He was beautiful… His dark hair was nearly black in the dim room. It hung in waves around his handsome face. His jaw was strong—square. A muscle twitched in his cheek, giving away the hard clench of his teeth as he struggled to hold that mask of indifference.
I wanted to run to him—to throw my arms around him, but I couldn’t move. It seemed as if his reserved stance held me at bay. The dark amber of his eyes bore the truth of his pain—his sorrow… Sorrow that I knew I caused. I was ashamed and heartbroken. He wanted me to say it. He wanted to hear me confess that I loved another, but the lie I managed to force past my lips was a pathetic attempt, at best. My heart refused to release its hold on him—even as I prepared to marry Mitch.
I was a horrible person. A hypocrite even, and guilt clawed inside me until tears streamed down my cheeks. He looked as if he wanted to comfort me. I knew my pain brought him no measure of satisfaction. Yet, he resisted coming to me.
“I wish it was me waiting down there for you.”
Those words broke my heart. Standing there across the room, seeing him again for the first time, I wouldn’t admit it then, but I now know I fell in love with him all over again…
Tears splattered the pages, and Olivia dabbed up the moisture with her sleeve before it could fade the ink. Flipping back to the beginning of the journal, she began to read the entries. New-found hope began to bloom in her heart. Even though her memories were lost, perhaps they all weren’t truly gone. Here, in this book, were pages of remembrances, and she’d continue to fill these pages with her dreams. Someday, she vowed, she would have her life back.
By the time Olivia closed her journal, a box of used tissues lay scattered around her like confetti. Her eyes were puffy, her nose sore and runny. Her head ached, but perhaps that was from the 6 a.m. hangover she now sported. She’d spent the rest of the night reading and rereading her journal entries. It all felt so surreal…like she was invading someone else’s most private thoughts, their memories—experiencing someone else’s emotions as if they hadn’t been her own. None of them were familiar, save the last entry from her dream—that had been real, too real…
The story she held in her hands had been both beautiful and tragic. As she closed the journal and laid it on the nightstand, several painful realizations weighed on her. One: She was alive today because of Liam. He had given up his wings to save her, and miraculously, through his selflessness, had earned them back. Two: Liam had absolutely, without a doubt, loved her. Three: The old Olivia, the Olivia in this book, was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with an angel she could never have.
The whole thing was heartbreaking, really. After reading of the pain and misery that Olivia had endured, after experiencing it in that vivid dream, she had to admit there was a small part of her that was glad she couldn’t remember it all. But ultimately, that selfish part of her wasn’t big enough to deter her from wanting to discover the truth.
Why had Liam turned on her, and why had he taken her memory away? What happened during those unaccounted weeks between her abduction and her accident? Did the angel that loved the Olivia in that book—the angel who willingly gave his life for her—still feel the same? Or had something happened between them to shatter that bond? Oh, how her heart ached for him—ached for the truth…
Olivia’s eyes burned anew with the sting of tears that couldn’t come. She’d cried herself dry mourning someone else’s memories. Her life was as fractured as her heart. She felt like two different people— the before and after. The alarm clock on the nightstand clicked on, sounding a monotonous blare that would wake the dead, which was what it usually took to rouse her in the morning. Quieting the alarm, she crawled out of bed and started gathering tissues.
She had exactly an hour before she had to be at work. As terrible as she felt, Olivia wondered how she was going to make it through the day on a few hours’ sleep—exhausted, and hung-over.
The hot shower did little to improve her frame of mind or her condition, and there wasn’t enough makeup in the world to fix this face. Red swollen eyes, chapped nose, blotchy cheeks against the backdrop of her black hair, she looked like the walking dead. Too emotionally exhausted to care overly much about her appearance, she pulled her damp hair into a messy bun, slipped on a tank top and yoga pants from her laundry basket, and made her way down the stairs.
Her first class was at seven, and she had new members starting today, so she’d need to get there early enough to complete their registration. As her feet touched the floor, the scent of bacon hit her nose a moment before the rich sizzle reached her ears.
Olivia tensed. Who was here? In her home? And cooking breakfast? She tip-toed across the floor and carefully peeked her head into the kitchen. What the hell…?
“Good morning, Olivia.”
She glanced at the table, set for one. A glass of orange juice sat beside a plate filled with scrambled eggs and toast. Tate crossed the kitchen, pan in hand, and flopped two strips of greasy bacon onto her plate.
“Sit. Eat,” he commanded, nodding at the chair.
She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised to see him Martha Stewarting in her kitchen, or offended he’d taken the liberty to do so. As he turned to set the pan in the sink, she plopped into the chair with an indignant huff. “For being my guardian, you certainly don’t know me very well.”
Grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard, he filled it with the strong black brew and turned to look at her, arching a dark brow as if to say “Oh really?”
“I don’t eat breakfast.”
He added her special sweetener to the coffee and then her creamer. Lucky guess on the creamer, there were four different bottles in the fridge to choose from. He crossed the kitchen and handed her the mug. Before she could mutter a “thanks,” he turned and poured himself a cup.
