He pulled her close to kiss her forehead. “I’ll always come back for you.”
She released a small sob and rested her forehead against his. He cradled her cheeks in his hands, kissed the tip of her nose, and then her lips. She’d never been so happy to see anyone in her life. It took everything she had not to turn into a sobbing mess, but she’d made it this far without breaking down and wouldn’t start now.
“What happened? How long have I been out?” he asked.
“Too long,” she whispered as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists and pulled his hands away. Leaning back, she smiled as she gazed into his beautiful, silver eyes. That color was still staining his skin, but his eyes were back. “Three days.”
He’d left her alone and vulnerable to attack for three days. He’d been worse off than he realized. “Tell me what happened.”
Willow filled him in on the details of their run through the woods, the man in the truck, her conversation with Vicky, where they were now, and how she’d been hunting to supply him with blood.
“I knew you would heal,” she said. “I didn’t think it would take so long, and I was beginning to fear you’d never wake up. That you would stay trapped in this… this… state. And then there’s this.…”
Her voice trailed off as she pulled his hands away from her face and held them out between them. Declan’s eyebrows rose when he saw the color still staining his flesh. He didn’t feel out of control anymore, and he wasn’t overwhelmed by rage and the emotions of others; there was no reason he should still be in this almost demon-like state.
“The color,” he murmured.
“The color,” she said.
Declan turned his hands over between them as he tried to figure out why his body remained in this state.
“Do you feel in control?” she asked.
“Mostly.”
Willow bowed her head and leaned toward him. She slid her arms up and underneath his as she held him. When his arms enveloped her, she relaxed against him.
“It will fade,” he assured her as he ran his hands over her hair.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered.
“Never,” he vowed.
“I cleaned you up the best I could, but I didn’t take off your shirt. I know there’s something you don’t want me to see.”
Declan’s arms tightened around her before he released her and sat back. Clasping her cheeks again, he lifted her face until those gorgeous, violet eyes met his. Anxiety and something more radiated from her as she ran her fingers over his face before lowering them to his lips.
“I missed you,” she whispered. “I was so scared they would find us while you were still unconscious and terrified you’d never wake up again.”
“Nothing is ever going to take me away from you, Willow.”
She closed her eyes as she breathed in his fantastic aroma. She wished she could believe that, but after the events of this week, and with the color still staining his skin, she knew there were too many things seeking to tear them apart. However, she would fight for him, and them, until the day she died, and she would cherish every day they got to spend together.
“We have water?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’d like to finish cleaning myself.”
“I’ll get it for you,” she offered.
“No, I’ll get it. Show me the way.”
Willow pointed to the faucet. “I’ve been using one of the water buckets to hold the water and some rags from the truck to clean us.”
Declan kissed her forehead again before rising. His legs were a little shaky after not using them for three days, but by the time he reached the faucet, they were steady again. He lifted one of the empty buckets and slid it under the tap before turning it on.
While the bucket filled, he took in his surroundings. Waking in this place seemed surreal to him; he couldn’t believe he’d been out for three days while Willow kept them alive. He glanced over to where she sat in the straw with her legs pulled up against her chest and her chin on her knees. He loved her more than he’d ever believed it was possible to love another.
She was such a warrior that he sometimes forgot how young she was; he couldn’t forget it now as she looked so vulnerable. With everything she’d seen and endured, she was still innocent in many ways, and he was about to take some of that from her. He shut the water off and took a deep breath as he prepared himself for what was to come.
Untying his boots, he kicked them off and tugged off his socks before removing his jeans. The red and black color continued throughout his body. He didn’t know how long it would last. He felt mostly in control, but the demon part of him slithered beneath his surface, still primed for the kill and ready to destroy anyone who came near her.
What would have happened if someone attacked them while he was unconscious? He suspected he would have woken from his rejuvenating slumber to destroy any who dared to come after her. That was probably why the color remained while he slept, but why was it still apparent?
When he started unbuttoning his bloody, torn shirt, Willow closed her eyes, rested her cheek on her knees, and turned her head away from him. He stood for a minute before pulling the shirt off and letting it fall to the floor.
He recalled the last time he willingly took his shirt off in front of another. He was forty years old, and he hadn’t removed it; it was shredded from his body. He ran the cloth over his face, down his arms, and across his chest before lifting his gaze to Willow. She remained unmoving in the straw with her head turned away.
He sensed her curiosity, but she hadn’t taken the opportunity to learn the answers she sought while he was unconscious. And that only made him love her more. Though she couldn’t see it, Declan held the rag out toward her.
“Can you wash my back?” he asked.
Willow’s mouth went dry, and her eyes opened as she turned her head toward him. Despite the casual tone of his voice, she sensed something raw and desperate in him. And then she realized she was sensing it through their bond! A bond he’d shut down during their fight with the Savages.
