tiptoe there. He also realized he especially didn’t need to let any inappropriate emotional attachments develop right when he realized how many nights he’d slept with her. But how else was he supposed to calm her down when she latched herself onto him that way? In his mind he’d seen her as a broken person, that’s all. But what was he to her? That was the worry.
But as much as he needed to stay away from her physically, he needed to engage exactly that. Mind and body. He’d need to be even more cautious now. “How would you feel about starting physical therapy?”
She flashed him a look. “You mean… physical training?”
“Yes. I’m going to help you get stronger, faster.”
“I like that. Help me. Teach me.”
He stared at her, suddenly nervous about the idea of touching her. She’d probably not go for all the touching after what she’d just endured. What was he thinking, she seemed to crave his touch. No, touching her was a bad idea, he needed to pull back there. But how long did he have?
“It can be very painful. You should probably wait I think.”
“But… I want to get strong,” she said, suddenly sounding worried and scared.
Solomon tried for another angle, one on the other end of you’re so beautiful, let’s do physical therapy where I touch you all over. “Okay. I’ll get you started on a self-applied therapy routine that will build your strength in no time.”
Her smile said she was thrilled with that and Solomon relaxed a little as he thought about how to get more clues. The plan was simple in that regard. He’d gather them, compile them, and then use them.
To bury every sick bastard that hurt her.
Chapter Eleven
“You do that every morning?”
Solomon jerked, startled to find Chaos sitting up in bed, watching him do his morning workout. “I try to.” He quickly put his shirt on, cursing himself for taking the chance. He hated working out with a shirt, hated the feel of it clinging to him. He’d been careful to be ninja quiet and wasn’t sure how she heard.
“I have a routine too,” she said.
He finished pulling the shirt over his sweaty abs. “Do you? What is it? Tell me while I get your breakfast.”
“Then we start my training?”
“Yep. You ready?” He pulled eggs out of the fridge and turkey.
“I think so. I’m not afraid of pain,” she said easily.
“That’s good,” he nodded, tossing the loaf of bread on the counter. “Because there will be plenty of it.” Solomon washed his hands, making a point not to look at her. His body was still recovering from her episode during the night. Another nightmare, another physical clinging session with singing. Another success at putting her back to sleep. But leaving her after she fell asleep never happened. Not because he couldn’t but because he felt compelled not to. He made it all okay by laying with his back to her and that would’ve been fine if she didn’t glue her front to it and his mind spent all night painting pictures of what it felt.
So, he didn’t sleep. Not one wink. And the reasons why had him up early, punishing his body for such a weakness. Especially with her.
He chalked it up to divine biology. It was not something he ever toyed with. Even with his fiancée he’d been especially careful not to put himself in vulnerable situations. He intended on being a virgin when he married her, the way his uncle said it should be despite the current culture laughing at him. He’d learned to find pride in the persecution. His wife was worth the wait. Every tormenting second. Did he fantasize about her? God, all the time. He imagined their first time to death. And he’d imagined so many other things. Things he wanted to do to her. With her. Things she wanted to do to him. He wasn’t ignorant of any of it, he’d had his bout with lust before his uncle changed his mind.
But with Chaos, he was suddenly in all the wrong situations and no matter how sick he told himself it was to feel those things with her, his body went there. It was natural, he told himself. And for him, it was spirit over flesh. Not a problem, not a new warfare with him. He’d fought this before and he’d just fight it again. Starting with not putting himself in vulnerable situations and when it was absolutely necessary, he’d pray his way through, that’s all.
The other big question was, how much of that was she doing purposefully? Whether it was on purpose or accidental really was irrelevant, he realized. Both would be understandable in her situation.
“I’ll get dressed,” she said, slowly making her way out of the bed.
He had to resist the urge to run over and help her. “You got it?”
“Yes!” Even though her answer sounded eager, he was sure it was pain he heard in the gasped word.
He busied himself with breakfast and other kitchen duties while she took forever to dress. He kept fretting over the need to help her only to remind himself of his new tactic. Physical therapy. That included emotional and mental strengthening. Which required no babying, no coddling. Not if he was going to make her strong and get her out of the mess she was in. He realized in the back of his mind that he was playing shade-tree therapy with her but he also realized he had no other option he found safe. No telling. That’s what his mind kept reminding him of. There was something atrocious going on and it was life and death. Telling wasn’t an option.
