by Elise Faber
“We know, sweetie,” Suz said gently.
Gabby glanced up in surprise. “Y-you know?”
Daughtry nodded. “Well, not everything. But we know enough, we knew enough.”
Shock coursed through her and she stepped back. “And you wanted to be friends with me anyway?” she asked. “Even though I loved her and tried to protect her memory by not telling anyone? Even though part of me still loves her?”
Daughtry’s expression gentled. “Do we need to start talking about mommy issues? I think I have you beat.”
Considering that Dee’s own mother had been behind a slew of attacks on both the Rengalla and on Daughtry herself, Gabby knew that it was true.
“You survived.” Dee crossed her arms over her chest. “You didn’t turn. You protected yourself.”
“I killed her.”
Suz shrugged. “You did what you had to in order to survive. That’s it.”
Gabby shook her head. “But I didn’t tell anyone, I didn’t—”
“The LexTals aren’t stupid, sweetie, they can look at the scene of a Dalshie attack and know by the ash patterns, by the displaced objects and broken furniture what happened.”
“Everyone knew?”
“I’m sure not everyone. But John told Cody.” Dee shrugged and spoke as though it was no big deal that every dirty little secret Gabby had worked so hard to shed was common knowledge. “He can’t keep anything from me, and I told Suz because I thought she needed to know.”
Gabby looked at her friend. “Weren’t you mad that I didn’t confide in you?”
“Mad?” Suz shook her head. “Of course not. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you have to tell us everything.”
“Somehow I doubt you’d be saying that if it involved dishing about Mason.”
Daughtry snorted, flashed Suz a grin. “She has you there.”
Suz bumped her shoulder against Dee’s. “You’re just as bad. Nosy meet meddlesome.” The phone rang. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
Gabby’s mind raced, trying to soak it in. She’d been prepared—since that revelation in Matilda’s quarters—to say fuck off to anyone who disliked her because of her past.
What she hadn’t anticipated was that people might have already accepted her without compunction.
What kind of freaky fairytale place had she come to live in?
Daughtry laughed, drawing Gabby out of her thoughts. “That good, huh?”
“What?”
“Your face . . . well, bewildered doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I—” Gabby shook her head. “I just can’t believe that everyone knows and that it’s not a big deal. In my head . . .”
“Can I tell you something someone once told me? Something that really helped me put things into perspective?” Dee’s voice had softened and Gabby nodded. “He said that it’s not all about me. And he didn’t say it to be an asshole—neither am I for the record—but because . . . it was—is true. Sometimes things in our mind, our hearts seem insurmountable, but really, it’s us holding ourselves back.”
She blinked, feeling like she’d been standing beneath a giant church bell as it rang in a bell tower overhead. The noise—the words—resonated through her body with all the reverberation of that giant metal cone.
“So what you’re saying,” Gabby whispered, “is that the universe doesn’t revolve around me?”
Daughtry smiled, nudged her shoulder. “Exactly.”
She made a face. “Damn.”
“Sucks, huh?”
“Yeah.” They both laughed, and a moment later, Gabby asked, “Are you—are you okay with not being the only bonded couple?”
Dee snorted. “Are you kidding me? I love that we share the freak status. Maybe everyone will keep gossiping about you and Mason and leave Cody and me alone.”
“Not likely,” Suz said, as she walked back into the room.
A mischievous glint came into Dee’s purple eyes. “Or . . . we could find Suz a bondmate, so that she can join the ranks.”
Suz shook her head firmly. “Don’t get any ideas. I don’t need a man.”
“You’re dating!” Daughtry mock-frowned. “And you’re no fun.”
“I’m practical.”
“No fun,” Daughtry repeated.
“Not to make it all about me,” Gabby said with a grin, interrupting when their argument further devolved into an exchange of yes’s and no’s. “But how in the hell are we going to convince Mason that he doesn’t need to protect me from himself?”
“He’ll come around on his own,” Dee said. “The bond doesn’t really facilitate separation. Give him a week. Trust me, it won’t take longer than that.”
“And if he proves to be stubborn?” Suz asked.
Gabby thought that was a pretty pertinent question considering the man had spent over a hundred years denying he had a problem with the past.
“If that’s the case, we’ll give him a good, hard shove,” Daughtry said and slung her arm around Gabby’s shoulder.
Thirty-Two
Mason
The last two weeks had been hell.
He was a complete mess, his separation from the woman he loved more awful than he could have imagined. It was worse because Gabby wanted to be there for him, but he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her.
He allowed only minimal contact with others around, and the few hours per day he did permit himself to be with her were their own special brand of torture.
Regardless, that time with Gabby was still the best part of his day.
They could talk. He could see her smile, make her laugh. But he didn’t dare touch, didn’t dare put his hands on her. Not even to eliminate the increasing frustration, the occasional sadness that coated her pale brown eyes.
Despite everything, the bond continued to grow—strengthened by their contact, by their mutual love. It withstood the shame and guilt that continued to eat at his soul.
