Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2) Page 7

  Lately, I’d been seeking my watering hole more often than I cared to admit. With asshole Off-Kilter residing in the Talde house and my best friend screwing a vampire, alcohol was my distraction.

  The Fog Pub was a hike from Keir’s, but only a couple blocks down the road from Danni’s gallery. Delara used to come here with me all the time, but that was before the witch bitch Trinity and Waleron fucked and sent her on a mission of self-destruction. She disappeared for two years after that then came back to help out Balen by fucking the Wraith Edan.

  “Hey, you mind if I sit here?”

  I shrugged, not even glancing at the chick who came up beside me. I took a swig of beer, and continued watching the big screen TV up in the corner of the bar. The barstool scraped on the floor as the chick pulled it out, sat, and asked the bartender for a straight-up coffee with a shot of milk.

  My usual charming self was on hiatus after hearing Delara’s latest, so I didn’t bother saying anything to the chick, even though from the corner of my eye I saw she had damn nice legs.

  Friggin’ Delara with this screwed up path she was on. Using a vampire was going to come to a head, and I wouldn’t be able to save her from it.

  “Cool, thanks,” the girl said to the bartender as he slid a steaming mug of coffee her way. “And better get him another.”

  I tensed, shifting on my stool to look at her. I didn’t need some chick… my brows lifted and eyes widened.

  She bit her lower lip and smiled. “Do I look that bad this morning?” She laughed and it was like a strum of an acoustic guitar. “Well, I believe that’s the first time a guy has looked at me like I was a bug splattered on his windshield.” She ran her hand over her chic short red stands of hair. “It’s not that bad, is it? I just had it done, and I thought the girl did a good job. Kind of a feisty, fashionable look.”

  She was hot. A sexy, cute hot, with green eyes sparkling with mischief and laughter.

  Where was my mouth? Obviously, still on the friggin’ floor.

  I snapped my jaw shut and cleared my throat. “It’s nice.” It’s nice? I can’t believe that just came out of my mouth to a hot chick who obviously was trying to get my attention. Well, she had it, probably had the attention of every guy in this place.

  “Little early for beer. Alcoholic?” she asked.

  It would appear like that. Just moments ago, I’d made the same assumption about the other patrons. “Nope.”

  “Rough night then? Is it a woman or man?” She laughed again when I snorted. “Sorry. Hard to know. I mean, you’re gorgeous, obviously in good shape, and dress nice, and it seems like all the attractive men I’m interested in aren’t interested in me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not.” Wow, I managed a whole sentence. Then I realized what I said and quickly rectified. “I mean, I like chicks.”

  She laughed and held out her hand, and I noticed she didn’t wear nail polish, but her fingers were long and slim, well kept, nails manicured. “Good to know. I’m Abigail—don’t call me that though. I prefer Abby.”

  The instant I touched her hand, I felt the familiar electricity shoot through my body and it wasn’t a sexual thing. No, this was a get-the-fuck-out-now warning.

  I jerked back, grabbed my coat from the back of the chair, threw a twenty on the bar, and headed for the door.

  No way was her sitting down beside me an accident.

  I slammed my palm into the door and walked out onto the sidewalk, kicking the bicycle post with the toe of my combat boot. “Shit.” I should’ve known what she was the second she sat down.

  I heard the door open as I put my arm out to hail a cab. I smelled her vanilla perfume as she came up behind me.

  Without turning, I said, “Not a fan of witches, so best keep your spell fingers to yourself.”

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, my help meter is at full capacity right now. Take a number.” Frig, where were the cabs when you needed one?

  “It’s Liam.” Whoa. What? Liam? Shit, this must be the witch rumored to be hanging at Liam’s club. I turned toward her as she said, “The vampire.”

  “Yeah, I know who the fuck he is,” I said.

  A yellow cab slowed.

  “Liam told me to meet him at the club in five nights.”

  “And why the hell do I give a shit?” The cab rolled to a stop and I opened the door.

  Her fingers curled around my arm. “He’s going to kill me.”

