The Betrayer (Crossing Realms Series Book 3)

by Rebecca E. Neely

  “Those children needed you. What you were doing was every bit as important.”

  “I know that now. Or I used to know it, and lost sight of it. When Dev first crossed realms, I volunteered to leave the network to guard humans as the Second Rebellion was ratcheting up. I guess I had something to prove. Then I saw you with the little girl today, talking to her, calming her down. You were so good with her.”

  Couldn’t she see she had so much to give? Having children with her would be one more adventure. Together, they could laugh with them, calm their fears, watch them grow. “You changed my whole outlook about what I do. I’m ashamed of the way I felt about my Compulsions. I know now I have one of the most critical jobs of all. I should be thanking you.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I still think you’re too idealistic.”

  “Maybe I am. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He placed a hand on her thigh. “I know you have some big adjustments to make and I realize what it cost you to tell us about the portal, even though you’re one of us. I believe you. And I believe in you.” He forced himself to grin, lightening the moment. “I told you the network wasn’t so bad.” He winked. “See, I’m trustworthy.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Sweet satisfaction soared in him. “Thanks.” He knew he should send her upstairs so she could shower and change, but for once, she wasn’t fighting to get away from him and he wasn’t about to let her go. He never knew the right things, the smooth things to say to a woman. “You can deny it all you want, but I know you have feelings for me.”

  “Curtis.” His name was a whisper on her lips.

  Nerves threatened, but he barreled on with a confidence he didn’t feel. Both times he’d kissed her, he’d grabbed her roughly. This time, he wanted to show her tenderness. Touching his mouth to hers, he caressed the line of her jaw, holding her as though she was china. Softly, he traced his lips over the tiny mole below the right corner of her mouth.

  Her nostrils flared and her breathing quickened.

  His pulse answered hers, but he held his desire in check. Hungry for exploration, wanting only to give her pleasure, he skimmed the pad of his thumb over her eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, the definition of her cheekbones. The silky lobe of her ear.

  He sighed, lost in the sensations of her—the rough feel of her dreadlocks in his hands, her supple skin, her delicate bones. Their combined heat leapt to the surface, like flames licking at kindling. His soul-deep need for her had always lived in him, waiting for her and her alone. Whether she knew or believed it, she was part of him.

  The feel and taste of her drugging him, he released her reluctantly. “You better go get that shower,” he told her, his voice husky with need. “Top of the stairs. First door on the left.”

  She raised heavy lidded eyes to him and smiled shyly. “Okay.”

  Watching her ascend the stairs, Curtis knew he’d do anything for her.

  Even betray his clan.

  That stark truth sucker punched him, leaving him raw, exposed.

  In spite of the progress she’d made, his doubts lingered. Hating himself, he feared it all the same.

  Would Jordan be the clan’s salvation? Or its ruin?

  Chapter 19

  The memory of Curtis’ lips on hers heated Jordan’s blood along with the shower’s powerful spray. Her sigh of pleasure mingled with the clouds of steam filling his bathroom. She indulged herself in the sensations, a rarity for her, as the water cleansed her skin. As gentle and chaste as his kiss had been moments ago, it left her frenzied, wanting. It’d been no less of a branding than when he’d manhandled her in the street—and she’d reveled in it.

  Lust, primal and pure, engulfed her. Her stomach muscles tightening, thoughts of their joined bodies, of riding him, wild and reckless, stole her breath. A moan escaped her. Her loins throbbed in anticipation as needs and desires, long buried, raced to the surface unchecked, keening her system almost painfully.

  It seemed every moment she spent with him further dented her armor of resolve.

  He’d changed her world, and he’d changed her.

  And she was falling for him, hard and fast.

  Not to consciously acknowledge that would be a fatal error.

  To have him declare her as his mate was still such a leap. Too much had happened, to her and them. The Second Rebellion was in full force. They’d only known each other for a few days. And she didn’t believe in love at first sight. In all matters, she demanded tangible evidence, believing with her head, not her heart.

  Lathering her skin, she tried desperately to rein in her emotions, even as the woodsy scent of Curtis’ soap walloped her. She growled low in her throat. Her defenses were down, her brain muddled by desire. It was time to take a step back and assess. Her world revolved around preparing for the next battle. So she’d approach it the same way, by determining her strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats.

  Physically and mentally, she was attracted to him. His lean physique, his long limbs, his purposeful stride—all of it made him unpretentiously sexy. Boyish one minute, serious the next, nothing about Curtis was blatant, but beneath his facets, his layers, he was potent in every sense of the word. And his eyes . . . Upon first glance, they appeared navy, but flickered with hues of purple according to his moods.

  Gods, I’m in trouble.

  And what about his intelligence, his kindness? His incredible generosity? He’d offered to help her find Magpie—her family—at great risk to himself and his clan, simply because she’d asked. Curtis insisted she forgive herself, that she deserved better. How was it possible he was so in tune with her secret yearnings, ones she barely admitted to herself?

