The Beast Within

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Karen watched in amazement as light seemed to beam from her palm. A knock sounded on the door, and Karen scurried toward it, only to have it open before she arrived. Rock and Des entered, their attention on Marisol and Jag. Karen didn’t miss how Rock slowly eased in Marisol’s direction. The man had it bad for the Healer.

  Together, the three of them watched, waiting, tension in the air. Karen pressed her fist beneath her chin, worried beyond words. Suddenly Jag sat straight up, his breath whooshing from his lungs, his features distorted as if in pain. Marisol gasped, pushed from the bed. Rock rushed to help her up. He grabbed her from behind and helped her to her feet.

  Jag’s eyes traveled the room, wildly hunting, and then fixing on Karen. “Get her out of here. Get her out of here now.”

  “Jag,” Marisol said. “Lie down. Please.” She looked at Rock. “I need him down now, before he rips open his wound. I can’t do much more. I just can’t. I’m too tired.”

  Rock eyed Des as if waiting for his decision. With a nod, Des moved forward.

  “Get back,” Jag said, pointing at Rock and then Des. “I swear to God, I’ll make you both regret touching me.”

  The men stopped in their tracks, staring at each other. Jag stared at Karen. “You need to leave.”

  “I can’t do that,” she said, her voice low but determined. Clearly he’d been dreaming again. He was so sure he would hurt her. He was wrong.

  “Karen, leave,” Des said, turning to look at her.

  “Ask him why he wants me to leave,” Karen said. “Ask him!” This time she screamed it. “He thinks he’s going to hurt me. He thinks…He won’t.” She fixed her gaze on Jag. “I’m supposed to be here, Jag.”

  Marisol stepped forward, directly beside Jag’s head. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, her voice so low it was hard to make out. Then her hand lifted and light sprayed from it, engulfing his forehead. A second later he collapsed. Immediately her palm covered the wounded section of his body.

  “Chingado,” Des said, moving to stand beside her again. “He’s a stubborn Spaniard, that one.”

  “Spaniard?” Karen asked, brows dipping. Des seemed to be trying to make her feel at ease.

  “Yeah,” Des said, smiling. “Bossy, arrogant bastards love to tell us Mexicans what to do.”

  He gave her an inquisitive look and she met it head-on. She wasn’t sure what he was seeking as he stared at her, but she was an open book. There was nothing she had to hide. He had the most unique eyes, she realized, with flecks of yellow. An untamed quality lingered in them, wild and potent, hinting at danger.

  But she wasn’t afraid of him or any of these men any longer. “I can’t leave him,” she said, unable to take the silence any longer.

  His lips thinned, the scar above his upper lip drawing her eyes, making her wonder what this man had endured. Had he lost someone he loved as Jag had. Surely if he had, he’d understand. Maybe she should tell him who she was. That she was Caron.

  “He wants you to leave,” Des said. “If he wakes up and you’re here, I’ll be in deep shit.”

  “And you always do what he says,” she commented, repeating what he had said in the kitchen, feeling a sudden rush of fear. Leaving Jag felt like the wrong thing to do.

  He tilted his chin slightly. “Yes, but maybe not now.”

  Surprise stiffened her spine, hope filled her heart. “You mean, you’re letting me stay?”

  “Maybe,” he commented. “But like I said. I’ll pay for it.” He seemed to consider his next move. Then, “I know about the dreams, Karen. Marisol told me.” Something flashed in his dark eyes. His gaze went to the bed. “He’s been alone a long time.”

  Something about the way Des said the words told her he was thinking of more than Jag. He understood being alone because he was, too. She was glad Marisol had told him. In fact, she was relieved. If he knew everything, if Des believed what she did, that she was Caron, then maybe he’d understand. Maybe he’d help her.

  “What else did Marisol say?” she asked, trying to decide what to say now. How to make sure he really did get how much she needed to stay here with Jag.