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  I jerked away from the window and the blinds I’d parted with my fingers to peer outside snapped closed. I knew it wasn’t Kilter because I was getting that the guy didn’t know how to knock.

  “Rayne, it’s Anstice. Can I come in?”

  I hadn’t seen any of the Scars except Kilter for two days. After hearing about Ryker being here, I’d stayed in the bedroom.

  I walked to the door, put my hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath then opened it.

  Anstice smiled. “Hey. I came to check if you needed anything.”

  We were the same height, although Anstice was wearing one-inch heels. She had on a white blouse and dark blue jeans that sculpted to her long, fawn-like legs. There was a vibrancy and animation with Anstice’s stark features and flaming red hair, but her voice contradicted her looks in that it was quiet and poetic.

  “Ah, no. Thanks,” I replied.

  Hovering by the door, she shifted her weight and said, “At breakfast the other day, I saw the bruises on your neck. I can heal them if you want.”

  “I’m fine.” I had no interest in anyone using their abilities on me and certainly not touching me.

  “They have to be tender.” Anstice paused. “I promise, healing doesn’t hurt.”

  I’d heard that before—it always hurt. “I’d rather not.”

  I heard booted footsteps come down the hallway and I looked past Anstice’s shoulder to see Kilter. He scowled, but then that was pretty much a permanent thing, so it didn’t give me any indication as to whether he was mad or not.

  “Let her heal you, babe.”

  Anstice said, “It’s okay, Kilter. She doesn’t have to—”

  “Yeah, she does.” His eyes locked on mine and I crossed my arms as if to shield myself from his intense gaze. It didn’t work.

  I raised my chin and said, “I don’t want her to.”

  There was a hint of a lip twitch at the right side of his mouth and his furrowed brows lifted. “Anstice, give us a minute,” Kilter ordered.

  “Umm, yeah, sure.” She half-smiled at me before walking back down the hall. Kilter strode in, forcing me back, then kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot.

  “I need you to do this.”

  He stalked toward me and I backed up until my legs hit the end of the bed. He stopped inches away.

  “It’s important.” He raised his hand to my neck, his knuckles tracing the bruises. It was so gentle I barely felt it. “She can heal these. In minutes, they’ll be gone.”

  His eyes lifted from my neck and came back to mine. The black depths of his eyes melded with a chocolate color that radiated warmth.

  “Jesus, babe, I hate the reminder of what he did to you. I see the bruises and all I see is you hanging by your throat.” He sighed. “I’m asking if you will do this for me.”

  My eyes widened and my heart skipped a beat. I’d anticipated him demanding I let Anstice heal me, not asking if I’d do it for him because he didn’t want to be reminded of Anton strangling me. I didn’t know what to do with that, so I stayed quiet.

  He continued, “You still want to refuse, I’ll let it go, but I won’t like it.”

  I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek, and watched him as he waited patiently for my answer. “It’ll be fast?”

  “Yeah, babe.”

  I was uncertain if Anstice would be able to read my thoughts like the Wraith, and I was worried about it. “She has to touch me?”

  Kilter nodded. “Yes, but brie
fly.”

  He wanted me to do this because he hated seeing the bruises. “Okay.”

  Before I knew what he was doing, Kilter tilted his head and his lips brushed my forehead. When he stepped back, I noticed the quick change in his expression as if he realized what he’d done.

  It was obvious we were both unaccustomed to tenderness.

  Anstice and Kilter were telling the truth. It didn’t hurt—actually, all I felt was warmth on my neck.

  I sat on the edge of the bed as Anstice hovered over me, eyes closed and hands inches away from my skin. I kept my eyes open and on Kilter who stood leaning up against the bedpost watching.

  I knew if it hurt or I wanted it to stop, he would make sure that happened.

  Anstice’s hands changed colors from white to a deep orange and to bright red. She kept her eyes closed, and I noticed her flinch several times before coughing, her breathing labored and ragged.

  Her body stiffened and the subtle lines of her face were strained. She suddenly gasped for air and her eyes flew open as she staggered back from the bed.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as she glanced from me to Kilter. “No matter what Waleron says about you going into the compound, it was the right thing to do.” She looked back at me. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not much, but I’m just really glad you’re here now.” Quickly, she turned and left the room.