The door finally opened and she hobbled out in the new clothes he’d gotten for her. He’d settled on black sweat pants and shirt since he wasn’t entirely sure of her size. A glance would say petite. He’d given up thinking of her like a child, realizing it was foolish when she was all woman. And as far as he could tell, she wasn’t mentally challenged other than the brainwashing she’d suffered. All things he could help or at least effect. Or die trying.
Die trying. An odd precognitive shiver rode his spine at the cliché, making him consider it realistically. What if his life was threatened?
“I feel brand new,” she said, hobbling toward the table.
Solomon looked at her. A perfect image of young, beautiful, innocence standing right there before him. She’d called him when she was half dead. He’d heard. He’d answered. Yes he’d do it. In a heartbeat. He’d give his life to protect her, gladly, definitely, and without a doubt.
“You look brand new.”
She patted the hair she’d put up with one of
those clips he’d thought to get in the hair section. “I need to get that knot out one of these days. I just hid it for now.”
“I’ll tell you now that you don’t need to do too much of anything at first. We don’t want to injure you, we want to strengthen you.”
“I’m a fast healer,” she practically bragged.
His gut clenched at hearing the tons of experience she had with it. “Good to know.”
“So what’s first?”
He scooped healthy scrambled eggs into a plate. “Eating a balanced breakfast.”
She stood behind the chair at the table, looking around. “I don’t usually eat breakfast.”
He added turkey to her plate, resisting the urge to give her more to make up for all her miserable neglect at once. “Breakfast is non-negotiable,” he said, using the same tone he used with his stubborn Miss Mary. “Food is fuel for the body. You put it in your body, but more importantly you put good fuel in, not cheap, processed, nutritionally impoverished trash.” He went on to explain how the body uses fuel and what sort of havoc it reaps on a person when it doesn’t get what it needs. She nodded through the sermon like a good student. But was she really hearing or just listening? He’d have to wait and see on that one.
Sitting across from her at the two person table, Solomon watched her push the food around on her plate. She took a bite then proceeded to poke at it. “Taste okay?”
“Yes, I love it,” she said, flashing those ever changing eyes at him. He still wasn’t sure what color they were and he couldn’t stare into them long enough to figure it out.
He finally figured out what she was doing. “You don’t like your foods touching?”
She took a bite and shook her head. “Just prefer… a certain order.”
“What kind of order?” He was almost afraid to know as he took a bite.
“You know. ABC. My brain makes me.”
ABC. OCD. ADD. “Your brain makes you, huh? And if you don’t listen?”
“Then my nose bleeds.”
His brows raised as he looked at her. “Seriously?”
She nodded, taking another bite. “It makes my brain start to do this loud buzzing noise then my nose will bleed.”
Wow. He wondered what sort of illness did that or if it was a coincidence. “How many times did that happen?”
“Not many,” she mumbled around the food in her mouth. “Because I always listen.”
It was Solomon’s turn to push his food around but not for the same reason. “Master likes things in order?” he chanced.
She nodded, taking a drink of her milk. “He’s very strict and orderly, yes. But it’s always for a very good cause.”
“I’m sure,” he said, as genuinely as he could manage.
“He’s a very good Master.” She took another bite on that nauseating lie.
“Well, I certainly know what a good master is,” he said, his appetite waning.
“You’re a master too? I knew it,” she said, seeming to have suddenly gained a robust breakfast appetite.
Solomon almost corrected her but then realized he could maybe use the angle to either get info or influence her. “I have a few gifts,” he said, trying to think of them.
“You have voice powers.”
With her, he certainly seemed to. He played along. “You noticed?”
“Yes. When you talk and especially when you sing. It makes my body do things it’s never done before. Master said you were gifted.”
Uh oh, that had to be a big slip. “You ready for therapy?” he asked, pretending he didn’t hear while bringing his plate to the sink.
“Yes,” she hurried while Solomon’s mind raced with that monumental tidbit. Master knew him. That changed everything, didn’t it?
Solomon walked up to Chaos where she sat at the table still and held his hand out to her. She looked at it. “Put your hand in mine,” he instructed.
The sudden fear she displayed while obeying said her Master was all about pain and manipulating through it. With her hand in his, he pulled her to stand. “Close your eyes.”
She obeyed him and he proceeded to draw his finger over the back side in random patterns.
“Do you know what I’m doing?”
She shook her head.
Neither did he but a possible idea came to him in that second. “I’m speaking to your blood.”
She gasped and stared up at him. “Why would you do that?”
At seeing she’d taken him seriously, he decided to see where it led. “Just to say hello,” he said.
“You’re smiling,” she muttered. “You don’t smile.”
“What? Of course I smile.”
She stared at their hands as he continued tracing the veins. “But… hardly.”
