Credo (Scars of the Wraiths Book 3) Page 2

  “I loved you, damn it.” Tarek thrust his knee into my spine then held my cheek into the cold marble. “You’re making me do this. This is your fault.”

  My vision blurred as blood dripped into my eyes. I was disoriented from the blows. As a Scar Tracker I had the ability to smell emotions, and Tarek’s rage was out of control. It was as if a parasite was eating away at all his rational thoughts.

  I tried to raise my head, but he slammed it back into the table. I cried out with a half-choked sob. Waleron. Oh God, I can’t win this fight. The crumpled piece of paper slipped from my grasp as my body went limp.

  No! Let me have this one piece of him. Let me take it with me.

  “The Talde have been laughing at me. They know you still love Waleron, don’t they?” Tarek yanked on my hair, exposing my throat. His fingertips skimmed across the swollen, bruised flesh.

  He threw me to the floor and I quickly fumbled around for the paper. When I found it, I lifted my nightgown and shoved it in my panties.

  Tarek picked me up with both hands as if I were a carcass and threw me into the wall.

  The drywall cracked under the impact and so did the bone in my right arm. My body crumpled to the floor. Broken. Beaten. Too damaged to move.

  “Tarek,” I muttered as blood spurted from the corners of my mouth.

  His booted foot kicked me in the stomach as I lay like a rag doll, limp and half unconscious on the floor.

  I don’t want to die. Waleron, I don’t want to die like this.

  He grabbed my left arm, twisting it until it broke under the pressure, and my agonizing screams were lost to the ringing in my ears.

  Through swollen eyes, I saw him sneer. “You will die today, Delara.” He picked me up and sent me flying through the air. I crashed into the plasma TV and shards of glass shattered all around me.

  I don’t want to die.

  Live.

  Fight.

  My fingers curled around a piece of glass, the edges cutting my palm as I held on to it as tight as I could. I opened my eyes just as Tarek leaned over me.

  One chance.

  I pushed upward, fighting against my broken arm, the glass shimmering as I aimed it toward his inner thigh—the artery. The sound that emerged from my throat was like a runaway train’s screeching brakes. But it mixed with his laughter as he stepped out of the path of the glass then kicked it from my hand.

  I fell backward and everything went dark.

  I woke on the cold, hard ground, my cheek resting on what felt like a shallow puddle of mud. Unable to move my head or open my eyes, I relied on the only sense I had left—smell.

  There was an abundance of pine, along with bark and decomposing leaves soaked in wet soil.

  There was also a hint of rubber and oil mixed with gravel. I had to be near a road. If I could get to it…

  But my limbs wouldn’t move. And I was so cold, it felt as if I was lying in ice water.

  I heard a car drive by and I tried to scream, and crawl toward the sound, but nothing emerged from my throat and the effort had me slipping back into darkness.

  The sun rose.

  The sun set.

  Then rain and wind mixed with darkness again. The only time I stopped shivering was when I slipped into unconsciousness.

  Any movement was torture and more than likely my bones were already beginning to heal in the wrong places. Occasionally, I heard a car, but it did little good as I was unable to move.

  I prayed each time I fell unconscious that this time I wouldn’t wake. There was nothing left to hold on to, no will to live. Maybe it was better I died.

  Only then would I find home. Find Waleron. Because home wasn’t a place; it was him, and it’s where I belonged.

  When my body finally stopped shivering I knew death was near. I sighed.

  I’m coming home, Waleron.

  London, England, 1865

  THE HAIRS ON THE BACK of my neck rose and I stiffened, eyes searching the crowd in the garden below.

  Something was off. It wasn’t a threat, but more of an awareness.

  It didn’t take me long to discover what had my attention, because the moment my eyes landed on her, everything in my body shifted. It was as if I’d been breathing stale air and finally it was fresh and alive.

  Even my Ink, the tattoo snake on my neck, woke and slithered over my skin. Not in anger, but quiet and soothing.