  Hadn’t she longed to leave the brood for years? After each soul-crushing mission. After the field tests Abel had subjected her to with the re-purpose of the Similitude. After the senseless loss of her father.

  She traced a finger over her left wrist and the words inked there. Cuimhnigh i gconai. Always remember. Not only had she undergone a physical transformation, she’d embarked on mental and spiritual ones as well. She’d saved a girl’s life.

  Me, a former Betrayer.

  Her shoulders shaking, a well of tears flooded her vision. They melted into the spray and down the drain, along with a layer of her long-ingrained mistrust.

  All her life she’d masked emotions, controlled her responses, for fear of revealing weaknesses. For the sake of survival. Now, deep satisfaction filled her soul. She’d helped, not hurt. It’d filled a void in her she hadn’t known existed, and she embraced a new measure of wholesomeness she’d never experienced as a Betrayer.

  I’m a Keeper now.

  Whatever came next, she would continue to help humans.

  Receiving and acting on the Compulsion had gone a long way in helping her to accept her transformation. That was intimately linked to Curtis. He’d saved her life, opening his heart and his home. She’d longed for the permanence and roots of each since her father had been taken from her. In spite of the brood’s nomadic existence, her father had taught her ‘home’ didn’t have to be a place, but rather something forged, simply by being together. No matter where they were.

  She held her palms to the spray. That sense of home, Curtis’ kindness, and the way he looked at her, honed the ache of loneliness within her. He was the epitome of Vitality—warmth, heat, energy, life. He didn’t survive. He lived. She was starving. He was a banquet.

  Alert, almost breathless, she lathered her hands again. Curtis was offering her, unconditionally, everything she’d ever wanted. Part of her longed to accept it. Another demanded she be wary of trapdoors, and a lifetime of mistrust eclipsed her newfound hope. Was her transformation in fact permanent? Would the clan ever accept her? Could she count on their help, as Curtis believed?

  She shut off the water and y
anked the curtain aside, instantly chilled. Years of living a life of scarcity had shaped the bedrock of her existence. She couldn’t overcome that in so short a time. The life she’d led as a mongrel, the life the brood led, didn’t lend itself to a girl’s dreams of becoming someone’s mate, least of all a Keeper’s. How could she let herself depend on someone else, when she knew firsthand how easily it could be taken away?

  With the heel of her hand, she wiped the mirror clean of steam and studied her reflection. Here she was, in Curtis’ bathroom, clean, her cheeks pink with health, her skin smelling of his soap.

  She hugged an oversized towel around herself, the truth hitting her full force. Caring for him came with a price. If she opened herself any more to him, she’d never be able to do without him.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, she pressed a palm to her chest. For her sake, and the clan’s, she needed to keep him at arms’ length, no matter how painful. Above all, she didn’t want to hurt him—something she’d already done more than once. If she yearned for his touch, that was her problem, and one that would only compromise the fight to come.

  Take stock of the positives. She trusted him, and therefore herself more than she had yesterday. It was also a huge step for her to accept Curtis’ help in finding Magpie—for, as he’d pointed out, she couldn’t do it alone. She would congratulate herself on her progress. Going forward, her focus had to be on readying for battle.

  She knew what she had to do.

  Getting the clan to agree to it was another matter. She drew a fortifying breath. As she’d done in the reno, to get help she’d have to offer some.

  Jordan stepped into his bedroom adjoining the bath. As promised, Libby had left her fresh clothes—jeans, a Steelers T-shirt, socks, underwear. The Converse sneakers were a size too big, she discovered when she slipped her foot inside. But they’d work.

  Touched they were trying to accommodate her, she held the T-shirt to her face, delighting in the blessedly fresh scent of detergent. Her throat tightened as she dressed and rolled up the cuffs of the jeans. Returning to the bathroom, she gathered the rags she’d been wearing, and with only a moment’s hesitation, shoved them in the trash.

  In the bedroom, she admired the simple cotton quilt, the polished wooden floor. Turning, she eyed what sat on the dresser. Haltingly, she sipped the glass of lemonade, then drained it. She wolfed down the chocolate chip cookies first, then the apple slices. The sweetness lingering on her tongue, she allowed herself to revel in these rare decadences.

  Next, she turned her attention to the tubes, jars and brushes. Makeup not pilfered from the drugstore or from a human’s house on a thieving mission. This offer of friendship from another woman, an additional rarity in her life, stirred something in her.

  Jordan wiped away tears. She was never this emotional, yet she willed herself to stand by her resolve to keep the clan at arms’ length. It was for the best, she told herself as she dabbed on berry scented lip gloss, swiped iridescent eye shadow over her lids.

  A knock sounded at the door. Jordan dropped the brush she’d been holding as if she’d been caught stealing. She almost laughed at herself. Old habits. They’d given her these things, she reminded herself. Sighing, she strode to the door and opened it.

  Curtis stood in the hall, his hair dewy from his own shower. She blinked. It was the first time she’d seen him clean shaven. His T-shirt clung to his chest, his holey jeans hung loose around his hips. One smile from him, and she felt her resolve crumbling.