  I was uncertain what she was talking about or who Waleron was and why he’d have a say about anything.

  Kilter pushed off the bedpost and took two steps toward me. “Come.”

  When I rose, he took my hand and I followed him into the bathroom. He placed me in front of the mirror, him directly behind me. With a gentle caress of his fingertips, he swept my hair away from my neck.

  God, the bruises were gone. I turned my head from side to side, and not a single reminder of Anton’s handprints remained on my neck. “Wow,” I whispered.

  Kilter’s hands settled on my shoulders and he gently squeezed before slowly sliding them down my arms. “You trusted me.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered. I had.

  I stared at us in the mirror, Kilter close and towering over me. And me, small and fragile. His arms were muscled and strong with black ink and mine spindly, weak, and pale.

  God, when had I become so pale?

  I always hated the mirror, hated seeing myself. I still did, but this time, I didn’t see me staring back, I saw a lost, vacant girl standing in a man’s arms.

  Kilter’s grip tightened and his brows lowered. “Babe, do you see how thin you are?”

  My breath caught in my throat and I tensed. I hated talking about my weight. I hated everything it meant. I shoved my elbow into his ribs, pushing him back. Then I ran from the bathroom.

  “Fuck.” I heard him mutter. “Rayne?”

  Kilter followed me, but I threw open the bedroom door and took off.

  I SLAMMED MY FIST into the doorframe. I fucked up. Of course, I fucked up. I’d read the damn book and knew she’d avoid talking about her weight, but it still pissed me off. I was a man of action, progress, and very little patience. Getting her to admit she had a problem was the first step.

  According to the book, which I finished in under an hour—a Visionary bonus was being able to read in hyper-speed—if her body weight was twenty percent below average, which Rayne’s was, then she’d be a potential client for a rehabilitation center, if she even had an eating disorder.

  I was no fuckin’ therapist, but her going to some rehab institution was not going to work for me. Rayne had been through hell in that compound, and she’d experienced and seen things regular people didn’t.

  Her issues weren’t like others. Fuck the book.

  I stormed through the house searching for her, because whatever this was with her, I needed answers and I was a persistent asshole.

  I found her outside standing on the cobblestone path that weaved through the gardens. I watched from ten feet away as the light rain sprinkled her face. Drops slid down her forehead to her cheeks then dripped off her chin to soak into her sweatshirt.

  Her eyes were closed and she tilted her face up toward the sky. As she licked the dampness from her lips with the tip of her tongue, there was the hint of a smile on her face. Fuck, she almost looked happy.

  And, unfortunately, I was going to destroy that.

  As I approached, her back stiffened a second before her eyes opened and our gazes collided.

  I stopped in front of her, my eyes taking in her wet hair and damp skin. “You don’t mind the rain?”

  “No,” she replied.

  “Most chicks would be worried about ruining their hair.”

  She turned and walked down the path. “I’m not most chicks.”

  “Yeah, I got that.” And it wasn’t because she was sick; it was because there was something different in her. She was stronger than she let on, but it was like she’d given up. Her fight had been too long with no way out.

  We walked in silence a few minutes, the sound of our feet splattering through the puddles, which had gathered along the path.

  She rubbed her arms and I noticed goose bumps on her neck.

  “You need a jacket. Why the hell would you come out here in the rain without a jacket?” It pissed me off that she wasn’t concerned for her own well-being. Not eating. Out here in the rain without a jacket. I might not give a shit about anyone, but at least I looked after myself.

  A strand of wet hair latched onto her mouth and I raised my hand and gently pushed it aside with one finger.

  What the hell was I doing? I didn’t do tender and sweet.

  I snagged her wrist and brought her to a stop. “Babe, you need help. Don’t know shit about what’s going on, but right now, all I do know is you’re pale as fuck. Thin. Weak. And you barely eat.”

  She pulled her arm free and kept walking. I bowed my head, took a deep breath and went after her. “Rayne, fuck, I want to help.” She ignored me as she continued down the path. “Jesus Christ, woman, you’re dying,” I finally exploded.

