by Lynne, Donya
Malek whirled around and grabbed her arms. "I am not him. I would never…I couldn't…" He stared at her, and confusion marred his features. "I would treat you like a…" He trailed off with a frown, as if he didn't know what he was saying or couldn't believe he was saying it.
"Like a what?" She was at once curious and wary, but anger still surged like fire in her veins. "Like a whore?" She arched one eyebrow. "A toy to play with whenever you feel the urge?"
He scowled and exhaled sharply as if she had punched him in the gut. "No. Why would you think something like that?"
"Experience," she said with a flippant sneer. "You are my mate, after all. Right? And from the looks of it, you'll be just like my first mate. All heart." She practically spat the bite of sarcasm at him. "Maybe I should—"
Before she could finish her thought, Malek pushed her against a concrete column. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as if he struggled to hold back a torrent of pain, emotion, and obscenities. Ominous shadows darkened his eyes, which glistened with what appeared to be tears of his own, and he winced as his gaze met hers.
"I am…not…your mate." Every word strained out of his throat as if he fought himself not to say them. "Why…would you think that?"
Was he serious?
"Just stop! Stop playing games with me. It's cruel." She pushed against his hold, but he pressed her back, not letting her go.
"What are you talking about?" He frowned and gasped, and his nostrils flared as if from exertion.
"You mated me. Stop denying it."
"No…I…no…" He looked confused and guilty, as if he'd hoped no one would notice that the cat was already out of the bag.
"I heard you, Malek!" she screamed at him. Her frustration finally found an outlet. "In my cell! You thought I was asleep, but I was awake! AWAKE!" She tried to shove him back again, but he held fast. "You told me you mated me! Damn you!" She swung a fist at his arm but couldn't connect with the hold he had on her.
His brow furrowed and made the shadows around his eyes grow even darker as he looked down. "No…I…" His voice sounded small, tormented.
"Yes! Damn you! Yes, I heard you!" She broke down in earnest, trying hard not to cry, but unable to stop the shudder of a restrained sob that quaked her shoulders. There was so much pain…so much emotion to wade through.
Time stretched, and Malek kept his head bowed, his body tight. What was wrong with him? Why was he acting this way and denying the truth? Why wouldn't he say anything?
She glanced up at the blinking fluorescent light overhead, begging for her tears to stop. The situation was humiliating enough without her crying like a sissy girl.
Malek's voice was so quiet when he finally spoke that she almost couldn't hear him. "You weren't supposed to hear." His hold loosened, but now she was too spent to break away.
"Well, I did." She brought her gaze back down from the ceiling and wiped her fingers across her cheeks as she sniffed.
He took a pained step back and lifted his gaze to hers. Raw emotion roiled in the brown depths of his eyes with such ferocity it took her breath away. Something had shifted inside him in the last few seconds. He began to take another backward step, but as his breath hitched, he changed direction and surged forward, wrapped one arm around her waist, and pulled her to him.
"Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?" He buried his face against her shoulder.
Against every instinct that urged her to refuse him, she sank into the warmth of his body and breathed deeply for the first time in what felt like weeks. Without full awareness of her reaction to him, she slid her arms around his back and held on as if she would die without him. He was life. Her life. And every thread of her existence reached to bind her to him. It was as if a door had opened and she was being pulled through into his arms, unable to resist.
What was happening to her?
And why did she suddenly need Malek so damn much?
* * *
Malek choked back his emotion.
Somewhere between Micah's office and the thick concrete column he held Gina against, Malek's reserve had broken. Just that quickly, Gina had skinned him, cleaned him, and thrown him on the grill, making short work of all that remained of his denial that she was his mate.
In a blink, she had disarmed him. Only a mate held such power over a male.
Had it been Gina's ruthless verbal assault all the way down the stairs that had finally broken through his walls? Or the mention of her former mate and what he had done to her, which sparked Malek's need to protect her? Had it been her confession that she had heard his proclamation in her cell weeks ago? Or was it the simple truth that she was, in fact, his mate? And, as such, she had tremendous power over him?
How about all of the above?
What torment had she suffered at the hands of that half-Dacian bastard she had been mated to before? What had he done to her? And how had she survived? He pulled back, and his gaze ranged her face. Such beauty, such fire. She stole his breath, and he swayed from her heady scent. He would treat her like a queen. His queen. And he would revere and bow to her command every day, tend to her needs, care for her, and protect her with his life if he had to.
What was happening to him? He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. In her bewitching way, Gina drew him in. She was a blossom, and he was the honeybee eager for her nectar.
But what he had said that day in her cell was still true. He wasn't worthy of her. She deserved more than he could give. As much as he wanted to be her everything, he knew he couldn't.
His resolve waned. He could no longer deny how much he wanted Gina, but he still couldn't have her. It would be unfair to claim her when he still clung to a ghost. Carmen still held him in the past. Carmen still possessed half his heart, which meant he couldn't give all of himself to Gina. And she deserved all of him, not merely a part.
