Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2) Page 11

  Delara threw a navy blue T-shirt onto the bed. “We’ll go shopping when you’re up to it, but borrow anything of mine until then. You got dibs on the shower. Shampoo and stuff are in there. I have to make a call.”

  “Thanks.” I half-smiled and Delara left the bedroom, closing the door.

  It felt safe here.

  Except one thing was missing, Kilter.

  Year 1880

  I groaned as my head cleared then pried my eyes open. I was greeted with blackness and the weight of a five-pound steel bucket on my head. I tried to move my arms, but they were chained above my head, and I felt the manacles around my ankles.

  What the hell?

  I yanked violently on my arms and biting pain shot through my wrists as the shackles cut into my skin. Blood trickled down my arms.

  Intense, red-hot fury tore through me and my eyes blazed red, my Visionary abilities burning the steel bucket that blinded me.

  But my ability ricocheted and the heat tore back at me and scorched my eyes. “Jesus Christ.” My body jerked against the chains and a loud roar ripped from my lungs.

  I closed my eyes and tried to raise my Ink, even though I knew it was pointless. I felt the piece of metal covering it. Whoever had kidnapped me knew about my Ink and my vision.

  A door creaked and I stiffened. “Ah, you’re awake.”

  What the hell? Ulrich?

  Something scraped across the floor; then footsteps approached.

  “You look rather ridiculous, Kilter. Chained up like a carcass.” My brother clucked his tongue. “And look, you’re bleeding.”

  “Get me the hell out of here, Ulrich.”

  My bastard brother probably needed gold to pay off debts and planned on blackmailing me for it.

  Tye often said Ulrich needed a good two years under Waleron’s thumb to straighten him out, and once I got the hell out of this, I’d make damn sure it happened.

  Ulrich laughed. “Let you go? You think I’m letting you go after all the planning? No, you’re going to suffer, dear brother. Suffer and then one day, maybe, I’ll let you die.”

  What the hell was he talking about? “You’ve gone too far. Free me before I call the others. They won’t be kind when they discover what you’ve done. If you let me go before the Wraiths find out, I will convince Waleron to put you in Rest instead of killing you.”

  His fist plowed into my stomach, and since I couldn’t see, I hadn’t been ready for it and it knocked the wind out of me. It took a few seconds before I managed, “Ulrich, you bastard.”

  Another punch.

  Then another and another until I could no longer breathe and my abdomen twisted with agony.

  I hung by my wrists, shackles taking the weight of me as my legs gave out.

  “They think you’re dead, you know. They’ll never come, and we’re too far beneath the earth for you to use telepathy. This is your life now, brother. Here in this dungeon with no sight, no light, and your dear, sweet Gemma in my arms.” What? My stomach twisted. “At least until I get tired of her. Don’t worry, I intend to let you watch when I kill her.”

  The last words sent me over the edge as my mind screamed with despair. Gemma? Sweet, innocent Gemma was here? My soon-to-be wife.

  “Noooo,” I exploded, body raging against the chains, tearing open my skin around my wrists and ankles. My eyes burned with fury, and my Ink, trapped within me and desperate to be free from my body, joined me in my roars of outrage.

  Ulrich chuckled.

  The door opened and closed.

  Then nothing as I became the madman.

  “Beer?” Delara asked.

  My expression must have given away my uncertainty because Delara turned to the waitress and ordered a round of beers. “You can try it and, if you don’t like it, I’ll finish it and we’ll get you something else.”

  Balen sat kitty-corner from me, Delara beside me, and Danni directly across. We were at a table near the bar that had every stool taken by men who stared at the television. Loud cheers or groans rose on occasion along with slaps of palms on the bar top.

  I’d never been to a pub, but Anton had taken me to the odd restaurant, but it wasn’t often. I hated going anyway. He had so many rules and I was constantly terrified I’d break one.

  The waitress slid a large glass mug in front of me.

  I lifted the heavy mug and took a sip, the bitter taste clung to my tongue and throat. It tasted like dirty clothes after sitting in a washer for too long, not that I knew what that tasted like.