Declan didn’t move as she unfolded her legs and rose with elegant grace from the straw. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, and he was hideous, yet she belonged to him, and he would cherish her for the rest of their days.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I can’t do it myself.”
Willow approached to take the rag from him. She frowned when she spotted the faint white scars crisscrossing his upper chest and pecs. His chiseled abs bore no marks. Those scars hadn’t come from this battle; all those wounds had already healed. But what would leave scars like this on a purebred vampire?
Feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life, Declan slowly turned his back to her. His shoulders went back as he braced himself for her reaction. Never before had he willingly revealed his worst shame to another, but if his back was anything like his chest, at least it wouldn’t be as bad as it was before she became his mate.
Willow barely managed to suppress a gasp when he revealed his back to her. She stood, staring at him until she realized too much time was passing. She was starting to make this awkward, and he might take her hesitation as a rejection.
With trembling fingers, she bent and dipped the rag into the water before rising to wash the caked blood away. As she worked, she wanted to hug him as badly as she wanted to find whoever did this to him and brutally beat them before plunging the sword into their belly.
Instead, she remained silent as she reined in her emotions. When she finished, she tossed the rag into the bucket and stepped closer to rest her fingers against one of the hundreds of scars crisscrossing his flesh. Most were so faint they were barely recognizable in the dim glow, but others were more evident against the muscles twitching beneath her touch.
His flesh was a roadmap of brutality, violence, and torture the likes of which she’d never seen before. Did he do this to himself, or did he have someone else do it to him
to satisfy his craving for pain?
This kind of torture might have fulfilled his need for pain, but the idea of him allowing someone to do this to him made her stomach turn. The question was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t ask it, so she asked another.
“What caused this?” she asked.
“On my back, many things, but mostly a whip. On my chest, a knife.”
He hated that she had to see this, but it was only going to be a matter of time before she saw him completely naked; he’d always known that. However, this was one more thing from his past that he wished didn’t exist.
As she examined some of the scars, she began to pick out differences in them. Some of them were faded burns that must have gone all the way to the bone. Willow bit her lip as she ran her fingers over a much thicker scar running straight down his spine. It looked as if someone had carved him open, and she suspected that’s exactly what happened.
“Who did this to you?” she whispered.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Declan braced himself for her reaction to his answer. “My father.”
Willow’s breath hissed in, and her hand flew to her mouth. The fact his father did this to him was worse to her than the idea of him enduring beating after beating until his needs were satisfied.
His father, the man who was supposed to love him unconditionally, had tortured him instead. A sob lodged in her throat. She had no idea what she could say or do to make any of this better.
Their lives were so completely different. She’d grown up in a household so loving there were times when it was almost suffocating, and she’d never once thought her parents would hit her. He’d grown up mostly alone and with the knowledge he would one day become a fighter. And then the only parent he had left turned on him.
With no idea how to take away the suffering he’d endured, she gave in to her instincts and stepped closer to him. Wrapping her arms around him, she flattened her palms against his chest as she rested her cheek on his scars and hugged him.
No child should ever endure what he did. It was centuries ago, but she knew the scars on his flesh were nothing compared to the ones lingering on his soul. These scars were the reason this beautiful, strong, and caring man believed he would make a horrible father.
After seeing this, Willow knew how incredibly wrong he was. Anyone who survived this and was still a good man would make an outstanding father.
At first, Declan didn’t know how to react to Willow’s embrace. Then he rested his hands over hers and squeezed them in his.
“He wasn’t a bad man,” Declan said.
Willow kept her beliefs about that to herself. “How old were you when this happened?”
Please don’t let him have been a child. It was bad enough he’d suffered through this kind of abuse, but the thought of him being a defenseless little boy when it happened was more than she could bear.
“I was forty. It happened after he became a Savage. I mistakenly believed I could reason with him and convince him to return with me to see Ronan. He’d caused so much destruction by then and terrorized so many humans, but I refused to believe I couldn’t save him.”
He’d been in denial, and it ended the second he was close enough to speak with his father. The emotions that battered him as he stood before the man who, until then, was a good man told him how far gone his father was. Where he once exuded strength, determination, and a caring for Declan and others, rage and a sick, twisted pleasure emanated from him, as did the stench of rot.
Still, Declan hadn’t been able to walk away without trying to talk to him. He’d paid for that mistake.
“He was a good man until he turned Savage. I believed I could bring him back and somehow rehabilitate him with Ronan’s help. Even though nothing like that had ever happened before, I refused to give up hope. My father wasn’t a warm man; we fought Savages well together, and I admired him, but I can’t recall a time he hugged me or told me he loved me. However, he was my father; I know he cared about me, and I cared about him.”
He didn’t have to say the words; Willow understood he’d hoped his father cared enough about him to save himself. “Just because he couldn’t be saved doesn’t mean he didn’t care for you. Once he became a Savage, he stopped being the man you knew.”