  “That she believes you have some past connection to Jag.” He considered his own words a moment. “There was a time I would have called that bullshit. One thing my very long life has taught me is that anything is possible. I’m living, walking proof of that.” He tilted his head to consider her. “The question is—what do you think?”

  “I’m supposed to be with Jag,” she said, no hesitation. With every passing second, she believed her words all the more. “He thinks he’ll hurt me, but I know he won’t. He won’t.”

  Before she received Des’s decision, Marisol pushed to her feet. “He’ll be fine. Just let him—” Her words were lost as her hand went to her head. “Oh.”

  Rock cursed as he rushed toward her, lifting her in his arms. Karen started toward them, but Des caught her arm. “She’s fine. She’s just exhausted. We told her not to come over here but she insisted. She just needs rest. Same with Jag.”

  Karen crossed her arms in front of her body, confused, cold in an unnatural way. “How many did she heal?”

  “Not everyone.” He shook his head. “We lost good men today.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I…I wouldn’t have come if I thought I’d bring this to you. I swear, I wouldn’t have.”

  “If you’re referring to Rock’s accusations, ignore him. You didn’t bring this on us. My gut says the Darklands are using you to get to Jag, and I always trust my gut.” His eyes darkened. “I’m counting on you getting through to him before they do.” Then he cut his gaze away, motioning Rock forward.

  Karen stood there, feeling overwhelmed with emotions. Des’s acceptance of her past with Jag somehow delivered validation. Before he could leave, she turned. “Des?”

  He rounded to face her as Rock carried Marisol from the room, his brow lifting in silent question. “Take care of my sister,” she said, needing the security of hearing him say he would.

  “You have my word,” he said.

  She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d even been holding, turning away from Des, and hearing the door shut behind her. With Des’s vow, she felt she could focus on Jag. She could know Eva was safe. She’d left her sister once, she wouldn’t do it again.

  Just like she wouldn’t leave Jag again. She stared at the bed, at the man sleeping peacefully. But there was nothing peaceful about Jag and she knew it. Tears burning in the back of her eyes, emotions surfacing, her chest tightening with crushing force. Without him saying so, Karen knew Jag felt he’d failed her, but she could see it was the opposite. She’d left him alone, an eternal lifetime to feel guilt. If only she’d run faster. Acted somehow differently. If only…wait. She thought of the dreams. Thought of what she felt in them. Jag was the one who’d been afraid. He’d feared himself.

  Things happen for a reason. The words popped into her head and with them, a sense of peace began to settle inside. The tightness in her chest eased. It was clear Jag was a leader, that he fought a battle greater than her life or even his own. Things did happen for a reason. And she was back here, for him, for a reason. Jag needed her. He needed to let go of the guilt and the fear. He needed to be loved.

  Not willing to waste another minute, she crawled onto the bed, and snuggled up to his side. When he woke, she was going to be close and she planned to stay close. Too close for him to ignore. She smiled as her cheek settled back on his shoulder. Karen felt the most amazing thing in that moment. She felt she’d found what she’d been looking for all these years. She’d found her purpose. She’d found Jag. There was a war raging around them and they were meant to fight it together.

  When Jag woke she’d make sure he knew he wasn’t alone anymore. She was here to stay.

  Jag blinked awake, staring at the ceiling, trying to clear the fog of the heaviness of a healing slumber. The dim lighting spoke of nightfall, which meant he’d been asleep for quite some time. Normally he was a li
ght sleeper, ever aware of possible trouble. The healing needs of his body had overcome all else.

  Slowly awareness and warmth crept over him, his nostrils flaring with a soft feminine scent. Karen. He tilted his head down, inhaling the scent more fully, her hair brushing his face, a whisper of a touch that assured him the reality of her presence. Pleasure filled him at her nearness before he could think to feel otherwise. In truth, for just a few moments, he didn’t want to allow himself to feel anything else. He simply wanted to absorb her presence.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here. He remembered telling his men to take her away. At that moment, he was thankful they hadn’t. And he wasn’t willing to think of the consequences of her being here. Of what could go wrong if he allowed himself to forget the warnings in his dreams.