  A young woman strolled up the stone pathway toward Jedrik and Damien. Her tanned face glistened in the sunlight, highlighting her upturned nose and smooth, flawless skin.

  Her eyes were the color of dark-roasted coffee beans and scintillated with delight as they danced from one person to another in greeting. High cheekbones and thin expressive brows gave her an exotic look, while plush lips softened the severity of her features.

  She walked with a skip in her step, but it was seductive, as if she knew it swayed her hips perfectly. Head high and slim shoulders pulled back, she walked with complete confidence and something else… Purity, as if she was a filly set out to pasture for the first time.

  Magnificent.

  I crossed my arms while leaning my shoulder against the archway overlooking the courtyard below. She threw her head back, exposing her slender throat as she laughed at something Jedrik said then put her hand affectionately on his forearm. It wasn’t sexual in any way; more sisterly in nature.

  She wore her emotions boldly on her face and it was utterly refreshing. Yet, as a Scar, that was dangerous.

  I’d never met her before, and therefore she had to be a young Scar and hadn’t lived centuries like me. My concern was that what I found so utterly refreshing would end up killing her the first time she encountered one of our enemies.

  Her spine stiffened, chin rose, and she scrunched up her button-like nose as she looked over her shoulder, skimming the crowd with her glittering coffee eyes.

  She’d sensed me watching her. Good. That was an ability she’d need in the future.

  Her lips parted and I immediately thought of slipping my cock between them. That’s after I fucked her so she’d taste herself on me. Of course, that would never happen. She was a Scar and I was her Taldeburu. I didn’t fuck women in my own backyard.

  Her gaze left the crowd and shifted to the house over two hundred feet away. It took three seconds before her eyes found mine and locked.

  It was as if she stood right next to me.

  Nothing else existed.

  No voices.

  No movement.

  Just us.

  I didn’t know why, but as a Scar I’d learned not to question why all the time. It just was.

  Small in stature, maybe five foot three, with toned body and burnt-umber hair that was in an unkempt chignon. She wore beige breeches, unheard of for a woman, even a Scar.

  My eyes trailed back up to her face, and her lips did the tiniest twitch in the outer corners and then her eyes filled with laughter. My brow rose, but I didn’t smile, I merely waited to see if she’d be brave enough to come to me.

  She leaned to her right, a stray strand of hair falling across her shoulder as she whispered something to Jedrik, who raised his head and looked around as if searching for someone. Then she tugged on his sleeve to get his attention back, said something else, and gave a formal nod to Damien, who’d been chatting with them—or rather, with Jedrik.

  Damien had a strong dislike for women, which was why his Talde of Scars consisted of all men. A small allowance, considering Damien’s skills at filtering out vampires from their hiding places exceeded those of all other Scars. He was the most relentless and our best vampire hunter.

  The woman took a step in my direction, then another, and another. Waiting for her to walk across the courtyard and up the stone stairs to the manor was the longest few minutes in my one-hundred-and-ninety-eight years of life.

  The subtle scent of peaches wafted to me as she drew closer. Christ, she was enthralling, and I hadn’t even spoken to her yet.

  She stopped a foo
t away from me, hesitated for a brief second, then smiled. Jesus, that smile was contagious.

  My lips curved upward in a rare grin and I bowed my head in greeting. She, in turn, did the same.

  We remained staring at one another for several seconds, before she finally broke the silence and laughed with a deep husky sound that made my cock jerk. I shifted uncomfortably. I didn’t particularly like that a woman had such a strong effect on me, because it often led to bad decisions.

  I was uncertain as to her age. Perhaps twenty, but for an immortal Scar that was young and innocent. Too innocent for what I was contemplating.

  “You were staring at me.”

  Bold minx. “Mmm.”

  “Do you enjoy staring at all the women from up here on your pedestal?”

  She licked her lower lip, not in a sultry, seductive way; no, it was natural, as if she needed to moisten the surface from the summer heat. I would’ve gladly done it for her.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Waleron.” I didn’t offer my hand, certain that if I touched her I’d lose all self-control and have her against the wall within seconds, my mouth devouring hers.

