Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2) Page 4

  Anstice squeezed Delara’s hand and walked to the bottom of the stairs, grabbed her purse, and lifted it onto her shoulder. Keir followed her, whispering something.

  Jedrik said nothing as he got up, brushed past Delara, and went downstairs to the Tomb where his bedroom was located. Hack went back to playing whatever game on his cell and made his way back upstairs to the attic.

  Delara remained where she was, frozen, watching me with her exotic eyes. Scared? Damn right she was. But not that I’d hurt her. I’d already done that, but I was betting she was scared of what was becoming of herself.

  I couldn’t stop it.

  Because the only way was to send her away.

  And I couldn’t do that.

  No, I wouldn’t. I had an oath to protect her and I’d never break it. I needed her here. With me.

  “I’m sorry,” Delara said and I knew she was sincere by the way her teeth chewed her lower lip. She’d always done that.

  “You have to stop.” I knew what she was doing, and it would only make it worse. I’d self-destructed eons ago, now I merely existed within the numbness.

  I turned and took two, then three strides before hearing words that sent a sharp, jagged spear through the top of my head to my feet, nailing me to the floor.

  “Damn it, I want him back. The man I fell in love with. The man who loved me with everything he was.”

  Without turning, I said, “He’s dead, Delara. That man is dead. You need to accept that and move on.” Then I walked out.

  Anstice followed me to the car. She put her hand on the door before I could open it.

  “You love her, don’t you?” she said.

  I tensed. “We are not discussing this, Anstice.”

  She crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “It needs discussing. Didn’t you listen to her? She slept with Liam? A vampire, Waleron. She could have taken his blood and then she’d be lost to us. To you.”

  “I repeat, this is not up for discussion.” My voice lowered in warning, but Anstice was a redhead and a Healer, which meant feisty and caring.

  “You keep her on a leash. Always needing to know where she is, what she’s doing, but you missed this. We all did.” She was right and that worried me. “You won’t love her—at least not openly—yet you keep tabs on her, and it’s not like the rest of us. You protect her. You were crazed when she took off after you slept with Trinity. That killed her you know.”

  “I had no choice,” I said, feeling the tightness in my chest.

  “Bullshit. You slept with Trinity for her stupid visions. The ever-sacrificial lamb for his Scars. Well, that day you sacrificed Delara’s heart. Put it on a spit and let it rotate for the last two and a half years. No wonder she’s sleeping with your enemies. She wants you to burn like she is.”

  I slammed my fist into the hood of the car and Anstice jumped, but stood her ground. “Do you love her?” she bravely or foolishly repeated.

  I met her eyes, unflinching. “Yes,” I said. But it didn’t matter.

  “Then why, Waleron? Why?”

  I stiffened, grabbed the door handle, and yanked the door open. “I can’t have her. This conversation is over. Don’t ever bring it up again. Get in.”

  She paused, eyes softening. “Whether you can’t or won’t have her you need to unclip the leash and let her go.”

  Toronto

  “NOOO!”

  I jolted awake to the same horrific scream from the rooftop. One I swore I never wanted to hear again. Never thought I would.

  I leapt off the lounge chair I’d fallen asleep in last night, knife drawn as I scanned the bedroom.

  My eyes landed on Rayne frantically wrestling with the sheets that had twisted around her legs.

  “Jesus Christ.” I stalked across the room and reached her just as she tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs. “What the fuck?” Scowling, I bent and held out my hand to help her up.

  Her eyes shifted to my hand then to my face. Her eyes wide and terrified she scuttled back on her palms until her spine hit the nightstand and knocked over the glass of water.

  “Babe, I just saved your fuckin’ life. You think I’d hit you?” The morning sun’s rays flashed on the steel blade in my hand. Fuck. Right. I sighed and placed it back in my boot before straightening.

  I reached for her again and she flinched. Jesus Christ.