He realized he was doing what he’d just said was a bad idea. Touching her. Softly at that. But what if it was the only thing strong enough to pull her out of that? The right kind of touching? The right kind of anything? “Well there hasn’t been much to smile about since we met.” His tone matched his touch.
“Because I looked like crap?” She grinned about it and Solomon lowered her hand, releasing it. She stared up at him, appearing suddenly confused.
“Because you were hurt and I don’t like people hurt. You can sit.”
Her slow movements said she was still in a lot of pain. She touched the spot on the back of her hand now. “I like that.”
“You like what?” he said, heading to the stove.
“That you don’t like… me hurt.”
Solomon put water on to heat. “Is that unusual? For you to like that, I mean?” It was clearly normal for her to be beat to death.
He glanced back and caught her shrug. “I don’t remember liking that before.”
Yeah, because nobody gave one shit about you. “Well, how does it feel? To have somebody not want you hurt?” His anger surged at the idea they were even having the discussion. That she’d never experienced something as simple as common decency meant really bad things. What made him sick was that he needed her comfortable enough to tell him all about it without letting on how it made him hunger to hunt and kill all of them.
He eyed her as he set two cups on the counter. “I think so,” she said looking off to the left. “I don’t know the feeling so well.” She turned drawn brows to him. “Is that bad?”
“Not at all,” he lied. “Not all of us have experienced every good emotion.”
“I don’t want to say that I don’t know good feelings,” she said, seeming to realize how odd it would be. “I feel good about a lot of things. They just don’t all feel…”
“Good?” he helped.
“You can feel good in your mind too,” she explained. “Even if your body doesn’t. Like you said when you work out?” she reminded him.
“True.” But not the same. “There are many kinds of bad pains and good pains.”
“Can you teach me?”
He poured the steaming water into cups and dipped their green tea bags in it. “Show you what exactly?”
“Other… kinds of good feelings. Is it the same as pleasure?” she wondered.
“I guess you could say that. But there are many kinds of pleasures too.”
“I know about the sexual kind,” she said eagerly. “I’m very good at giving it.”
Jesus Christ and there you have it. “Well, those pleasures are special,” he said, fighting to maintain his gentle teacher tone.
“Yes, Master taught me it has special powers and it’s okay to use them for the good of mankind,” she explained like her own mind had once questioned that very thing.
Solomon felt the press of another corner, another test. Master to Master now. He needed to be careful and not shut access to the vile nest down. “Your Master is correct. It can also be used in ways that are bad for mankind.”
“I know this,” she assured.
How the hell was he supposed to teach her that sexual pleasure was to be shared with only the man that loved you? “There’s a
nother kind of sexual pleasure,” he said. “One that is only shared between two people and no others.”
“Ohhhh, like when people marry?”
“Yes,” he nodded, handing her a cup and sitting down to face her for the sickening discussion. “When a man loves only one woman and a woman loves only one man, they share a special sexual pleasure that can’t be experienced outside of that bond.”
A light went off in her eyes as she stared in wonder. “You’re talking about the fairytale love. Master told me about it. He said it wasn’t real.”
Fucking Master wars, here we go. “Sometimes Masters refer to rare things as fairytales. What we mean by that is, it’s not often it happens but it does, and for many people it’s thought of as a fairytale. People don’t understand powers and gifts and often call those fairytales too but you and I both know that’s not the case.”
“Right,” she agreed, fascinated with his little tweak. “We are very careful not to divulge certain secrets because people can be fools, bringing damnation in their ignorance.” She eyed him, seeming suddenly curious. “What… order are you from?”
So she was part of an order of some kind. He sipped his tea, careful not to show he deducted as much while scrambling to play the angle. The wolf near the fireplace gave a tiny moan and Solomon shrugged. “I’m called a lone wolf. Being part of everything, I don’t belong to anything.” Jesus. He mentally wiped the sweat from his brow and patted himself on the back at thinking up the crock of shit contradiction. Was perfect for that kind of crap.
He leveled a direct gaze on her since it always seemed to throw her off her game when he did.
“So… this pleasure is actually real?” she asked. “Just rare?”
“Yes,” he said easily. “Like your position in your organization is rare.” He held his breath at the bold bait, waiting to see what she did with it.
She took a sip of her tea and flashed him a look that sent a cold chill through him. He wasn’t the only one baiting. “So…you had this…rare pleasure with your wife?”
Damn, she’d just skipped his question entirely. “I did, yes.”
“What is it like?”
“It can’t be explained. No artist has ever been able to, really.”