  Not an easy task to achieve when he could feel the soft curves of her body melded to his side, the gentle weight of her head resting on his shoulder. Unable to stop himself, he reached down and stroked her hair, the urge to touch her too great to ignore. The silky strands teased his fingers, and his eyes shut as he inhaled the moment, taking it in as he would a breath, letting it stir him deep inside.

  He felt her shift a moment before she spoke. “Jag?” Her hand settled on his chest as she rotated to look at him. Their eyes locked, awareness charging the air with electric current. “Hi,” she whispered, her lashes fluttering almost shyly.

  “Hi,” he said, knowing he should say more, knowing he should demand she leave. Somehow, he just couldn’t.

  “How are you?”

  A loaded question for sure. The woman he wanted but couldn’t have was in his arms. How was he? He was both in heaven and hell at the moment, thank you very much.

  “Better,” he finally managed, and then reached deep for discipline, forcing himself to say what he didn’t want to. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I remember, Jag.” Her lashes fluttered a moment before her eyes once again found his. “I remember Victor.”

  Everything inside him went still. His heart seemed to stop beating, his breath lodged inside his throat. “What?” he asked, sure he’d heard wrong. Certain this couldn’t be happening. “What did you say?”

  “It’s coming back in pieces, but I remember. I…remember how in love we were.” She reached out and touched his jaw. “You used to have a goatee. I liked it.”

  Jag might have questioned her, if she hadn’t added that part about the goatee. No one knew that. He’d shaved it, just as he’d shaved away his past. Shaved it because his wife had loved it and it reminded him of her.

  In one move, he rotated their bodies and pinned her on the bed, hands over her head, knees trapped between his. Fury and pain burned inside him, a rage of ache, of memories. “Who told you to say that?” he demanded. “Who?”

  She stared up at him calmly, unaffected by his anger. “It’s not like that and you know it. Look inside your heart and you know it’s me. You know. You know just like I do.”

  He shook his head, fighting the rush of emotion overcoming him. Her hair was lighter, her skin paler, but her eyes…they were the same. When he looked into her eyes, he felt the same. “It can’t be.”

  “Yet, it is. I don’t know how. I just know that the memories…they are coming to me. I know you. I know us.”

  Slowly he loosened his grip on her hands, burying his face in her neck, and he was trembling, he realized, as shaken as the day she’d been taken from him. She felt so amazing in his arms, so perfect. He pulled her closer, wrapping her with his body, afraid it would be another dream and she’d be gone.

  Her hands stroked his back, his shoulders, his neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair, calming him with the caresses, soothing him with her presence. He couldn’t look at her. Not knowing he’d failed her that day so long ago. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  “What are you sorry for?” she asked. “Jag, please. Look at me.” Her hand went to his face. “Please.”

  With a deep breath, he forced himself to lift his gaze to hers. “I didn’t get to you in time.”

  “Have you considered maybe you weren’t supposed to? I lay in the bed for a long time while you rested, thinking about this. Asking the same questions I’m sure you’ve asked for years. Really one question. Why?” Her knuckles grazed his jaw. “And one answer came back to me. Things happen for a reason.”

  He shook his head. “No. There is no reason a man watches his wife die. Do you know how many times that day has played over in my head?”

  “I wish I could take that away. It hurts me knowing I caused you that much pain but I’m here now. We’re together.”

  If only it were that easy. “We can’t go back.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not the man you knew. I’m not Victor anymore.”

  She pressed her palms to his face and then brushed her lips over his, and he felt that touch, that barely there caress in every inch of his body. He was aroused and growing hungry. Not a good thing. He’d already seen how easily he became primal and out of control with her. But even knowing this, a need drove him onward. A need to find out if she still loved him despite all that had happened, despite all he’d become. God, how he needed her, too.