  “I know,” she whispered, and they were the sweetest words I’d ever heard, because if she knew, then there was hope. Her steps slowed and her shoulders slumped. “I know something’s wrong. I shouldn’t feel this way all the time, but getting out of this is scarier than staying where I am.”

  I knew exactly what she saying. It was simpler to continue what you’re comfortable doing, easier to keep emotions hidden rather than face them.

  “I used to be terrified of horses.” Fuck. I hated feeling vulnerable. And sharing anything about my past was like ripping my guts out. “I was seven. Horse reared up, lost its balance, and fell backward right on top of me. Knocked me out cold. Horse was fine. I had a hell of a headache and a broken arm. I swear that stallion laughed at me every single time I walked past his stall after that.” I felt her eyes on me as we walked. “Never got over it. My brother, Ulrich, teased me relentlessly for years, but as soon as I came near a horse, my heart pounded and my palms became hot and sweaty. It was a hell of a lot easier to avoid the beasts than face the fear. So, I did.”

  We moved off the path and strolled across the grass to the cobblestone wall enclosing the property. “Did you ever get on a horse again?” she asked.

  The earth was spongy beneath my feet, and it matched how I was feeling inside. “Yeah, sure. Had to. Took a good ten years though.” I kicked at the long grass. “Scariest day of my life. I actually threw up on the day I decided to conquer my fear.”

  “Why did you?” She stopped at the wall, her palm resting on it.

  I half-smiled as my eyes met hers and I raised my hand to slowly trail my thumb down her cheek. “It ruled my life, babe. I couldn’t do things I wanted because I wouldn’t get on a horse. Since you know about the Scars, I assume you’re aware we’re immortal?” She nodded. “Well, back in the eighteen hundreds, horses were transportation, so it limited where I could go. I was sick and tired of the hold it had on my life, so I set a date and decided that was the d
ay I’d get on that stallion. It was the best thing I could have done.” I slipped my hand in hers and gently squeezed. “Is it ruling your life?”

  She nodded, lowering her head as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

  “Babe, you aren’t alone now. We can beat this.”

  The tension vibrated in him as he told me the story about his fear of the horse, and when he took my hand I melted. Kilter didn’t seem the type to share anything of himself, and yet he had, and I knew why, so I’d trust him.

  But none of this could last. This. Him. Everything. It was temporary. Eventually, they’d discover my secret and use me like Anton.

  I pulled my hand from his grasp. “I think we should head back now.”

  “Babe.” Kilter reached for me, but I dodged his hand, shifting right.

  He cursed beneath his breath.

  I glanced at him and saw the scowl and frustration etched on his face. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that I put it there. But it was better this way. If I became too close to Kilter, I’d be trapped in the same life he’d rescued me from.

  “I may not understand what you’re going through, but…” He hesitated and his lips pursed together, forming harsh lines around his mouth. “Fuck, I can’t promise to be patient. That’s not me. But, if you need me, I’m here for you.”

  An ache gripped my chest and I yearned to blurt everything out. To trust him. To finally be able to let go and stop hiding. But just because he saved me and showed me kindness didn’t mean he could be trusted. Anton had been kind after my parents died. I’d trusted him. My parents trusted him, and all of it was a lie.

  We walked along the path toward the house, neither of us saying anything. There was tension in his broad shoulders and his hands were curled into fists. Even his stride was stiff.

  I didn’t like having that effect on him. I briefly closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “It gives me strength—the rain, sun, moon, wind.” I felt his eyes on me, and with a quick glance up at him, I saw the scowl was gone. “Nature is powerful and can be ruthless, and yet it gives us life.” I paused, chewing on my lower lip. “It lends it to me—its strength. It was the one punishment my husband knew would hurt me the most. He’d lock me up in my room with no window. No sun or moon, wind or rain.” Kilter swore beneath his breath. “If he threatened to lock me away, I’d do whatever he wanted. He knew that. I let him discover my weakness, and he used it against me. I should’ve known better.” God, please don’t use this against me.