  I lowered my arm. “I’ll tell a woman she’s a bitch when she’s being a bitch. I’ll do what I have to if she’s being stupid and going to get hurt. And, yeah, I’ve lied to get what I need done. Did it to you once; it was a mistake and I won’t do it again. But I’ll never hit a fuckin’ innocent chick. She hits me first, I walk away. She does it again, I make sure she stops another way. But never will I lay a fist on her. You got that?”

  She nodded. Carefully, she climbed to her feet, bringing the sheet with her and pulling it up in front of her like a shield.

  “You can call me Kilter.” I chin-lifted to the bowl of soup on the nightstand and the plate of fruit. “I made soup earlier. It’ll be cold by now. Eat the fruit.”

  She watched me, her fingers on her throat as if waiting for me to finish what her husband started. I couldn’t blame her. Shit, her husband had obviously abused her, how bad I had no idea, but by the look in her eyes, it was bad. I wanted to rip the pompous-ass into a thousand pieces and feed him to a horde of vampires.

  I was uncertain if she took in anything I said, because her lips quivered and tears pooled in her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not,” she said.

  “Yeah, babe, you are. I see the tears. Why?”

  She shook her head, eyes on the floor to hide the tears, and hair falling forward on either side of her face.

  “Why?”

  She hesitated before saying, “You.”

  “Me?” Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. I just scared the shit out of her.

  “You risked your life for me,” she offered in a quiet voice. “You helped me. No one has done that before.”

  Her words slammed into me. Fuck.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, head bowed. No one had helped her before. Jesus. I got that. Lived it.

  After a few minutes of silence, she said, “Is he really dead?”

  At the sound of her voice, my heart skipped a beat then settled back down to a steady rhythm. I nodded. “Yeah, babe. Made sure of it. Can’t live after a knife wound like that.”

  I felt her response to my words. I fuckin’ felt it. I shouldn’t be able to feel her overwhelming relief, but I did. A Scar Reflector was able to take in others’ emotions, but I wasn’t a Reflector. I was a Visionary.

  What the hell? My heart pounded and chest tightened. I had to get the fuck out of here.

  I stood and headed for the door. “Take a shower. You’re filthy. Clothes are on the counter.”

  I shut the door harder than necessary because I was reeling from whatever the hell that was between us.

  I blocked others’ thoughts from my mind and refused to let anyone into mine, but her, she just filtered into me. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the connection, and I didn’t like how I had no idea what that shit was about.

  I hesitated outside her door until I heard the shower turn on, then grabbed the sheets from the closet and made the bed in the guest room. It was too late when we arrived last night, so I’d put her in my bedroom and crashed in the chair while listening to her breathe.

  I used the guest bathroom to shower and re-dress my shoulder. When I came back to my room, I expected her to be done—she wasn’t.

  I walked over to the bathroom and knocked. “Babe?”

  No answer, but the shower was going and steam seeped out from under the door.

  I tried the door handle—locked.

  I knocked again. “Rayne?” It had been twenty-five minutes, no way she could still be showering. “Open the fuckin’ door.”

  I tried to unlock it using my mind—and normally it would take me two
seconds—but with my lack of sleep over the last three weeks and my wounded shoulder, my abilities had shut down.

  I slammed my good shoulder into the door and it groaned under the pressure. I drew back and did it again, harder. The wood frame around the lock splintered as the door flung open.

  A wave of heated fog blanketed me. “What the hell?” It was so dense, I couldn’t see my own hand in front of me. I grabbed a towel off the hook on the back of the door, strode to the shower, and opened the door.

  What I saw—it gutted me. I didn’t get fuckin’ gutted, but this… her, curled into herself on the tiled floor against the wall like she’d been when I found her, knees bent, face hidden in them, it was chaos inside me.

  I walked in to the shower, the water soaking my jeans and T-shirt, and turned the knobs to shut off the water. Then I turned, crouched in front of her, and draped the towel over her naked, trembling body.

  How could anyone break a girl so badly that she ended up like this?

  “Rayne, look at me.”

  She didn’t.

  “Babe.”