  He assessed her, his approval evident. “Looks like everything fits pretty well. You enjoyed the snacks?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes and feeling strangely embarrassed. “Is that a violin?” She pointed at the case he held in his hand. “Do you play?”

  “Since I was about ten.”

  Another layer, Jordan thought. Playing the violin required talent, a keen ear, and hand-eye coordination. She knew because she’d failed miserably at trying to learn to play her father’s guitar. Probably all stringed instruments shared certain similarities. More importantly, this newest discovery about Curtis underscored something else that’d been bothering her. She waved a hand at the case, at him.

  “I don’t know you,” she said softly, determined to maintain distance between them. “And you don’t know me.” There. Those facts were unarguable.

  Curtis set the case down carefully. However brief, she saw the hurt flicker across his face.

  Yet he nodded. “I know some things about you. Some very important things. You’re right, though. Not the details. But I want to.”

  “Curtis—”

  “I’ll tell you what.” He grinned, taking the steam out of the argument she’d been ready to make, about how they didn’t belong together. “I’ll go first.”

  When did he get so good at wearing down her defenses?

  He led her from the room. “My brothers and I play our instruments, by ourselves, and together. My parents wanted us to learn. Good for the soul, good way to engage your mind. Plus, it’s fun. I took to the violin, Nick to the guitar, and Dev, the harmonica.”

  Descending the stairs, he pointed to the family photos covering the wall. “That’s me.” He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Chronological order.”

  Charmed despite her better judgment, she followed the progression of his life in pictures, from a toothy toddler to a young man. A fierce longing to know him, as a boy and as a teen, swamped her.

  “I always liked computers,” he explained. “Programming. I was never any good at sports. I help my family in their carpentry business. I have an eye for detail I suppose, but it’s Nick who makes things beautiful.” He waved a hand to indicate the family room. “He’s built a lot of the furniture in the house.”

  Hungry for details, Jordan devoured this information. Questions raced through her mind, and she tried choosing the right one, if there was such a thing. “Do you like to read?”

  “Yes. Jack London is one of my favorites. Lots of tech mags. You?”

  She nodded. “There wasn’t always time and I didn’t have many books as a child. My father adored Sherlock Holmes and Shakespeare. He also had a battered book of D.H. Lawrence’s short stories. I love them all.”

  Walking into the foyer, he pointed to the left. “We have an extensive library. You’re welcome to anything you’d like.” He hooked his arm in hers. “Jordan, I had a normal childhood, growing up with other Keepers. I have a big, extended, loving family that lives all around us in the network.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a few relationships. None of them long-term. They all ended amicably. But they didn’t last.” Taking her hand in his, he kissed it. “Now I know why.”

  Her heart fluttered in her throat. “Are you trying to sweep me off my feet?” she asked, when she could find her voice.

  “How’m I doing?”

  Her resolve diminishing into thin air, she simply shook her head, unable to squelch the rush of joy or to stop the smile from tugging at her lips.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He led her into the family room and stopped in front of the sofa. “One more thing I wanted to tell you.” He winked. “When I was four, I decided my mother’s brand-new drapes would be good for cleaning my toy dump truck.”

  He shoved aside the sofa. At the bottom of the sheer fabric, an approximately two by two section of the fabric had been hacked away. “My mother had hung the curtains the day before. After she spanked me but good, she decided she couldn’t bear to pay for another set, and so my father did some careful, er, rearranging of the furniture.”

  The chuckle escaped her before she realized it, a low throaty sound that surprised her almost as much as it clearly did him. Throwing back his head, he laughed along with her.

  Had she ever known a man’s laughter could be sexy? She dug her hands into the pockets of her borro
wed jeans. “I appreciate you trying to put me at ease and telling me about yourself.”

  “Jordan, before you try to give me another reason why you think we won’t work, let me say this. I can’t wait for us to get to know each other. It’s going to take time. But I’ll tell you this.” He brushed one of her dreadlocks away from her forehead. “I know your moods. Expressions. Mannerisms. I watched you for three days at the reno. Your eyes give you away, even when you think they don’t.” He shot her a smug smile.

  How was it possible for him to read her so easily? On the other hand, hadn’t she already begun to do the same of him? Defeated, at least for the moment, she folded her arms across her chest. “You really want to give me a Vitality stone?”

  “Ah, back to business. Yes. You’re one of us. It’s going to take some time to get used to, I know. Right now, my energy is sustaining you, as it has for days. To fight, you have to have your own, learn how to use it, and hone your ability. I’ll help you every step of the way.” He led her from the family room, down the basement stairs, and along a hallway.

  She’d begun to accept her transformation. Part of that meant accepting how the Vitality she’d once killed for was now her life force. “I know you received a Compulsion for me. I’m still not sure I’m the answer.”

  “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? We’ll keep working together, like we’ve been doing.”

  He makes it seem so easy. So natural. He drew her outside of herself, with a force she couldn’t control, and didn’t want to. At the same time, he exposed her, left her nowhere to hide, from him or herself.

  They stopped in front of a closed door, one that could only lead to the Situation Room.