Credo (Scars of the Wraiths Book 3) Read online

  Credo

  Published by Nashoda Rose

  Copyright © 2016 by Nashoda Rose

  Toronto, Canada

  ISBN: 978-1-987953-11-4

  Copyright © 2016 Cover design by Kari Ayasha, Cover to Cover Designs

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  Formatted by Champagne Formats

  Proofreading by Allusion Graphics

  *Any editing issues are my own. I am Canadian and on occasion I may use Canadian spelling rather than US.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, brands, and artists mentioned in the novel Credo are the property of the respective owners and copyright holders. Any brands mentioned do not endorse or sponsor this book in any way.

  *This book contains offensive language and sexual content.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Books by Nashoda Rose

  Author’s Note

  dedication

  prologue

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  Glossary of Terms

  take

  about the author

  Books by Nashoda Rose

  Tear Asunder Series

  With You (free)

  Torn from You

  Overwhelmed by You

  Shattered by You

  Kept from You (early 2017)

  Unyielding Series

  Perfect Chaos

  Perfect Ruin

  Perfect Rage

  Scars of the Wraith Series

  Stygian Book 1

  Tyrant Book 2

  Credo Book 3

  Take Book 4

  www.nashodarose.com

  Author’s Note

  Stop!

  Have you read Stygian and Tyrant? You will not understand what’s going on if they have been skipped. If you’ve read Stygian and Tyrant, enjoy your read and I hope I can take you away into another place for a few hours!

  The Scars are waiting.

  To the bloggers.

  For all your hard work.

  Dedication.

  And passion for books.

  Maitagarri,

  You are the air to my lungs, the blood to my veins, the anguish to my soul when we are apart. Know that I will never let you go for all eternity.

  I giveth this gift.

  A drop of your blood within me. Touch within a moment. Give me the power. A life to breathe and follow. Together. We merge as one and bring to a place anew.

  Change as I hold her close. She is mine.

  Toronto, Canada, 1987

  “YOU FUCKIN’ BITCH.”

  My breath locked in my throat and I closed my eyes, hands coiling around the balcony railing.

  I counted to three then slowly turned to face him.

  Tarek stood at the balcony door, fists clenched, cheeks red, and nostrils flaring.

  Oh God, he was furious.

  When he was mildly pissed he clenched his fists. If his cheeks reddened, it was going to be bad and the only way to calm him was to admit I was wrong. The problem was, I never knew what I’d done wrong.

  I curled my fingers into my white, mid-length silk lingerie and glanced at him. “Tarek? What’s wro—”

  “Waleron!” he shouted.

  My stomach dropped and my knees weakened.

  Tarek’s handsome face twisted—smooth, pale skin filled with deep crevices, and lips pressed so firmly together they disappeared. “You won’t let him fuckin’ go.”

  I swallowed, head bowing, eyes shifting to the floor. I had no clue where this stemmed from, but whatever had set him off was explosive.

  There was no escape this time. I had no option except jump off the balcony onto the pavement below or try to calm him.

  Both would hurt. Both might kill me.

  I gasped when he smashed his fist through a pane in the French door. Glass shattered to the floor.

  “He’s fuckin’ dead. Dead,” he seethed, spit spraying from his mouth.

  Blood dripped from the cuts across his knuckles, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

  I choked back a sob, biting the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

  The glass crunched beneath his feet as he stalked toward me. I flinched when he grabbed my shoulders, fingers digging to the bone. “I’ve done everything for you. Everything!” He shook me. Once. Twice. His eyes wild and red. “And you still fuckin’ love him. A dead man.”

  I didn’t say anything. It was better to be quiet when he was like this. Safer.

  He reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a crinkled piece of paper and shoved it in my face. “What the fuck is this?”

  My eyes darted to the paper and the familiar tear in the upper right corner then to the handwriting. No. No. No. Not the note. Anything but the note.

  He’d found it hidden between the pages in my book on the nightstand.

  No. Don’t touch it. Not this. The only piece I have left of him.

  I reacted without thinking and grabbed the letter from his hand then scrunched it in my fist and put it behind my back.

  His hands slid down my arms, but it wasn’t gentle, it was biting and harsh. “I always wondered why you opened that same goddamn book every single night before you went to sleep. You were fuckin’ reading it.” His voice was garbled with rage and saliva sprayed from his mouth with each word. “His words. In my fuckin’ bed.”

  I tensed when his cheek muscles twitched. I knew what was coming and braced myself. His bloodied hand slapped me across the face and my head whipped to the side.

  I sagged against the balcony railing, the metal biting into my spine. I briefly glanced over the side and wondered if jumping was the better option.

  “I’ve loved you and this is how you repay me, bitch.”