  The laughter left her eyes and was replaced with surprise, then unease as she tensed. I was accustomed to the reaction; many were apprehensive around me, but I’d hoped that she’d be unaffected by who I was.

  She tried to hide her shock by lowering her gaze; long, black lashes shielding her eyes from view while she shifted her feet. “The Taldeburu,” she whispered.

  I didn’t know why I did it. It just happened. One second I was two feet away, the next only inches, my finger under her chin and with the slightest pressure raising her head so I could capture her eyes once more.

  My skin burned with need, pulsating with an intensity I’d never known existed.

  “And your name?” I barely managed to get the words past my constricted throat.

  “Delara. Delara Wyndam.” She was flustered, the skin on her cheeks rising to a soft pink hue and her eyelashes flickering.

  “An honor, Miss Wyndam. And I don’t stare at all the women. Just you.”

  Her breath hitched.

  Christ, I wanted this woman. Not just once, but keep her close and never let her go.

  Who was I kidding? I was a Taldeburu; contemplating any sort of relationship was impossible. Vampires used loved ones as lures to defeat others. Recently, a vampire had taken John, one of our Trackers, and tortured him for months attempting to find the location of his maite, Lillian, a remarkable and rare Healer.

  Damien and his Talde rescued him, but at a high cost. John, a now ravaged man, was brought back to his wife, Lillian, and she healed him. However, when a Healer uses her ability she endures the pain of what the person suffered, as well as envisions the images of what happened. Seeing what was done to the man she loved haunted Lillian.

  Delara stepped away from my light touch and I allowed it—for now. “The honor is mine. I had not expected to personally meet our Taldeburu or I would have dressed more appropriately.”

  If she had done that, I’d not have seen the luscious outline of her thighs. “Now that would’ve been a shame.” I reached forward and picked a piece of grass from her hair, wishing I could take the pins out of her untidy chignon one by one while she lie nestled in my arms.

  She raised her tapered brows and a smile lit her eyes. “You’re not as I expected.”

  “And what did you expect, Miss Wyndam?”

  She pursed her lips. “I was told you were forbidding.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes. But I don’t think that’s true.”

  I half grinned, loving her candor. “And why is that?”

  She smiled and cocked her hip while placing one hand on it. “Because you’re trying to hide the fact that you want to kiss me.”

  It took me a second, shocked by her bold words, then a rumbling emerged from deep in my chest as I laughed.

  Maitagarri.

  She was a beloved angel and utterly refreshing.

  “I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss you, Miss Wyndam.”

  She smiled. “I will assume you’re referring to a quick tryst in perhaps the hallway closet? Or do you prefer the pantry?” She bit her lower lip as if in contemplation; such an enthralling gesture that my cock twitched again.

  “Who said anything about quick?” I replied. No, it would be days or perhaps weeks. Her beneath me, arms above her head locked in my grip, head thrashing from side to side with unbridled fervor.

  She laughed, the captivating sound causing my chest to tighten. “Before I bed a man, I prefer to know a man longer than two minutes.”

  “Perhaps, in this instance, you will make an exception?”

  She shook her head, a few tendrils falling loose from her chignon to caress the sides of her face. “A shame. I was just beginning to like you. However, it seems gossip is accurate after all.”

  “And what gossip is that?” I drawled.

  Mischief danced in her eyes. “That you remain solitary. If you take a woman to your bed it is for one night—and they’re never Scars sharing your affection. I’ve been told you rarely laugh and detest social gatherings.” She nodded toward the courtyard. “Hence, here you stand while everyone else is down there. You’re an ancient and live by an oath to your mother and the Goddess. You’re one of the most powerful Scars, fearless and have never had a maite.” She hesitated, raising her brow as I clenched my jaw, not liking how she described me even if it was all true. “Shall I continue?”

  “Accurate, and yet there is always the chance that one can change their ways.” Not that I would, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “Hmm, I did hear you laugh.” Her nose twitched like that of a rabbit sensing danger, and she glanced to the right. “Someone wants your attention.”