Sitting across from her, he took a sip, then set the mug down and said, “Well, you should. And I know more about you than you think. I also know you look like shit. You’re exhausted. You’ve been crying all night, and there’s no way you’re going to get through this day without at least a good hit of protein and carbs.”
Grudgingly, she broke off a piece of toast and popped it into her mouth. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She felt like crap and was running on empty.
“Oh, did I mention you’re hung-over?”
“Anything else?” she added with a hint of snark before forking a mouthful of eggs.
“This coffee is fantastic. I’ve gotta say, I’m delighted with your human beverage.”
Cute. So her guardian was a comedian. She took another bite of eggs and washed it down with a sip of coffee. Damn…it was good. And he’d made it exactly how she liked it. Imagine that.
Stretching out in his chair, Tate crossed his long legs at the ankles and laced his fingers to support the back of his head in a negligent sprawl. “So here’s the deal, Olivia, you can’t keep going on like this, and I’m no Mary Poppins. If you continue to refuse me as your guardian, I cannot guarantee you’ll live a long and healthy life—”
Chugging her orange juice, she set the glass down with a firm clap and leveled him with an unwavering stare. “I want my memory back, Tate. Can you do that? Can you give it back to me?”
He sighed, looking not in the least bit surprised by her request. “Why would you want it when you know it will only cause you more grief? Look, the court may not agree with Liam’s actions, but I understand why he did what he felt he had to do. So no, Olivia, I can’t return your memory. I will not subordinate Liam’s actions to please you. It would be counterproductive to my end goal.”
“Which is what, exactly?” she snapped, hastily forcing down another bite of scrambled eggs so she could get the hell out of here. “You show up out of the blue, heal my broken ankle, tuck me into bed, and cook me breakfast. Are you trying to break my bond to Liam by getting me to fall for you? I’m not that easily seduced.”
A scowl of displeasure settled across his handsome face. He stiffened in his chair, clearly
affronted by the suggestion. “Were I to put forth the effort, you might not find me so easy to resist. But it’s not your heart I’m after, Olivia. I want your soul—”
“Oh, well then in that case… For crissake, Tate, listen to yourself. FYI that is not what you should say to someone you want to trust you. ‘I want your soul.’ And if you think I can just stop loving Liam because you say so, then clearly, you’ve never been in love.”
“No, I haven’t.”
His emotionless retort flamed the already burning embers of her nerves. “Well, then kudos to you, because let me tell ya, it sucks. And it can’t be controlled. It’s not something I can just turn off and on at will. Do you think I want to feel like this? That I want to be heartbroken over someone who doesn’t want me anymore, who gave me up—”
Tate’s violet gaze locked on her with startling intensity. “I never said he didn’t want you. And I didn’t say he gave you up. I said you were taken from him and he’s not coming back.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“I’m not here to make you feel better, Olivia. I’m here to keep you alive. Now, accept me and let me do my damn job!”
She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples, trying to stave off the impending migraine. Each beat of her heart was like a nail driving deeper into her brain. Oh, she never should have consumed that much wine. Perhaps this is all just a dream, she pitifully tried to convince herself. It simply wasn’t happening. She was not sitting here in her kitchen, arguing with an angel over binding to her soul. Those kinds of things just didn’t happen. This was all just too much.
The chair across from her grated against the floor as her wishful hallucination stood, wordlessly crossing the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of Ibuprofen, and shook three pills into his hand before carrying them over to her.
“Here.”
Without giving him a glance, she held out her hand and drank the pills down with the remainder of her coffee. Silently, she ate the last few bites of eggs, bacon, and toast. Olivia stood and carried her plate to the sink. She had to go. “So, that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to move in and become my shadow until I bond with you? Is that what you’re saying?”
Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he tipped his chin defiantly. “Exactly, dove. When I’m not in court, I’ll be here with you. As a courtesy, I won’t block your sight. That way you won’t have to wonder if and when I’m watching you. I’ll respect your privacy and personal space as much as I safely can. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. Aside from the coffee, your world holds little appeal to me. You want me to go away, then bond to me. The decision is yours.”
Tate blocked her exit from the kitchen. She walked up to him, and shouldering her own stubborn stance, snapped, “So that’s it, then?”
“Pretty much.”
Just fucking great…
Chapter Five
Tate watched from the kitchen window as Olivia marched to her car, jumped into the Camaro, and peeled out of the driveway. Damnation, this female was a handful. As a warrior, Tate saw things as either black or white—but this female was nothing but gray. His decisions were always practical, his actions—methodical. He wasn’t impetuous by nature or rash in thought, so what in the hell had ever possessed him to tell his ward he was moving in with her? Because he was desperate...
His hope that she could be reasoned with was quickly dwindling. Learning the truth had only seemed to further exacerbate the female’s recklessness. She wanted her memory back, and that just wasn’t happening. If, by some act of God, she did remember Liam, there would be zero chance of her ever accepting Tate. Unfortunately, the heart was stronger than free will, and Olivia was refusing to let Liam go—an unforeseen complication in the High Court’s plan to reassign her guardianship, to be sure.