Well, that was all thanks to Gabby—her determination to “save” him.
He would have preferred to leave the Colony altogether, to take his screwed-up self elsewhere until he was certain he couldn’t hurt her again.
But they were bonded and if they didn’t nuture their connection, the bond would wither. Would die. Gabby would become mortal and lose the powers she’d only begun to control.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done—staying after what had happened. Staying despite knowing that he’d hurt her, knowing that she was sad because of him—
Knowing his hands had squeezed her delicate throat. That he’d bruised her. Frightened her.
That had been more than enough motivation for him to talk to someone.
Or someones because he’d confided in his mother, who’d encouraged him to discuss the problem with Dante. His boss had recommended approaching Suz and Francis and even Tyler for help. Now the entire Colony knew he was seriously fucked up, that he had PTSD. That he’d injured Gabby.
Even worse was that not one person looked at him with contempt.
He deserved to be ostracized, to be viewed with disgust, not considered with sympathy.
He’d hurt his bondmate.
That was unforgiveable.
Yes, he understood that it wasn’t really him who’d hurt her, that even though his hands had been around her neck, he hadn’t been aware of his actions.
That it had been the nightmare speaking.
The rest of him could still feel her soft skin beneath his fingers, still feel the cold rage within his body as he’d awakened.
And that was the problem.
“You need to get over yourself.” Tyler’s voice surprised him. Mason hadn’t realized that anyone had disturbed the solitude he’d sought within the armory.
He set the gun down on the counter, focused on the target he’d been obliterating. His cluster was a little to the left. He needed to fix that, to hit the heart every time. “Go away.”
“It’s not your fault.”
He
snorted.
“I felt your mind, Mase. I know what when down.”
His chin hit his chest. “I had my hands on her neck. That—you—”
“You’ve gotten help,” Tyler said. “I’ve taken the nightmare from your mind—”
“You don’t understand!” Mason turned, his hands clenched into fists.
“Dude,” Tyler said. “Turn that aggression down and focus on the mess that is your mind. This guilt is eating you alive.”
It was what everyone had been saying the last weeks, and it wasn’t any easier to swallow the hundredth time. Hot rage was simmering within him, fury at the situation, at himself—that he couldn’t be the man Gabby needed—and burst to the surface. With a frustrated snarl, Mason punched the wall.
Good old Mason logic. Punch shit. Shoot shit. Feel better.
Except, he didn’t.
Pain exploded in his hand, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his soul. To the torture of being separated from Gabby.
It was impossible to hold himself away from her.
It was impossible to trust himself near her.
Yet part of him couldn’t stifle the hope. Because Tyler had removed the nightmare, Francis had given him some mental exercises to center him, to come to terms with the memories, Suz had scanned him brain to make sure there wasn’t anything deeper wrong with him, and . . . he’d been sleeping. But was ten days nightmare-free long enough that he could trust himself with her?
Could he ever trust himself?
It would only take one dream, one flick of his wrist, and he could kill her as sure as the Dalshie had killed Victoria and Jacob. He—
“That was stupid,” Tyler said.
Stupid. Yeah, no kidding. Except Tyler was talking about his hand and Mason was talking about everything else.
He shook his aching fist, felt the hot blood drip down his knuckles, and scented the tang of iron in the air.
“You know I’m not healing that,” Tyler said with a nod at the injured limb. “I can’t heal stupid.”
Mason pulled off his shirt and wrapped it around his hand. “Reading that loud and clear,” he muttered.
“I’m not talking about the hand.”
Great. Another talk. Another attempt at persuading him to put everything aside and be with Gabby.
“I know.”
Silence fell. There were a lot of things that Mason wanted to get off his chest, but he’d already exposed so much of himself to Gabby, to his friends, that he didn’t think he could stand to make himself any more vulnerable.
“You know you’re good man, right?” Tyler finally asked.
There was the crux of his problem.
Because he’d thought himself a good man.
Until he’d had his hand around Gabby’s throat. Because . . . nightmare or not, it had been him. Some piece of him was capable of hurting her and until that part was fully eradicated he wouldn’t trust himself with Gabby.
No matter the agony.
“I’m—”
“Mason!”
Gabby’s frantic mental voice cut through the layers of agony and hopelessness surrounding his mind. The fear sliced him right down to his soul.
He tried to teleport to her . . . and came against a brick well in his mind. He couldn’t. He couldn’t get to her.
“What’s the—?” Tyler started to ask.
Mason was running before he’d even processed he was moving. His feet ate through the corridors, pounded up the stairs and out the front door.
Because Gabby wasn’t safe. She was outside the shield.
He didn’t question why the layer of magic that protected the Colony parted before he’d even reached it. The only thoughts that were running through his mind were how quickly he could get to her, how hurt she might be, and how much magic he would need when he got to her.