  The tips of her fingers holding the towel whitened as she clutched it against her. I reached forward, cupped her chin, and with a little pressure, urged her to look at me.

  Her long, black lashes flickered before she glanced up, and I almost fell back on my ass when I saw her expression. It was a haunting desperation within her glazed, tear-filled eyes.

  “Ah, fuck,” I muttered.

  Lost. She looked so fuckin’ lost.

  I knew about mistrust, about being lost and alone. But rage had filled me. It drove me, consumed me. Consumed all the pain and hurt and betrayal.

  The one man in this chick’s life, who was supposed to protect her, destroyed her.

  My jaw clenched and every muscle tensed. If I had the chance, I’d spin back time, draw and quarter her husband, and then release my Ink on his ass.

  I was so not good at this nice shit, but this chick needed a shitload of it. “You don’t know me, babe. Sure as hell don’t trust me, and I don’t expect you to. But I’ll give it to you straight, whether you like it or not. Always.”

  She licked a drop of water off her lower lip, but didn’t say anything.

  “I fucked up before, that’s on me, and you won’t easily trust me. I get that. But you need something. Anything—ask me. Okay?”

  Again she remained silent, but when I raised my brows she said, “Okay.”

  “I’m not going anywhere and I won’t let anyone hurt you. I want to help.” I was the absolute wrong person to help her. Fuck, I didn’t know how to help her. I was crass, rude, didn’t give a crap about anyone.

  But her I did.

  She tucked the towel under her feet and I caught a glimpse of purple marks in the crook of her arm. My eyes narrowed as my stomach twisted.

  Reaching forward, I took hold of her wrist and turned her arm. Bruised skin and ruptured veins. “He gave you drugs?”

  She pulled back and I let her go.

  “What drugs?” Fury pulsed as I thought of the room I’d rescued Ryker from weeks ago. Strapped down, needles piercing his skin, machines hooked up to him.

  “Valium mostly,” she said. “Ketamine and Valium when I fought.”

  It was hard as hell to not completely lose it in front of her. I didn’t get it. Why the hell would her husband drug her? What for? What was he doing that she needed to fight and he had to drug her to stop her from fighting?

  My hands curled into fists and my temple throbbed. I needed to calm the fuck down before the rage, which was my constant companion, let loose and scared the shit out of her.

  I refrained from reaching out my hand like her husband had done that day on the rooftop, and instead, put my hands on her upper arms and urged her to stand. She had no choice, unless she wanted to let go of the towel, which I knew she wouldn’t.

  I stepped out of the shower and pulled her over to the cupboard to get her a dry towel.

  “Thanks,” she whispered as I handed it to her.

  I nodded, then said, “You’re too fuckin’ skinny.” I turned and walked out.

  I collapsed against the bathroom counter, palms flat on the marble, leaning forward with my head down.

  My emotions had been sealed, hidden and buried in a tomb for years. I was numb; I liked being numb, but Kilter dug up the tomb and ripped off the lid, and now my emotions were tearing through my veins like missiles.

  I didn’t know what to feel right now. Scared. Relieved. Confused. They fought one another like puzzle pieces jammed into the wrong places. They were all there, but none of them fit, and they didn’t fit because they were scrambled.

  Since I’d first met him, I’d been teetering on the edge of breaking. Weeks. Weeks of the numbness slipping.

  I stood, breathing in and out for several minutes, until I had some semblance of control back. Then I dried off and pulled on the clothes that were left next to the sink.

  The black yoga pants were stretchy and soft, but my skin was red and tender from scrubbing it raw with the rough stone in the shower.

  I’d scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to erase Anton, the compound, everything, but it hadn’t worked. That place had been like a leech sucking the life out of me. It didn’t matter that Anton was dead or the place was blown up.

  I’d learned over the years to block out everything happening around me. But with Kilter I couldn’t block him out. He was tender and careful, and yet his words didn’t match.

  There was so much anger bottled up in him. It was in his abrupt tone and movements, the way his eyes narrowed when he watched me with that spark of fire burning in their depths.