Tate had yet to report the problem, having had hope he could rectify the issue with a little gentle persuasion. But now?—not so much. Olivia was right, he hadn’t been in love before and the concept that she just couldn’t get over it and accept Tate as her guardian didn’t compute. It was impractical to cling to someone you couldn’t remember, and plain foolish to refuse to give up someone you could never have.
Becoming the female’s roomie held zero appeal to him, but equally distasteful was the thought of reporting his failure to the High Court. He’d give this a try first and see if a little face time would bring the female around to accepting the truth—Liam simply wasn’t coming back. And the sooner Olivia accepted that, the better off they’d all be.
With tensions running high among the court elders, the decision to revoke Liam’s guardianship and impose confinement had been met with much opposition, and a less than unanimous vote. In addition, rumors of a surviving Nephilim and a possible regime change among the lords of the underworld were an added complication. In order to stay apprised of new developments and threats to the High Court, he was often pulled away from his assignment here, not exactly a big deal—unless he wasn’t bonded to his ward.
According to the Watchers, Gahn had left Sheol. His whereabouts was still unknown. An army of Ronnin warriors had been dispatched to locate him. So far, nothing had been reported, and Tate was surly as hell over being left out in the wings on this. This was a mission he should have been heading, and he was damn sure if he had, Gahn’s whereabouts would be more than just speculation.
He was due back in court shortly to report on Olivia. Leaving her unguarded sat ill with him, but at this point, he didn’t have a lot of options. The High Court wanted regular updates of any suspicious demonic activity relating to the female. So far, everything had been quiet…a ploy to lull him into complacency? Or perhaps this was just the calm before the storm. Only time would tell.
Olivia couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so exhausted. Class had been grueling, but her fourth one had nearly done her in. Her new client, Pat, wasn’t what she’d expected to find when her office door swung open to reveal a rather fit, twenty-something guy with bright blue eyes, dark red hair, and goatee a few shades lighter. He’d entered without knocking—strike one…fixed his arrogant gaze on her rack—strike two…and when he shook her hand to introduce himself, his thumb brushed over her knuckles—strike three.
She instantly disliked the guy. In all her years of teaching the art of yoga, there were two kinds of guys that ever joined her class: the overweight, middle-aged men that mistakenly thought this class would be easier than hitting the weights, and the trollers. Pat was definitely the latter. How she wished she could bar admission to these assholes who thought yoga was nothing but an easy way to get a piece of ass.
Since non-admittance wasn’t an option, Olivia had worked the piss out of that class and nearly killed herself in the process. To her chagrin, Pat hadn’t dropped over dead, and left the class looking more energized than when he’d started. To her surprise, he hadn’t approached a single woman in there, although more than one had gone up to him. He’d kept the encounters short and sweet, clearly not interested. But unfortunately, someone had caught his attention—her. The guy hadn’t taken his eyes off Olivia throughout class. Trollers usually knew better than to try to fuck the instructor. Apparently this guy hadn’t gotten the memo.
With class over, she didn’t stay to chit-chat with the other women as she usually did. Instead, she grabbed her duffle bag from her office and beat feet to her car. Hopping in, she tossed her bag into the passenger seat, and turned the key in the ignition. Click…click…click…
Shit…seriously? Closing her eyes, she pinched the bridge of her nose, cursing her piss poor luck.
“Need a jump?”
She jumped in her seat, startled by the man’s voice.
“Sorry…” Pat chuckled, walking over to her. “I didn’t mean to spook ya.”
Too late…
He tapped her hood with his knuckles. “Pop the hood and I’ll take a look.”
She wanted to decl
ine. The idea of accepting his help rankled her nerves, but there was no smooth way to refuse, and it wasn’t like she had a lot of options here. Lord…she just wanted to go home. Sighing in defeat, Olivia leaned forward and pulled the hood release. He pushed it up, blocking her view as he leaned over her engine.
“Did you leave your lights on?”
“No, they’re automatic.”
More digging… “Huh…”
“Huh what?” She climbed out of the car and joined him under the hood.
He glanced at her and shrugged. “Any reason someone would want you stranded here?”
A prickle of apprehension needled up her spine. “No, why?”
“Well…” Pat knelt on the ground and looked under her car. “I think your battery is dead, and you’re missing a couple spark plugs. Those things don’t just fall out and disappear.”
Her pulse quickened as Tate’s warning replayed through her mind.
Pat stood and brushed the dirt off the knees of his jeans. “I tell you what, I’ll give you a lift to the auto parts store and we’ll grab the plugs. It won’t take more than a few minutes to put them in, we’ll jump your car, and then you’ll be on your way.”
Aw hell…where was Tate when she needed him? She hesitated to accept his offer.
Pat arched his ginger brow expectantly, clearly waiting for her to say something. “What?” he teased. “You’re looking at me like you’re trying to decide if you’ve seen my picture on America’s Most Wanted or something.” He held up his hands and took a step back. “I promise you haven’t.”
Heat rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment. Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge him earlier. Maybe Tate was turning her into a paranoid nutcase, making her believe everyone was out to get her. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I haven’t had the best of luck with guys lately.”
He flashed her a disarming smile. “Hey, I totally understand. Who knows, your luck may just change.”
The Redemption Series Page 74