  I slid it closer to Delara, who winked at me and raised her arm to get the waitress’s attention. She smiled and sauntered over to her. “What do you want instead? Wine? Rye? Gin? What’s your poison?” Food was my poison. “How about white wine?”

  Anton never let me drink alcohol, said it dulled the senses. Of course, he couldn’t have that. He wanted me to feel everything.

  Balen said, “Get her a piña colada.”

  “Yeah, piña colada,” Delara agreed.

  The waitress nodded before wandering off and disappearing in the crowd.

  When the drink came and I took a sip, Balen smiled at me because I kept on sipping. The drink was sweet, which meant it was probably fattening. Nothing this delicious could be without fat.

  Stop. It’s okay to have one drink.

  But somewhere inside, I fought the guilt that sucked away my resolve to enjoy something this once, a battle that persistently left me exhausted and uncertain of who I was.

  Delara leaned forward, talking to Danni about an art gala that was in six months, when the blond playboy, Jedrik, approached the table. He caught my eye and put his finger to his lips, winking at me.

  I didn’t know what he was doing until he snuck up behind Delara, hooked his arm around her shoulders, and locked her in her chair.

  I froze—eyes widening, heart pounding and my hands wrapped tight around the cool glass.

  Jedrik bent, placing his mouth to her ear, and said something.

  What happened next went down fast. Delara stomped both feet on the floor and knocked her chair back, throwing Jedrik off balance enough to unlock his arm. She kept the motion going and the chair flipped onto its back. Delara went with it and swung her legs over her head, kicking Jedrik in the chest. He staggered back several steps until he fell into some guy sitting at the bar.

  “Sorry, man, girl trouble,” Jedrik patted the guy on the back.

  Delara placed her hands on her hips and smirked at Jedrik. “Ten to six. I think you forget I’m a Tracker. I knew you were here before you did.” She laughed. “Arrow, you’re losing to a woman. Badly.”

  He shrugged while ambling toward the table. “I don’t mind losing to a woman. I just hate losing to you.”

  She snorted, but smiled.

  “They have this stupid contest,” Danni explained, leaning across the table to catch my attention. “One point if you get out of a headlock. Jedrik just lost.”

  “That’s because I didn’t want to frighten Rayne. So I took it easy.” Jedrik pulled up a chair and pushed it between me and Delara then sat. He winked at me again and grinned. “So, living with Sass?”

  “Sass?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I call her Sass. She calls me Arrow. Nicknames since we were little shit disturbers. Her more than me. Sass, should I tell her the story about the horse trampling—”

  “No,” Delara said and shot him a scowl accompanied with a shot to the ribs with her elbow. “No stories. You exaggerate and make half the shit up.”

  The waitress brought Jedrik a beer and everyone chatted and laughed while I watched and listened. I noticed Balen kept his guard up, eyes scanning the crowd and darting to the door when anyone came in. Protective. Although, I was uncertain from what.

  After a couple drinks, we headed out and I think it was because of me as Delara kept asking if I was okay. I wasn’t really. The drink went straight to my head, and since I barely ate, my stomach sloshed sugary piña colada and was unsettled.

  As
we headed for the door, Jedrik snagged Delara’s hand and yanked her aside. He leaned in and got right in her face, and from his narrowed eyes and tense body, he was angry. When he was done saying what he had to say, Delara simply rolled her eyes and smacked him on the arm, saying something back before moving toward the door. He followed, looking really unhappy; gone was the playful smirk and cute dimples.

  She came up beside me. “Okay, let’s go.”

  We said goodbye to Jedrik, Balen, and Danni outside the pub and headed back to the gallery. It was only a few blocks away, but after the first block, my legs began to shake and my heart rate spiked. I inhaled slow, deep breaths and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

  Shit, I had to lie down. It was too much. Everything was bearing down on me all at once. Kilter leaving. Being surrounded by Scars and trying to keep my blocks up. No food in me. The alcohol. My body was shutting down and I had no way to stop it.