  He didn’t love me. He controlled me and I let him for six years. But he hadn’t always been crazed and obsessive and cruel.

  “Waleron never loved you,” Tarek said. “It’s me you should love.” He leaned forward and his whisky-soaked breath wafted into my face. “I won’t stand for it any longer. I won’t be made a fool of.”

  Fear smothered me. His last words were calm, deliberate, and in that instant I knew this would be different from his usual beatings. “Tarek, please. I know he’s—”

  He grabbed my arm, fingers bruising as he yanked me toward him. “When I fuck you, do you think of him?”

  “No, Tarek! It’s not like that.” I tried to pry from his
grip, but he only tightened his hold. I had to stay calm and attempt to get by him, then run. Get out of the house. He’d been drinking, so I’d be faster, but as a Scar his abilities were stronger, drunk or not. But if I could get away and hide until morning, until he was sober…. It wouldn’t be as bad if he was sober. He could be reasoned with.

  I failed to see it coming this time as he cuffed me in the side of the face, and I cried out as my nose cracked. I coughed and choked as blood streamed from my broken nose. Tears swam with the blood, dripping onto my nightgown. I was forced to breathe out of my mouth, short gasps of air.

  I tried to keep from passing out by focusing on my training. Remember what Waleron taught you. Years I grappled with him. He was adamant I learn how to defend myself and be able to outmaneuver any species that came at me.

  What Waleron failed to teach me was how to live after he died.

  Tarek’s fist slammed into my cheek again, making a resounding smack. The impact sent me to my knees. Slowly, I pulled myself upright with the rails of the balcony.

  “I did everything to make you love me, but still you want him. Him! You fuckin’ ungrateful bitch. He’s dead, damn it. Dead!”

  “Please,” I sobbed. “Tarek, don’t do this. Why are you doing this?” But I knew why. Jealousy. Tarek was obsessed with me and I would’ve seen it, if I’d cared. That emotion had disappeared the day the Lilac killed Waleron, sixty-one years ago.

  Now, I merely survived.

  Breathed. Existed.

  Waleron had lived and breathed inside me. He was in my soul and I couldn’t stop loving him. Needing him.

  “If you won’t have me then you’ll have no one,” Tarek spit. “I’ll fuckin’ kill you.”

  My body and spirit had been broken for the last sixty-one years of living without Waleron, and I thought I’d welcome death, but the fear of what Tarek would do to me before I died gnawed into my flesh like termites.

  “Tarek, please—”

  He punched me in the stomach and air was forced from my lungs. I fell to my knees and bent over, holding my stomach as I choked for air.

  “Pathetic Scar,” he said, then grabbed my forearm and jerked me to my feet and dragged me through the bedroom to the top of the staircase. I stumbled after him, attempting to gain my balance.

  Without warning, he jerked me forward and kicked me in the back of the legs.

  “Nooo…” My scream cut off when I somersaulted down the flight of stairs. I landed in a heap on the ceramic-tiled floor.

  Debilitating pain pounded into my back and neck, while my twisted right leg felt as if it had been ripped from its socket.

  Footsteps thudded down the stairs.

  I choked on a cry as I crawled to get away, but he was already on me.

  “Tarek. Please. Stop.”

  His fist curled into my hair and he pulled me across the floor to the living room. My scalp burned and I tried desperately to ease the pain by holding his wrist and pushing with my feet, but my right leg was useless and hung limp.

  He lifted me up by the hair, forcing me to stand.

  “Tarek. Don’t do this.”

  I looked up at him and his pupils wavered from side to side and he blinked frequently. The crazed look sheathed his usual handsome, dark appearance, making him unrecognizable. He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to kill me.

  Whatever I had to do, it had to be now, because Tarek was going to make certain I never saw another sunrise.

  I averted my eyes and relaxed my limbs, hoping my submission would lower his guard. The moment he loosened his grip I reacted, whirling and slamming my fist into his broad nose. I heard the distinct crunch and his roar of fury at the same time.

  I raised my knee as he bent over, him screaming something about how he’d make me suffer, and thrust my raised leg into his face.

  Then I collapsed to the floor as my right leg gave out. I scuttled a few feet away and used the couch for leverage to pull myself up again.

  I had no clue why I was fighting when I’d been dead inside for years, but something inside me screamed—live. Waleron would want me to fight.

  But Tarek wouldn’t stop until my last breath this time. This wasn’t about submission or punishment any longer. It was madness.

  I limped as fast as I could to the foyer while Tarek yelled incoherently, holding his shirt to his bleeding broken nose.

  “You bitch!”

  I banged into the door and undid the bolt only to yank on it and have nothing happen. I pulled and pulled.

  Oh God, open.

  But I knew why I was unable—Tarek’s telekinesis.

  I turned, leaning against the door, breathing heavily, heart pounding.

