Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2) Page 12

  I wondered whether Rebecca would break it if she knew about the Scars, CWOs, and vampires who shared this world with humans.

  Rebecca handed me a journal. “I want you to write in this every day. Feelings, what you did that day, anger, anything you want.” She passed me another booklet. “This one is for our work in here. We will do meal plans and reconstructions using past experiences. We’ll do some imaging, drawing funny stick people. Also, a big part will be role-playing, which is kind of like acting. We need to find that healthy voice.”

  I didn’t like the meal planning idea and writing down everything I put in my mouth. Nor did I want to see what I consumed every day. The role-playing was a big time no way; acting in front of a stranger was a terrifying idea. Just thinking about it made my palms sweat.

  “This is intense therapy. You will meet me five days a week for two hours. You won’t want to come. You’ll fight me every step of the way until you begin to get healthy again. But I promise you this—I will always be here for you. You can call me day or night.”

  Could I do this? Did I want to? Finding the strength to face the demons was harder than living in the shadows. What if I failed at this, too? Could I survive that?

  “First, we will find you a safe place,” Rebecca continued. “A place so when you’re scared, panicked, or just need to get away, you can touch a certain part of your body and feel safe.”

  There was no such thing as being safe.

  Rebecca passed me a basket of crayons. “Draw a picture of a place where you feel safe. It can be anywhere you want, but without other people and judgments. Just someplace you can be alone and feel safe from everything.”

  I thought it was silly at first, drawing a picture with crayons, but I took the basket and opened my journal. As I began to draw, a feeling of relief came over me, as if I was immersed in the image that automatically came to mind: a large willow tree with drooping branches that nearly touched the lush, spongy grass. I paused, hand hesitating over the piece of paper, and then I saw it, an old wooden swing with yellow ropes tied to a branch overhead. This was where I felt safe, sitting on a swing with the wind in my hair. I was about to draw a bright sun up in the corner, but then decided I’d prefer to have the rain lightly peppering my skin. Purple and yellow flowers surrounded me like a wall of beauty. This was a place where no one could find me. Not even a Scar.

  My eyes filled with tears, as I thought of the one man I wanted to find me, but had chosen to stay away.

  I knew the instant he arrived. His enigmatic presence was like a warm wind sifting over my skin the moment he was within a hundred feet of me. It had always been this way, except this time I snuffed out the butterflies rising in my stomach by pinching my thighs as hard as I could.

  I took a deep breath before meeting his stark blue eyes. Pure ice.

  He stood with an all-encompassing energy that suffocated the air in the small kitchen. “Problem?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from quivering.

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he kept his eyes locked on me as he approached with long, even strides. God, did he ever look afraid? Did he ever feel anything? No, he’d made certain of that. I bent to continue emptying the dishwasher when he grabbed my hand.

  Heat tore through my body like a lightning bolt. No matter what I did, there was no denying the chemistry between us. Except, he did deny it. I was nothing to him. As if our past failed to exist.

  “Why are you here, Tac?” I asked. Shit, my voice raised an octave.

  “We need to talk,” Waleron said.

  “If this is about us, we’ve talked.” I slipped my hand from his grasp and stepped back. His Ink’s eyes shimmered a bold red before fading back to an intense black.

  Waleron’s stone cold expression flashed a grimace for a split second and then returned impassive. “You slept with a vampire and a Wraith. I was in the realm two days ago, and Edan is still raving mad that you used him.”

  What did he want to hear? That I was sorry? Because I wasn’t. I did what I had to do, just like Waleron did all the time. “Yeah, so what. You said it wasn’t your concern.”

  “Never. Ever. Do anything so reckless again.” Waleron’s voice cut into me like the lash of a crocodile’s tail.

  “Oh, but it’s okay for you to do it,” I retorted.

  Of course it was. According to rumors, Waleron slept with plenty of woman and frequented the club ‘Whipped.’ His dangerous bad-boy look had them crawling all over themselves to get to him.

  I had to hand it to him, at least he had never flaunted the women he slept with. No, Waleron was adamant about his privacy. Even I had no idea where he lived.