Sacrifice replaced anger. Compassion replaced aggression. Gina had already suffered enough pain at the hands of another, and all Malek could offer her was more of the same. With his heart in two places, he would always pull her to him then push her away, just as he had done from the moment he saw her in Micah's office. She would be a Ping-Pong ball. Back and forth, back and forth. He would constantly fight himself to reconcile the two halves of his heart into one, and that wasn't fair to her. To try and make a life with her under such circumstances—to cheat her out of a full life with someone else who could give her his whole heart and not just half—would be selfish. Not only that, it was degrading and disrespectful to her.
What was happening between them could never be. He simply couldn't let her into his heart. Not because he no longer wanted to. Because, damn him, he did. But how do you let someone into your heart when half of it still lies with another?
In a blink, the reality slammed him with a pain more brutal than what he'd suffered so far, because this pain came with clarity of mind, body, and soul. He would always cause Gina pain. It was inevitable. Even if he claimed her as his mate, he would always hurt her. Why? Because a part of him—the part still attached to Carmen—would always drive Gina away.
Frowning, he looked down and stepped back. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, but this can't happen, Gina. No matter how much I don't want to, I will always hurt you." He turned, lowered his head, and walked away, a man defeated by himself.
CHAPTER 13
At 10:30 p.m., Searcy stepped from the American Airlines jet and led Vaydon into the crowded O'Hare Airport.
They hadn't brought much with them—just a duffel bag apiece. Whatever else they needed could be found for a price. Even the items not available at the corner market, such as weapons and information. But really, they only needed one weapon to do what they came here to do, and it remained sheathed in a special compartment in Searcy's duffel. The ancient blade of his ancestors—a deadly weapon to those of his kind known as the Reaper's Blade, which had been in his family since eons before he was born. Now it belonged to him, and it had been far too long since the deadly alloy had tasted blood.
He and Vaydon made their way efficiently through O'Hare, noting a few vampires who gawked, gaped, and then backed away when they realized what they were. The color drained from their faces. Apparently, they had never seen Dacians and knew exactly who they were from the tales of the "ancient white-hairs" who used to rule the race. Searcy had to admit, their long, pale hair and silver eyes were a dead giveaway. Still, how nice to see his people respond with such fear and reverence. Even if King Bain sat on the throne, these vampires still knew who truly ruled the race, and before long, they would bow to him by rights, after he took his bloodline back to power and cast aside his usurper.
His first order of business after he ousted Bain would be to relocate the throne to a warmer climate.
"I hate the cold." Searcy stepped outside to a waiting line of cabs and minibusses.
Granted, for early spring, Chicago was unseasonably warm, but right off Lake Michigan at night, the wind had a bite.
Vaydon stood to his left, scanning the area. "This way."
Searcy fell into step with his son, and they eventually wended their way into a parking structure and projected themselves to the top floor.
Once there, Searcy tuned out all else, closed his eyes, opened his senses, and drew forth the marked scent of his prey, the two assassins who had led him to this cold, windy place.
He inhaled as if he could breathe in the whole city, then held his breath against his tongue. The filth, rotted fish on the shores of Lake Michigan, and the refuse sickened him, and he discarded anything foul, sifting further. Sex, drugs, even the essence of a freshly uncorked bottle of champagne somewhere nearby settled in. And then he weeded through the living beings, the smelly humans, even smellier drecks, and finally to the vampires, who always touched his senses last for some reason.
He exhaled, inhaled again, this time focused on those of his kind. The blood and venom of each vampire held a slightly different signature than all the rest. Ah, a mutant was about to be born in Chicago. How interesting that would be to see. But that would have to come after he caught his quarry. Further he filtered until finally…the weak, far away smell of his two little rabbits touched his senses.
Searcy opened his eyes. "They're here. But far away." He turned and found Vaydon standing in front of a tricked out Escalade with shiny chrome from wheel to wheel. "That our ride?"
Vaydon gave a half shrug. "Might as well travel in style while we're here."
The owner of such a fine vehicle probably thought he was being clever parking all the way up on the top floor of the parking garage, where only half the spaces were filled. Less chance up here of someone parking next to him and dinging his door.
Well, consider the door dinged. Because what was once someone else's was now his.
"Let's go."
Vaydon tapped the hood of the luxury SUV, and the doors unlocked and the alarm disengaged. Once inside, Vaydon started the engine with a thought, waited until Searcy was settled in, then backed out of the space, put the car in drive, turned up the radio, and pulled out.
Within days, that bitch and her sidekick, Mr. Clean, would be history. Then he would do a little sightseeing. Say, around the king's home.
* * *
Gina kept her gaze out the passenger window of Malek's truck. He hadn't said more than two words since they left AKM.
What had happened back in that parking garage?
In one swift moment, everything about him, as well as between them, had somersaulted and shifted as if they were two balls in a bingo tumbler. The back-to-back about-faces left her stunned, and she struggled to make sense of what had happened in all of two minutes. First, Malek had hated her, then loved her, and then sorrow so deep it had actually made her chest ache slackened Malek's whole body as he trudged away from her.