  The Scar Keir walked toward us, taking the stairs two at a time. I silently cursed the rapidly approaching interruption.

  Crude language rarely passed my lips. My mother had seen to that. I only had to say the word bastard in front of her once to know never to do it again. I received fifty lashes across the back then was locked in a cupboard without healing. I still carried the scars. I’d been nine years old the first time.

  I could’ve warned Keir to stay away by speaking telepathically; however, shirking responsibilities of any kind was against my oath to the Goddess, and more importantly to myself.

  “It was nice to meet you, Waleron,” Delara said.

  I grabbed her hand before she had the chance to walk away, and the instant her flesh touched mine, my need for her increased tenfold.

  Her eyes widened and her body quivered and I knew she felt it too.

  “A pleasure, maitagarri.” I pressed my lips to the back of her hand just as Keir stopped in front of me.

  She slid her hand from mine, nodded to Keir and quickly walked away.

  “Do you think the gossip is true about Waleron?” I asked while perched on a low branch of an oak tree, swinging my legs. “It can’t all be true.”

  It had been an hour since I’d seen the Taldeburu and I was finding it difficult to forget his magnetic ice-blue eyes and lean, lithe form hugged by the black tailored coat and breeches, muscles flexing beneath—

  “Jesus, Delara,” Jedrik said. “I may be your best mate, but I’m still a man for Christ’s sake.” He grunted and tossed his head like a displeased stallion, unleashing a few blond locks from his leather tie that kept his hair pulled back.

  Being Scars, we were telepathic and able to read one another’s minds if we didn’t shield our thoughts. Some Scars were powerful enough to get past shields, but it was considered disrespectful to try and read another Scar’s thoughts.

  “Then stay out of my head.”

  “Your thoughts are like arrows piercing my brain.” His teasing grin faded and he stopped carving the piece of wood he held in his hands. “The Taldeburu is off-limits, sass. Stay away from him.”

  He’d been calling me s
ass since we were kids, a shortened form of sassy. “I think you’ve the wrong impression of him.” I plucked a leaf from its tentative hold on the branch above my head and absently ripped it up, letting the pieces flitter to the grass below. “He’s intelligent. Powerful. Perhaps a bit intimidating, but he needs to be, and he does protect us. He must care, and I think with the right woman…. Why do you care anyway?” I smirked. “Jealous?”

  Jedrik hmphed.

  I laughed and wobbled unsteadily on the tree branch.

  “Frig, sass. Get down before you fall or, worse, someone sees you. You can at least try to act like a lady.” He held up his hand to assist me, but I ignored him, precariously getting to my feet and climbing higher.

  Jedrik cursed beneath his breath and straightened his six-foot stature. “Sass. You need to get down right now.”

  “Why?” I peered through the abundance of leaves to try and see what Jedrik was concerned about, but saw nothing. It didn’t surprise me though, as he was a Visionary and could not only see farther, but through objects.

  “Sass,” he called.

  It was the musky scent of cedar plowing into me that had me scrambling down the tree as fast as my legs could carry me. “Bloody hell,” I swore as my breeches snagged a severed branch. “Jedrik!” I hissed. “Jedrik, help me.”

  I yanked on the snag and the material ripped as it suddenly came free, knocking me off-balance. I grabbed for a thick lower limb and missed.

  Then I tumbled through the thicket of leaves to land with a hard thump on my butt in the grass. “Jesus Christ.”

  I expected to hear Jedrik laughing at me; instead, I heard the familiar husky voice of the man I’d been just thinking about.

  “Are you hurt, Miss Wyndam?”

  I scrambled to my feet, brushing off my butt that now had a very noticeable grass stain. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and my stomach plummeted. Sitting up in a tree was unladylike, falling out of it was… well, it was mortifying. “I… I was just….” Oh God, I couldn’t think of a single excuse. I was supposed to be a Tracker, soon a Scar warrior, and here I was falling out of a tree in front of our Taldeburu. He’d never allow me to be a part of any Talde.