  “Edan is a Wraith, for Christ’s sake. He’s livid.”

  Yeah, the volatile Wraith was probably spitting fire for being used. The God-like Wraiths were on our side, trying to maintain some sort of peace on Earth. They were powerful as shit and, lucky for me, couldn’t live on Earth. Unfortunately, they could bring you to their realm, which sucked when they were pissed.

  “Have you ended it with Liam?”

  “Not that it is any of your business, but yes. Satisfied? His new interest may not like sharing anyway. Guess she doesn’t realize vampires rarely believe in monogamy.” I had spoken with Abby a few times at the club, a sweet girl. I was surprised the witch was hanging out there, but then, so was I.

  “And you’re fine with sharing?”

  I shrugged. What did I care if Liam slept with others? It wasn’t as if I loved him. I used him. “Told you, I’m not with him anymore. Listen, I have shit to do.” I pushed past him and headed out of the kitchen.

  Everything in my body screamed to stay close to him, yet my mind knew better. Escape while you can.

  “Delara.” Waleron raised his voice, although far from a shout. He never had to; his presence alone made defying him impossible.

  I closed my eyes and halted without turning around. I heard his footsteps come up behind me and I froze. Don’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.

  His breath came first, a soft caress on the back of my neck, and then his scent, deep and familiar, making my stomach whoosh.

  His hands rested on my shoulders and fire burned in my belly. Every inch of me wanted to spin around and fall into his arms, taste his lips, feel his skin, trace every single tattoo on his body with my tongue.

  Let me go. Hate me, so I can let you go.

  Since the day we’d met, there had been fireworks between us, an undeniable chemistry that neither of us could extinguish. But for sixty-one years, I had thought he’d been dead. Years I’d wallowed in emotional turmoil. Then, at my weakest, not caring about anything anymore, I’d fallen into Tarek’s web. Self-punishment was a fucker, and I knew how to do it to myself in spades.

  But Waleron wasn’t dead.

  He’d returned, but a different man. A man incapable of loving me again. A man who’d become a cold, emotionless shell.

  Waleron’s fingers swept across the back of my neck and goose bumps rose. His touch was the same as it was when we met and that was the worst. A reminder of what we’d lost.

  His lips descended and kissed the spot just below my ear. I closed my eyes, body melting. One simple, lingering kiss and I was a pool of liquid.

  This is what hurt. It crushed my fragmented, brittle insides.

  I couldn’t be near him and not have his whole heart.

  Heart? Waleron no longer had a heart.

  He bunched a handful of my hair in his hand and tilted my head back with a rough yank. Then he suckled on the lobe of my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  I counted to myself as I remained still, trying to regain control over my body and what he was doing to it.

  “Look at me,” he whispered next to my ear.

  I didn’t. I kept counting.

  “What more do you want, Delara? I’m giving all I can. You know I can never be with you for more than what I offer.
”

  What he wanted was to be occasional fuck buddies. Sex. Passionate, raw sex. And I knew why he offered this—so I’d give up fucking other men. Another way for him to control me without giving an ounce of himself.

  But sex with him was like jumping off the CN Tower in a freefall—the sweet caresses, the butterflies, the warm sensations swirling through my body. But the inevitable had to happen—landing—bruised body and soul, heart ripped apart. Dying inside.

  “Maitagarri, look at me.”

  No way in hell. Not when he’d see the desire pulsating in my eyes along with the pain and the anguish of his words. It was as if he were slowly digging a knife into my heart, inch by selfish inch, then slashing it apart.

  God, I loved this man. Or at least the man he used to be. The reminder always close at hand… a crinkled piece of paper I refused to throw away.

  I pulled from his grasp and instantly the coldness seeped into my veins.

  I was pretty damn certain he’d let me walk away, he always did. The guy had pride the size of Asia. Chasing after a woman was not his thing. He wanted to satisfy our undeniable sexual chemistry whenever he wanted, and I wanted him to love me.

  We’d never work and never agree.

  “Delara.” His tone was a warning.