  My knees buckled.

  Delara grabbed my arm before I collapsed to the sidewalk. “Rayne! Shit, you okay?”

  “Yeah. I… I, ah, tripped.” I was glad the street wasn’t well lit and Delara couldn’t see my eyes; otherwise, she’d see the lie blazing in them. Unfortunately, my body had other plans as my vision blurred and everything spiraled.

  I crashed to the ground. Then blackness.

  When I opened my eyes, Delara sat on the edge of the bed holding a warm washcloth to my forehead. It took a second before my vision cleared and I realized where we were. It was the bedroom, my new bedroom, in the gallery.

  God, it had been months since I fainted. How did Delara manage to get me back here?

  I tried to sit up, but Delara put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get up. You’re still really pale.”

  The duvet was pulled up over me, and yet I still felt chilled. I’d fainted a few times at the compound, but each time had been during one of Anton’s sessions when he pushed me too hard. “How did I get here?”

  Delara removed the cloth from my forehead. “I called Jedrik. He wasn’t far.” Her brows lowered. “If I had my way, we’d be at the hospital.” Delara’s tone was soft, but there was an underlying tense tone. “But Jedrik called Anstice and we gave her your vitals and what happened, and she said you more than likely passed out.” She paused. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

  I stared at the ceiling, knowing I had to do something or, like Kilter said, I was going to die. “No.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. “You need help, Rayne. And if you don’t get it soon, you’re going to drop in the middle of the street one day. What if you’d been alone tonight?” Her hand slid from my shoulder and she sighed. “I know you can’t see it, but you’re fading away. Your body can’t function without fuel, and you’re not giving it any.”

  “I know.” And I did, but I was safe here. I had control and no one could hurt me.

  “Your body is screaming for help, and if you don’t give it what it needs you will die. I don’t think you want that. Not now.”

  “There is so much more.” This may have started as a way to protect myself, but over the last number of years, it developed into much more than that. It became my power and I didn’t want to lose that.

  “All the more reason. Jedrik called Waleron and he thinks he found someone you can talk to.” Delara reached for the bottled water on the nightstand and cracked the lid, passing it to me. I sat up, tilted the bottle, and swallowed a few gulps. “I get that it’s hard to change and you don’t want to. Shit, I run from everything, and I’ve done some stupid things, still do. But I’m not sick, Rayne. And, I’m not dying.” She paused. “Will you try?”

  She was right, but facing the reality of it was harder. I’d fought a battle inside myself for so long, and I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I wanted to find peace, but there was only two ways. Let go or fight harder to win this battle.

  I just didn’t know if I had any fight left in me.

  DAYS AND NIGHTS WOVE into one another as I hung like a lamb to slaughter. My telepathy was useless. Vision ability a detriment to myself with the steel covering my eyes. And my Ink lay still and quiet, which wasn’t a good sign.

  A couple men had replaced the steel bucket with a steel band that slipped over my head and covered my eyes. I’d fought them and got a knife across the face from ear to brow. It wasn’t deep enough to kill me, just make the rats happy.

  I lived in complete darkness for weeks, or what I thought was weeks. I heard rats scurry across the dirt floor beneath my feet and, occasionally, when I dozed off, they’d nibble on my feet or try to crawl up my legs to get to the blood.

  My throat was raw from shouting curses at my brother and from lack of water and food. He knew I’d survive longer than a human without food and water, and he was testing my limits.

  It was hard to think in this damp hellhole. My calm, logical mind played games with me as days crept by. I kept going over and over in my head why my brother would turn on me. What had I done to push Ulrich this far?

  I knew I’d die in this place. Ulrich wanted me to die, but not yet. For some reason, he liked watching me suffer.

  And yeah, I wanted to die. Never thought I’d ever think that, but hearing Gemma’s screams echo outside the door was worse than any torture I could imagine. And my brother knew it.