  He made me nervous, and at the same time I felt protected. I wasn’t certain why, except he had been the only person in my life who’d helped me.

  Avoiding the mirror, I towel-dried my hair and then headed into the bedroom. I stopped when I saw Kilter standing on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head bowed.

  Kilter had tattoos, which made him more intimidating than he already looked, especially when he held a knife in his hand—a hand that had one of those tattoos on the back of it. But I was accustomed to intimidating.

  What I wasn’t accustomed to was directness, and Kilter had that, too. He was crass and harsh, didn’t tap dance around what he wanted to say or fill my head with sweet promises to gain my trust.

  His chin lifted and his eyes met mine. “You ill? Dying? Or was the bastard starving you?”

  Definitely direct.

  The floor creaked under his weight as he approached me.

  He was so close now that, when I inhaled, I smelled the dampness on his skin from when he came in the shower with me. He’d obviously changed, as his clothes were dry. He reached out and I stiffened, fighting the urge to run back into the bathroom.

  After tucking my hair behind my ear, his hand slid around my neck to cup the back of it. He was gentle, and it was nice because I expected something different. His other hand settled on my hip where the edge of the long-sleeved, V-neck shirt stopped.

  “Babe, tell me.”

  I licked my lips and his eyes darted to them, brows drawing low over his dark eyes. “I’m not ill. Not really.”

  “Why are you so thin?”

  “I have trouble eating sometimes.” Actually, all the time, but he didn’t need to know that.

  “Why?”

  Shit, why? There wasn’t a straight answer, and definitely not one I was ready to share with him or anyone else.

  “I need you to…”

  He stopped and stiffened as the scent of roses permeated the room. I looked around for whatever made him tense and noticed a mist by the door. I stepped back, but Kilter kept his grip on me and I couldn’t go far.

  I stared in awe as the swirling blue mist solidified and, in its place, a woman appeared.

  Holy hell.

  She had long, blonde hair and smooth, white skin, too white, almost translucent. Fine, soft features graced
her face and her eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen. Cobalt blue with specks of turquoise.

  My eyes shifted to Kilter who watched the woman, and from his steadiness, I guessed he knew exactly who she was.

  Her walk was like a whisper, feet gliding across the floor as she approached us.

  I’d learned at the compound that there were many different kinds living amongst us, yet this woman was unique in that she appeared out of nowhere.

  I’d never seen that, and I suspected Anton hadn’t either or he would’ve talked about it obsessively.

  “Genevieve,” Kilter acknowledged.

  Her smile was a breath of fresh air as her eyes perused over Kilter then came to me. “Rayne, is it?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Genevieve. The Wraith of Water. A friend of Kilter’s.”

  Kilter snorted.

  She laughed and it was like a waterfall of rose petals.

  I loved roses, loved all flowers.

  Once Anton let me have a garden and I had several rose bushes. In the fall before the frost came, I’d pick all the petals off and scatter them like a beautiful red velvet carpet across my cement floor in my room. I’d sit on my bed and imagine I was on a river of rose petals taking me away from there.

  “Well, more a friend of the Scars. I assume you know about them?”

  “Yes.” Anton’s obsession.

  She cast a quick glance at Kilter then back to me. “Perhaps we may speak in private?”

  “Perhaps you can get the fuck out.” Kilter’s fingers gently squeezed my side.

  Her brows lifted. “The Wraiths sense this woman is important. Tor requested I see for myself.” Genevieve’s smile never faded, but her voice deepened and she punctuated every syllable with clarity. “I will forgive your disrespect once, Kilter. However, you push me and I will retaliate. Our prison in the realm is rather unpleasant. As is being sent to Rest.”

  Sent to Rest? What was that? I tilted my head to look at Kilter. His eyes were on the Wraith, lips tight and brows drawn low over his dark eyes.

  “If you thought she was important, you should’ve gotten her out of that hellhole. You didn’t. I did. You have no business here, Genevieve.”