“Gabby,” he thought for the hundredth time in the last few minutes, trying to rouse her and feeling nothing in returned. She’d screamed his name and then nothing. Her mind was a brick wall, impenetrable to his hails.
The only thing he could sense was her direction and that she was alive.
Accelerating using his magic, Mason flew across the miles that separated them. He could only pray he would get there in time. Up he went, the trees a blur, the shield and Colony fading into the background.
His stomach clenched in horror when he realized where she was.
The waterfalls.
Fuck. Flying down the right fork of the trail, he heard the pounding of the water against the rocks, felt the mist in the air, smelled the wet stone.
A heartbeat later, he was on the outcropping of bare granite, the cascade of water deafening.
His gaze swung from side to side, frantically searching.
There!
She was just feet from the cliff. He ran over, reached out—
“Stop!” she yelled over the noise.
Feet skidding to a halt, he obliged, less than five feet separating them. “Are you hurt?” he called.
“No!” She shook her head, but then the bond opened up—filled him with the torrent of her emotions, her pain, her hope, her despair—and she thought to him, “Yes.” Her hand came up to cover her heart. “I hurt so much here.”
Panic was replaced by guilty agony. “I can’t, Sunshine. I’m not—”
“Safe?” she asked. “You’re my chance at forever. I need you.”
She was too close to the falls, too close to the slick edge of granite.
He took a step toward her. “Come here.”
“No.” She skittered back another foot. “Not until you promise, not until you swear you won’t let fear rule you.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is.”
He was already shaking his head, ready to tell her that it wasn’t, when she slipped.
Her scream pierced through the air as she plummeted over the edge.
Thirty-Three
Gabby
She let out a very choice curse word as she fell.
It wasn’t part of the plan for her to fall off the damn cliff.
Again.
She’d meant to get him isolated, separate enough that he would have to face her instead of avoiding her—instead of using almost every other person in the Colony like a human shield as he’d been doing during their time together. She was getting a decidedly prison-like-conjugal feel from those unsatisfying daily visits. The time spent together might be preventing the bond from breaking, but it wasn’t making things better for either of them.
Still, falling off the freaking edge of the cliff wasn’t her idea of smart. If he didn’t get to her in time she was—
Toast.
Or that was what she had been thinking when a pair of strong arms encircled her waist.
Water soaked them both, pounded painfully against their skin, as they rose slowly into the sky.
They didn’t speak until they were on the top of the falls.
“Mason, I—”
“You idiot woman!” he shouted, fury making every muscle in his body as taut as steel. “What were you thinking jumping off that cliff? What if I hadn’t been able to get to you in time? What if—?”
“I didn’t jump,” she said, shoving at his arms. “I’m not that stupid! It was an accident!”
“People don’t fall off the same cliff twice by accident!”
Finally succeeding in freeing herself, she plunked her hands on her hips, angry even though she’d been thinking the same thing. “I didn’t fall the first time. I was pushed.” She glared. “This time, I slipped.”
“It was stupid to be so close.”
“It was stupid to avoid me for so long,” she countered. “I wouldn’t even be here if you weren’t so monumentally stubborn.” Her hands dropped to her sides. “Why can’t you just give in and admit that you can’t live without me?”
“I can’t.”
The words cut at her, sliced her to the quick. She couldn’t have heard that correctly. “Yo
u can’t? You. Can’t?” she repeated like an idiot. “But . . .”
“Sunshine, I can’t live without you, but I can’t risk hurting you,” he said. “That’s why I’ve been getting help. Why I’ve talked to almost every damn person in the Colony.”
“Not that it makes a difference,” she muttered. “I know you’re not convinced that you’re safe to be around me.”
“That’s true.”
“And you won’t sleep with me again until you’re sure.”
“That’s also true.”
A shriek of frustration escaped her. “That’s not fair, Mason. I need you. I hurt without you. I want to be with you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
He opened his mouth, but she waved him off. “Can’t we take precautions? You’re not the only person in the universe with PTSD, you know? We can handcuff you to the bed. I can talk to you across the bond instead of shaking you awake. Hell, Francis and Dante can recommend a therapist if you don’t think Tyler is helping.”
At the end of her speech, she paused, waiting for him to say something, anything, even to tell her she was dead wrong.
Instead, he said nothing.
His mind was tangled, his emotions and expression unreadable.
All of the hope she’d held evaporated, and the pain of separation increased tenfold. She should have known that nothing she could say would make a bit of difference. Because Mason wanted the one hundred percent guarantee he would never hurt her again.
And that just didn’t exist.
Striding away, her eyes stinging, misery swelling within her, she tried to tell herself to be patient. It had only been a few weeks. It would get better and—
It didn’t work.
She’d spent so long hiding from life that to be teased with only a few days of truly living it, of finally feeling and loving and experiencing everything she’d only ever hoped for—
Well, it sucked. Big time.
Her wet jeans abraded her thighs and made her movements jerky. Her sneakers slid slightly on the damp granite.
Gabby sighed. This might suck, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