  Day after day, I struggled against my bonds, ripping my flesh open until blood pooled on the dirt floor where rats relished in a feeding frenzy. Cursing my brother. Then begging him to let Gemma go.

  But it was when her screams stopped that the ultimate torture began. I didn’t know what happened to her, whether he’d killed her or let her go or maybe she was so broken that she no longer screamed.

  Agony. Day after day in silence.

  I hung limp against the manacles, no longer able to hold my head up or shout. And I didn’t want to. I had nothing left. Was nothing.

  Gemma. I failed her. I failed my clan. The Scars.

  That was when I died inside and something ugly rose from within.

  “How much do you weigh, Rayne?”

  “I don’t know.” I shifted uneasily in my seat. I didn’t want to talk about my weight.

  Why had I agreed to see this woman? Because you need help. I’d reminded myself of that all the way here. Delara had insisted on accompanying me, and it was a relief to know, if I collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk, at least Delara could pick up my broken pieces.

  “Rayne, I know you want to walk out of here.” Understatement. “You don’t know me and this is a very personal subject to talk about. That’s normal. But I want you to know that I care what happens to you.” She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her gaze intent. “If you continue to lose weight, you will die.” She softened her voice. “Do you want to die, Rayne?”

  Good question. Yeah, sometimes I did. Why continue living when it hurt so much? I had nothing. No reason to live, because all I did was hide anyway. But there was a small part of me that was still fighting to survive and come out of the black void and live, breathe.

  “In order for me to help you, I need you to be honest with me. I don’t judge, Rayne. I’m here to be that voice that is hidden inside you. It won’t be easy. This will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Suffering from an eating disorder is a long, hard battle. But you can defeat it.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. Why did this woman care anyway? I didn’t know her. She didn’t know what I’d been through. She didn’t know anything about my problems.

  But I was tired. Tired and scared. Tired of worrying whether or not I’d pass out. Feeling like a failure every single day just like Anton told me over and over again.

  “It will be a battle between your anorexic self and your healthy self,” Rebecca continued. “Both parts will war against one another continuously. You’ll fight for your anorexic self, that part of you that you have grown to know and understand.”

  How could I trust someone who was spilling lies to me? It was
lies, wasn’t it? I wasn’t anorexic. Couldn’t Rebecca see what I saw looking in the mirror every day? But an inner voice struggled to emerge, telling me that living in this entrapment of my own self-destruction was detrimental. That maybe Rebecca was right and I would die.

  “Your heart will give out if you keep losing weight. I’ve seen it happen. If you suffer from panic attacks—which I believe you do—they’ll worsen. Your hair will begin to fall out, and then your body will stop functioning.”

  I met Rebecca’s hazel eyes, which were warm and inviting. She had full lips and lazy, plain brown curls that cupped her oval face. It softened her narrow nose and severe eyebrows. She looked in her late thirties and wore a pair of dark blue jeans and a beige, long-sleeved blouse. She was not what I’d expected as a therapist, casual with a genuine smile, but direct as a missile.

  Like Kilter. Although, Kilter was more abrupt and forceful. But I liked that Rebecca had a no-bullshit attitude. She hit me hard with the truth—the truth. Was it the truth?

  “Think about it. Because if there is an ounce of survival left inside of you, I want you to grab hold of it before it slips away.”

  It was slipping away and yet, at times, I wanted to live. I’d finally escaped Anton and had my freedom. That was why I was here—to try.

  Despite believing if I gained weight I’d lose control, a logical part of me knew Rebecca was right. I felt it in my body, the dizziness, the memory loss, and the constant panic. My body was screaming for food, and yet every time I put food in my mouth, I felt as if I’d blow up like a balloon—failing.

  I inhaled deep. “I don’t know how much I weigh right now. The last time I was weighed, it was six months ago.” Anton had a doctor in to examine me. “I’d been ninety-four pounds,” I said.

  “Thank you, Rayne. I know that’s hard to say out loud, and it’s even harder to trust a stranger. But I want you to remember that whatever is said in here is completely confidential. Between you and me. Never do I break that trust.”