What had he meant by he would always hurt her? How? And better yet, why?
After pulling her feet from the cement, she had followed him to his truck, where he unlocked the passenger door, opened it, threw a shamed glance her way, and then walked around to the driver's side, climbed in, and started the engine.
Waves of hatred and animosity no longer pulsed off him like radio waves sending out a warning. Instead, a calm sadness seeped from every pore.
When she stepped into the cab, the heaviness in the air nearly knocked her out, and she'd had to open her window.
They stopped by the Trump to get her things and check out, and now they headed toward the suburbs in silent oppression.
The life seemed to have drained completely out of him, and she wasn't sure if she liked this new version of Malek better or worse than the angry one. At least when he'd been angry, he'd been alive. Now he just seemed…dead.
The thought made her heart suddenly race, and she feared she was on the verge of another panic attack.
No. No panic attacks. Not now. She glanced at Malek and her pulse instantly relaxed. How odd. She frowned and looked back out the window. She was damn lucky she hadn't fallen into a panic attack at AKM. In Miami, she would have had another attack by now, but since arriving in Chicago, she had only had the one brief episode that hadn't even been a full-on meltdown, more like a warning hiccup.
After several more minutes of silent driving, they pulled into the long, winding drive of what had to be Malek's home. He lived in a sprawling, single-story ranch style house on a wooded lot in what appeared to be an older, more established neighborhood.
His silence and despondent melancholy disturbed Gina, and she wasn't entirely sure of her safety in his care. Was he unstable? Suffering a form of psychosis? He had shown another side of himself in that parking garage, and now she was more confused than ever.
Cautiously sidestepping him, she entered his foyer and took a few steps into his living room. He barely had any furniture. A chair, a lamp, but not much else. The dining room table was loaded with books stacked at least a foot-and-a-half high.
"Looks like you need a bookcase," she said, trying to ease the tension.
Malek averted his gaze and shut the door as he pursed his lips. "Don't need one."
She turned back to all the books on the table and frowned. There had to be at least four hundred paperbacks there. "Are you getting ready to make a donation to the local library?"
"No." He glowered and flipped his keys and walked past her.
Welcome back, Mean Malek.
His arm grazed hers, and he paused just long enough to glance at her, his brown eyes firing with an emotion that was neither sorrow nor anger, but unadulterated, pure desire. The fiery heat blazed and charged the air between them with such force, her knees trembled and warmth flooded her belly. He swayed briefly, and his eyelids slid halfway closed.
Their connection was undeniable, despite her earlier decision not to let him get too close. Something was happening between them. Something strong and sexual. As much as she wanted to deny her attraction to him, she couldn't. In all honesty, she had wanted Malek from the first time she had seen him. Only now, as she was beginning to release Armand from her past, did she fully realize just how lonely she had been until she met Malek. He had awakened her, had given her a reason to live again. Truly live.
And clearly, one of the personalities playing peek-a-boo inside his head wanted her. The way he had stormed her in Micah's office and demonstrated possessive tendencies over her said as much, but now the purely masculine force within him confirmed it. No matter how hard he pushed her away, a part of him wanted to pull her close.
"Malek…" She reached for him.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, as if anticipating her touch, needing it, holding his breath. But as soon as the tips of her fingers grazed the healing laceration on his cheek, he jerked back and grimaced as if in pain. "No, Gina. I can't." He backed away, sad apology mixed with anger seeped into his expression.
Why was he fighting what his body clearly demanded? His behavior made no sense.
He disappeared into the kitchen and she looked around. Behind the dining room table, which was
about to collapse under the weight of its heavy load, the wall sported a fist-sized hole, as if someone had recently mistaken it as Manny Pacquiao and had gone for the knockout punch.
She looked over her shoulder at Malek's broad back and handsome profile as he stared out the window over the sink. The similarities between Malek and Armand continued to mount. Both liked to hit things. Although hitting a wall wasn't the same as popping a female in the nose, which Armand had enjoyed whenever he felt like throwing a fist, hitting inanimate objects was a gateway toward hitting living creatures. Her included.
Unfortunately, while the similarities piled up between Armand and Malek like the books on the table, so did her attraction toward Malek, which made no sense. Why would she feel enamored with someone who liked to hit? Did she have a thing for bad boys that she wasn't aware of? If so, that was a bad recipe for future problems she didn't want or need. At some point, couldn't Malek just as easily hit her as the wall? Still, the attraction was irrefutable.
Maybe it was because Malek seemed more tortured than naturally aggressive. She got the feeling that he didn't like behaving this way…that he hated behaving like a Cretan toward her, but that he couldn't help himself. Such an explanation made sense given the glimpse she'd seen of him a month ago, but what had happened to make him act like a monster with two faces? One that loved her and one that despised her.
He glanced out of the corners of his eyes in her direction. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm some kind of puzzle you're trying to figure out." He squirmed and shifted, then turned and opened one of the cabinets. He grabbed a glass.