  I spun around. “You said that day in the realm you’d try. But that was a lie, so I’d stay away from Edan. Wasn’t it? Just like why you’re here now, to make certain I stay away from Liam. You can’t have it both ways. I want all of you or nothing. You can’t—no, you won’t—give yourself to me, and I can’t just have sex with you.” I closed my eyes, head lowering, then said quietly, “Do you remember what you said to me when we were together?” I didn’t wait for him to respond. “You said, ‘No matter what we face, I belong to you for eternity.’ Guess that was a lie, too.”

  I walked into my bedroom and shut the door.

  I was distracted with thoughts of Kilter on my way home from therapy. Well, it was rare I ever stopped thinking about him. His image haunted me constantly, and I wondered where he was and why he’d disappeared. I contemplated asking Delara, but I hadn’t gotten the nerve up. Besides, it had been his choice not to contact me.

  I tried to slip in the back door of the gallery without disturbing Danni, who was painting, but I stumbled on the lip of the doorway and she looked up. Who was I kidding? Danni was a Scar, and according to Delara, a Reflector, which meant she felt people’s emotions, and since mine were currently sparking through me, she’d probably sensed me a block away.

  “Hey, Rayne. You busy?” Danni called.

  “Umm, no.” But the real answer would be a solid yes because my head was reeling from my session.

  I hated the sessions and every day was a battle whether to walk through her door or run in the other direction as fast as I could. Unfortunately, running I sucked at and a part of me wanted to see where this would lead.

  But today had been rough because I’d been thinking about Kilter and Rebecca pushed me to talk about what was bothering me, but I refused to mention him. I had to forget him.

  He left. I got it. Now, I just had to accept it.

  “Come here. I want you to look at this.” Danni stepped back from the painting she was working on and tapped her paintbrush to her chin, cocking her hip. “What do you see?”

  I came up next to her and stared at a subtle wash of blues and grays with a hint of lavender. “Umm, well, I don’t know. It looks good though.”

  “But what does it look like to you?”

  I stared at the fresh, wet brush strokes. “I guess it reminds me of the sea after a storm.” Like Kilter was a turbulent storm, but the storm in him calmed and gentled when he was around me. “Umm, the blues here—” I pointed to the right “—going across the water with the lavenders in the distance tells me a storm has come and gone. It looks like it was violent and unbending with its wrath.” Kilter was a lot like that. I’d seen it when he killed Anton, the violence in him, but then he took my hand and the violence calmed. “It looks like the sun is going to peek out from behind that cloud any moment.” I pointed up in the far right corner.

  When I looked back at Danni, her wide, shocked eyes were on me. “Wow. Study art at all?”

  “A little.” Actually, a lot. Anton had been adamant about me being knowledgeable in certain areas. Art had been one of them, and I’d enjoyed the days when I sat and admired the brilliance of many artists’ work.

  “You’re hired,” Danni announced.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I need someone to watch the gallery a few days a week so I can work in my studio at home. Balen had it built for me over the garage with skylights and, well, he outdid himself. So, I need someone to work here. Show people around, give your opinion when asked, and, hopefully, sell my work. Can you start tomorrow?”

  “I don’t think—”

  Danni tossed her brush in the glass of water and reached for me, her hand slipping in mine. “I pay well. I mean, I’ve never hired anyone before, but I will pay well.”

  I did need a job and I had skills, but no experience, and I wasn’t eager to walk the streets looking for something. It was hard enough walking to my therapist’s office. Being interviewed by a bunch of strangers knowing they were scrutinizing me was definitely on my list of things not to do. But I did need a job.

  And I wanted a job. This is what I wanted. It was the first time I’d felt the bubbling in my chest—excitement. This was something I could do myself, not because I was forced to, but because it gave me a purpose.

  “Umm, yeah. Okay.”