“I know.”
“But you think he should have cared for you enough not to become a Savage. From what little I’ve learned of him, you’re nothing like your father, Declan. You’re one of the warmest and kindest vampires I’ve ever met, and believe me, when it comes to families and vamps, I know a thing or two. You’re an amazing man, and you’ll be a fantastic father.”
Declan slid his hand up her arm as he held her closer. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“A whole lot of good because I’m pretty awesome.”
Declan chuckled. “That you are.”
They stood for a while, holding each other. Willow was starting to wonder if he would continue when he spoke again.
“My father was a purebred; he trained Ronan and was older than Ronan. I was young and stupid and no match for him. I tried to talk to him, and he didn’t want to hear it.”
“So, he beat you to punish you for that?”
“No, he beat me because he decided to turn me into a Savage too. I went to rescue him, and in his twisted mind, he believed he was saving me. Or I should say, he thought he was freeing me. At least that’s what he repeatedly told me. He didn’t know pain was also something I thrived on; I’m sure he assumed it was sex as that was an obvious conclusion.
“What he did to me probably would have broken other vamps. I was starving, desperate to eat, and unable to repair the wounds he repeatedly inflicted, but his torture also worked to keep the demon at bay.”
“How long did he do this to you?” Willow braced herself for his answer.
“A week.”
Willow’s fingers dug into the muscle of his chest as she hugged him closer. She would give anything to take away the suffering he’d endured as well as the mental anguish that must have come from his father doing this to him.
“Why did he stop?”
“Ronan found us and killed him. He released me from the chains my father bound me with and took me home. It took weeks for the injuries to heal. I’d fully matured by then, but I was still young, and my father hadn’t given me any blood while holding me captive. The number of blows, burns, and knife cuts he gave me, plus the depth of them, combined with my starved state, are the reasons why the scars have never completely gone away. They have faded since we became mated.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Your blood has made me stronger, and our bond has weakened the past’s hold on me.”
Now she was close to tears again. She tried not to sniffle as she blinked away her tears and tenderly kissed one of his scars. She was glad she hadn’t seen them before they faded; they were bad enough now.
“No matter what he did to me and what he became, I never could have killed him,” Declan said. “I wanted to destroy what he’d become. That’s what my father would have wanted me to do before he turned into a monster, but I loved him.”
Unable to stop it, a single tear slid free and ran down his back. His beautiful scarred back that hid the wondrous soul beneath. He held far more secrets than she’d realized, but she was so incredibly happy that destiny had chosen him as her mate.
“Was it difficult for you to be around Ronan afterward?” she asked.
“Not difficult so much as awkward,” Declan said. “He’s the only other one who knows what caused the scars. After what we’ve all been through and all our battles, I’m sure some of the others have seen them over the years, but they’ve never asked about them, and they never would.
“After Ronan cut me down, he cleaned me and made sure I would survive. I was young and proud, and I felt like a foolish child afterward. I was grateful to Ronan for being able to do what I was too weak to do.”
“Not being able to kill someone you love
doesn’t make you weak; it makes you a man.”
“Ronan did what was right; it was the only option, but it took me a while to look him in the eye again. And then, when I faltered sixty years later, I had a harder time looking him in the eye. Ronan has seen me at my worst, and I’ve seen him at his. We are more than friends; we are brothers.”
But then, he considered all the original members of the Alliance his brothers. And now his family was growing and expanding to include a mate with more brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews. It would be strange being around such a large family, but he would figure it out for her.
Willow kissed his back and held him as she listened to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. “I’m sorry you had to endure this.”
“We all endure things in life that have the power to destroy us. They either make us stronger or they break us; the choice is ours to make.”
And he’d endured far more than so many others. He’d certainly suffered more than she ever had. Her uncle’s death was the worst thing she’d ever experienced before being ruthlessly hunted by Savages. Both those things were so small in comparison to everything he’d gone through over the years.
“I’m glad you’re my mate,” she said.
In her home, they rarely held back emotions—whether it was anger, tears, happiness, and especially love, they let it all out. Saying those words to him made her vulnerable, but her vulnerability was nothing compared to what he’d gone through when he revealed his scars to her.
Humbled by her words, Declan released her hands and turned to face her.
Chapter Fifty
Willow rested her palms on Declan’s chest when he cupped her face and bent to kiss her. She’d ached for his touch, the warmth of his mouth, and the taste of him, but she hadn’t realized how much until his lips claimed hers again. While he was unconscious, a piece of her was missing, and now she had that piece back.
No matter where life led them, and no matter what she had to do, she would make sure he only knew love for the rest of his life. She would never again allow him to question whether he was a good man or not. He’d made mistakes, there wasn’t a living being on this earth who hadn’t made mistakes, but he’d paid for those mistakes.
Bound by Torment (The Alliance Series Book 5) Page 26