  “I’ve lived a lifetime without you just as you have me,” she said, their lips still close. So close he could still taste her. So close he could barely contain his need to feel them touch his again. She continued, and he forcefully reined in his desire. “I’m not the same person I was, either, but the bond we shared then is still alive inside me. We can discover each other all over again. I know we can.”

  His restraint snapped and he kissed her then, claiming her mouth without the tenderness he would have liked to. But there was no other way he could deal with this now. It was a kiss meant to sate a hundred years of starvation. A kiss meant to give him peace. But as he felt the slide of her tongue against his, tasted the sweetness of her pure passion, he burned inside with the truth. He burned inside with the danger he represented to her. He was a beast, a monster, a man no longer worthy of her.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he rolled off her, his breath coming out in heavy pants, his arm covering his face. “You have no idea what I’ve become.”

  “I know what you fear,” she said softly. “I felt it in my dreams. You think you’re one of them.”

  He dropped his arm, turning to look at her, shocked to hear the words he thought so many times spoken aloud. “Because it’s true.”

  She didn’t move, didn’t touch him. She seemed to understand for at least a moment, he needed his space. “I don’t believe that,” she said.

  “They turned me into one of them, Karen. They stole my soul and turned me into one of them.”

  “Now I know you’re crazy.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

  She sat up, determination flaring in her eyes. “Think about it, Jag. Think about what we share. I know you and you’re a good man. You help people. You aren’t like those things I saw you battling.”

  If only it were as she said, but she didn’t know everything. Jag had to look away from her as he told her the rest of his story, as he tore down her rosy picture. “When you died,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse even to his own ears, “the beasts attacked me next. I didn’t fight. I wanted to die. As they drank my blood I kept thinking, just do it. Just kill me. But no. That would have been too simple. Too painless. When I finally thought it might end soon, that I was close to gone, my chest started burning.” His hand went to his heart, still feeling that pain like it had just happened. “I felt my soul yanked from my chest as if were my heart. It was unbelievable pain I can’t begin to explain. Then, just like that—” he snapped his fingers “—nothing. No pain. My soul was gone and so was every human emotion I’d ever known.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “What was so bad about it was that…” He didn’t know if he could even say it out loud. “Was that I…”

  She reached out and touched his arm. “What?” she prodded gently.

  “It fe
lt good,” he said, the truth like acid on his tongue yet liberating at the same time. He’d never admitted this to anyone. Jag turned his head and looked at her. “The pain of losing you was gone. Nothing mattered. I hate how good that moment felt. How losing my soul freed me from the loss. It haunts me every second of every day.”

  She scooted closer to him, her fingers brushing hair from his eyes. “It shouldn’t.” Her soft voice held a caress. It held comfort. “Who wouldn’t have felt the same?”

  The understanding in her voice brushed his nerve endings, calming him when he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but not near enough. His self-hatred was a vicious thing time had ripened to a nasty wound.

  How could she forgive him for what he couldn’t forgive himself? But then, she hadn’t heard everything. He turned away from her again. “A man appeared then, battling the beasts. I remember the thirst for blood, the desire to take his life before he did mine. I tried to attack him and with a wave of his hand, my limbs were heavy, almost frozen. Then the pain in my chest rocked me, took me down to my knees. And then the sorrow over losing you took hold again. I begged him to take it back. Begged like I’ve never begged in my life.”

  A hoarse sound drew his attention. Jag turned to find Karen crying. “I’m so sorry, Jag. I…hate that you went through that. I didn’t want to leave you.”

  She was apologizing to him? He’d never felt anything like what he felt in that moment. Never felt the kind of love. Not even in his past life. Here he was, worried she would think him a monster, and she was apologizing. All she cared about was his pain, not her own.

  Jag sat up and pulled her into his arms, using his finger to brush away her tears. “Shh,” he said. “Don’t cry, cariño. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more pain.”

  “I’m not the one who lived all of this, Jag. I basically slept through the pain. You,” she said, pausing to draw a shaky breath, “you’ve been through hell. I’m here now, though. You’re not alone anymore.”