  “Great,” Danni said. “It’s pretty boring most of the time, but you can read or even paint if you want. I know you have therapy every morning until eleven, but I’ll be here to open up so you can work from whenever you get back until we close. What about Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays?”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  Danni beamed. “Great. Here, I’ll show you my work. They’re done in series. Oh, and that painting is not for sale, no matter what anyone offers to pay.” Danni pointed to the oversized canvas portrait of Balen. “And you will be hounded to sell it. There’s one lady who comes in at least twice a month and offers to buy it. Every time her price goes up. Just tell her no, it’s not for sale.”

  Danni took me on a tour of her paintings and we talked about each one, and for a while, I felt connected to something and forgot about my battle, and there was peace.

  THE MOMENT I WALKED into Liam’s club, my heartbeat quickened and saliva pooled in my mouth. The scent of blood pumping through everyone’s veins was so overwhelming I staggered and turned to dart back out the door.

  I had my palm on it when I stopped. If I left, Liam would come after me. This was the plan. I had to stick with the plan.

  I’d been locked in a hotel room for five days, and I hadn’t realized how powerful the cravings were until tonight. The need to taste blood disgusted me, and yet, as I weaved my way through the crowd, I licked my lips and my eyes lingered on patrons’ throats.

  How was I going to make it through tonight?

  But I had to. Jedrik promised once I met with Liam and convinced him I had no blood craving, so he thought the drop of blood had no effect, then Jedrik would get me out of here. Ten minutes. I could do this.

  My eyes landed on Liam. Shit. Maybe I couldn’t. There was a strange draw toward him, as if my body was on a string attached to him and he was slowly reeling me in.

  I would not become his puppet. Fuck that.

  I raised my chin, took a deep breath, and smiled.

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea as he made his way toward me with long, confident strides. He had a captivating allure about him, handsome face with a strong, carved jaw, and high cheek bones. When he smiled, as he did now, it was like drawing a kid to candy, irresistible.

  Liam stopped in front of me and kissed both my cheeks. “There she is. My witch.” His palm firm on the small of my back, he tugged me toward him. “It’s been too l
ong, my love. Where have you been hiding?” He leaned in to me, lips grazing my ear as he whispered, “Mmmm, you thirst my blood, don’t you?”

  I did, but he couldn’t know that. “No. I’m fine actually.” He scowled, but didn’t say anything. “And I wasn’t hiding.” A lie, of course, and I thanked God vampires couldn’t read witches’ minds. “I had a few things to look after.” I half-smiled, looking up at him.

  Jedrik told me to play it cool, but all I wanted to do was get as far away from Liam as I could. I had to get through tonight, make Liam believe everything was okay.

  “Come to my table. I’m finishing off some business.” He tilted his head, tongue sliding across the hollow of my throat. Tingling erupted, but it wasn’t good tingles; this was warning tingles as my thirst for blood intensified. “Easy, love. You will taste me soon enough.”

  Shit, could he sense it? I had to be really careful or this would blow up in my face.

  He led me through the crowd, most of whom nodded and smiled at Liam. Some offered hands, which Liam graciously accepted—he was a gentleman after all—nothing fazed him and everyone either liked him or was so frightened of him they wanted to keep on his good side. The humans, of course, were oblivious to what he was.

  Liam stopped one of the waiters. “Two red wines at my table.”

  “I’d rather have water, Liam.” Having a glass filled with red liquid sitting in front of me was not going to help my intensifying thirst for blood.

  “Two wines,” Liam reiterated to the waiter and the guy darted into the crowd before I could say anything.

  The bastard was testing my control, and as stubborn and determined as I was, he just might win this battle, because as we weaved through the crowd, my body screamed for blood while my mind rejected it. I couldn’t focus on anything without splotches of red impairing my vision. I wanted to run,, yet part of me yearned to grab Liam and sink my teeth into his neck.

  But that was what he wanted. Why he asked me here tonight. To see if I was ready to willingly drink his blood.

  Liam’s reserved table was located at the back of the club close to the dance floor, but far enough away not to be bumped and bothered by some of the more untamed and intoxicated patrons. The booth was clothed in red velvet with a black marble table in the center with red candles flickering shadows across the surface. The entire club was done in black and crimson with a hint of white, like a candle or throw pillow in the lounging area.