  Tarek approached, a wild look on his face with his lips curled and blood smeared all over his jaw and neck.

  I judged the distance to the bay window in the den and wondered if I could make it before he caught me. Could I jump through the glass? Would it break on impact? Did it matter? If I didn’t get away, he’d make me suffer before he killed me.

  The crumpled piece of paper still lay protected in my fist, and I thought of the man who wrote it, of his unyielding courage. Waleron would fight until his heart refused to pump, his limbs refused to function—he’d never give up. He’d do whatever it took to survive. For however long.

  My hand tightened on the paper.

  “You have nowhere to run,” Tarek said, eyes glistening with excitement. A bead of blood teetered on the tip of his swollen nose then dropped to hit his chin. “It will be much easier on you if you don’t fight.”

  “I promise. I won’t.” I said the words out of desperation.

  I’d given him control a long time ago. It had escalated to the point that I rarely decided anything for myself. He kept me from Jedrik and the Talde and I let it happen.

  When Waleron died, so did I.

  Except I died each and every day when I woke and faced another day without him.

  Sweat beaded on Tarek’s brow and his eyes looked like high-speed pendulums. The loyal Scar warrior who had spent years trying to win my heart had vanished.

  He’d never won my heart, but I’d given in to his persistance because I hadn’t cared and it was easier.

  But he changed. The isolation from my Talde, the refusal to allow me to call anyone without him monitoring. He locked me in the house when he was gone. It was a slow burial.

  Then the punishments began and, finally, the threats. He beat my already broken soul until I had nothing left to fight for.

  Except the letter he’d found. The one piece of Waleron I had left.

  “Tarek.” I needed to distract him, to keep him talking. “If you do this, the Talde will—”

  “Shut up,” he barked as he approached.

  Five feet.

  Four feet.

  Three feet away.

  I’d never been frightened of dying because I’d finally be with Waleron.

  But suddenly, when faced with death, I realized I wanted to live. Maybe it was the flicker of belief that Waleron was alive all these years. Never truly accepting he was dead. It was stupid, but that increment of hope refused to drown, no matter how many cuts I put on my body.

  Slowly reaching behind me, I turned the door handle again, but Tarek’s mind was still controlling it and I was unable to get past his barriers. “Tarek, think of what you’re doing.”

  “You love a dead man. After everything I’ve put up with, still you think of him when I kiss you. You made a fool of me. A fool!”

  He dove for me.

  I dove right, sliding across the tiled floor on my stomach then scrambled to my feet.

  Kitchen. Knives. I had a chance with a knife. Waleron taught me how to fight with a knife and it had become my greatest asset. Tarek had known that, and took my knives away months ago, but all I needed was something small. Anything.

  “Rise, Ink. Come to me in my time of need,” Tarek shouted.

  Shit, I’d never have a chance with two Tareks. His tattoo I
nk was his mirror image, handsome like Tarek, but beauty was deceiving because like Tarek there was nothing deadlier.

  My Ink was dead, never to be called upon again after Tarek cut across the tattoo on the underside of my left foot. He’d tied me down one night to the kitchen table and no amount of screaming or begging deterred him.

  He’d said he would never risk me calling to my Ink, then he sliced deep into the arch of my foot and cut through my tattoo. I remember feeling my Ink’s death, its cries as it struggled under my skin to escape the blade. But it was too late and my beautiful Ink died under Tarek’s cruelty.

  I hadn’t been able to walk for days and Tarek had looked after me vigilantly, apologizing again and again for having to hurt me, but claiming it was for the best.

  I’d never told anyone—I couldn’t, and it wasn’t just from the fear of him killing me. It was bigger than that. Before he came to Toronto, he lived in England as a solitary. He was powerful and had strong connections. I’d never risk my Talde’s lives by telling them what he’d done.

  Pathetic. I was weak and pathetic and no longer deserved to be a Scar.

  I peered over my shoulder, grabbing the doorframe into the kitchen. “If you kill me my Talde will find out.” Where was his Ink? My eyes scanned the room, but I couldn’t see it.

  I turned to run for the knives and slammed into a hard, unmovable body.

  Tarek’s twin, his Ink, locked me in his embrace then swung around and shoved me hard toward Tarek. I fell to my knees, head bowed, strands of hair covering my face and sticking to the blood on my cheeks.

  Tarek was on me before I could move—one hand in my hair and the other at my throat, his fingers slowly crushing my windpipe. I reached for his eye sockets, arms stretching, but just out of range.

  My feet kicked.

  My body squirmed.

  My fingers clawed at his grip.

  Tarek released me and I sucked in air. But he wasn’t done as he slammed my face into the marble coffee table. He did it again. Harder, and my abdomen hit the unforgiving edge and pain jolted through my insides.