Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)

by Nashoda Rose

  He reached out and pushed a stray strand of hair back from my cheek to rest behind my ear. It was a slow, deliberate touch, the tips of his fingers burning a path over my skin.

  I swallowed, unable to breathe as his intense eyes drove into mine. The chocolate smoldered, my heart skipped a beat and my belly whooshed.

  “I’ll get you help, you need help, but for you, that isn’t the way.”

  I nodded and lowered my eyes from his. Keeping my shields in place with Kilter was getting harder.

  He put his hand under my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. “I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

  I did, sort of. But I didn’t trust his friends. A shiver coursed through my body at the thought of being locked up again. No. Never again. I’d rather die.

  Kilter’s thumb stroked my chin. “Need a response, babe.”

  “I’m trying.” It was the best I could do.

  He hesitated several seconds, eyes searching mine, and then he nodded. “I’ll be in the gym if you need me.”

  I watched him leave, wishing I could trust his words, but knowing it was safer to stay hidden.

  I sat on the bench in the gym, wrapping my hands and wrists while images of Rayne screwed with my head. My gut told me she was hiding something, but, fuck, I couldn’t get into her thoughts and she was afraid to trust me.

  I got it. Fuck, she shouldn’t trust anyone after what she’d been through, but it was still frustrating.

  Anstice and Keir were right; she was in desperate need of help. Therapy. Intense. And fast. I considered calling Danni. She was a Reflector and could easily read emotions and might be able to get into her head. The problem was, Rayne’s mind had an impenetrable barrier around it and Danni was new to the Scars.

  There was Xamien. He was an Ancient, a Taldeburu, a Reflector, and his grandmother had been a witch. Powerful as fuck. He might be able to reach her, but it was doubtful he would fly from Spain to Toronto to help a chick who wasn’t a Scar.

  I rose, walked over to the bag, and took my first punch. The red canvas smacked against my knuckles. I hit it again and again, bouncing off my toes, switching up the punches.

  An hour or two on the bag was a sure-as-shit way to get rid of whatever pulsed through the body, to exhaust and numb out emotions. I’d learned to use exercise over the past hundred years, when I’d been living in my own black void of self-despair.

  I had no idea how long I’d been hitting the bag when I heard the door to the gym open. I didn’t bother to look up.

  “You punch that bag any harder, you’ll bust it off the ceiling. You bust it, Keir will bust you.”

  Sweat poured down my face and my skin glistened with moisture. I grunted and punched another five times before steadying the bag with both hands and twisting to peer at Delara. She had a towel slung over her shoulder, and wore black yoga pants and a skintight white yoga top. Her shoulder-length hair hung in disarray across her head as if she hadn’t bothered to pull a brush through it this morning.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She dropped her towel on the bench and moved to the blue mat in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She clasped her hands together, then put her arms over her head and stretched. “Waleron called a meeting this morning. I’m early, so I thought I’d workout.”

  I grunted.

  “Care for a quick grapple?” Delara asked, raising her thin, arched brows as she spread her legs shoulder width apart and bent, touching the floor with her palms, and bounced.

  I scowled. “You’re a fuckin’ chick.”

  She straightened. “And you’re an asshole, but I’ll still fight you.”

  I walked over to the bench and took off the wraps on my hands.

  “What? You scared a chick will kick your ass?”

  Now, that was just immature. “I might kill you and have to deal with Waleron.”

  “Oh, he won’t care. Come on, don’t be a pussy.”

  Bitch. And also brave. I may have lived in a different Talde from Delara, but her history with Waleron was well known throughout the Scar world, and he sure as hell would fuckin’ care.

  “Best three of five.” I strolled over to the mat. Delara wanted to wrestle and show her shit, fine; I’d show her why women and men never competed against one another. I stopped in front of her, brows lifting with a subtle smirk. “Oh, and I’d recommend you shower that vampire scent off you before your little meeting with Waleron.”

  She shrugged. “He already knows.”

  Interesting. “Fucking a vampire. Liam?” She didn’t have to tell me; I saw the truth all over her face. Waleron’s girl fucking a vampire—now that was explosive. Because despite them not being together, Delara belonged to Waleron. “Don’t give a shit who you fuck.” I widened my stance. “You ready to have your ass kicked?”

  “Trained by the best, you know,” Delara said.

  Yeah, I knew. Waleron trained her. “Still a woman.”

  “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

  “There’s nothing I want you could possibly give me,” I said.

  Delara smiled while taking her stance—arms out, legs parted, knees bent. “I need—”

  I interrupted. “And I don’t fuck on bets.”

  “Oh, get over yourself.” She held up her hand when I went to say something. “I want someone to teach me to cook, and I heard you were surprisingly good at it.”

  “I fuckin’ excel at it.”

  “Even better. I win, you give me five lessons. If you win, what do you want?”

  “For you to shut up,” I said.

  Delara rolled her eyes. “Fine, I won’t talk to you for an entire week.”

  I grunted to cover my laugh. Damn, I kind of liked her, but I was still taking her down. “Ready to slap the mat?”

  Delara lowered her stance. “You ready to call mercy?”

  “Not going to happen.” I made my move.

  Delara nearly kicked my ass—and well deserving. I gave credit when it was due, and she was one hell of a grappler. Shit, she’d landed me on my ass twice before I’d had enough and had her yelling mercy.

  I jogged up the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a drink, sweat running down my chest and across my brow.

  I stopped.

  My feet became thousand-pound lead weights, as my eyes took in everyone standing in the adjoining living room. My eyes narrowed and heart skipped a beat. What the hell was going on?

  Delara came up behind me. I didn’t need to see her face to know something shitty was about to happen and it wasn’t just a meeting between Waleron and Delara.

  “What the hell is this?” I ground out.

  I tried to enter their minds, but every single one of them was vaulted shut. I looked over my shoulder at Delara, but she stepped back and refused to say anything.

  A billow of mist appeared by the doorway into the living room from the foyer and my hands curled into fists. Great—Waleron.

  I was not a fan of their coldhearted Taldeburu, and I sure as fuck hated when he morphed into a room. The Taldeburu was as merciless as they came. He protected the Scars with a steel glove and didn’t take crap from anyone.

  Waleron’s good points—no bullshit, and his loyalty to the Scars was unmatched.

  Waleron was six foot three, kept his head shaved, and had ice-blue eyes, which on occasion had been known to look almost white when he was pissed—although he rarely lost his cool. He had one hell of a snake tattoo. His Ink came up from under his black T-shirt to his neck and curled behind his left ear.

  As far as I knew, Waleron’s Ink hadn’t been released since the day he escaped from that bitch Lilac’s lair. It wasn’t exactly known what happened, only that Waleron and his Scar went insane with fury. When he returned, he was cool and calm like always, as if he hadn’t been tortured and held captive for sixty-one years. Except it was a different calmness, more like a silence of emotion.

  His ice-blue eyes turned to me, and they weren’t happy. “You went back to the compo
und when I specifically said it was off-limits until we assessed the situation.”

  “She needed out.” I glanced at his Ink. It remained still, but its eyes glowed red. Fuck, yeah, he was pissed.

  “Yes, but we needed to find out what they were doing there and you went and blew everything up.”

  I strode to the doorway and into the living room. “He was fuckin’ abusing her.” My voice was harsh and low as the fury boiled. “It was three weeks. Wasn’t waiting any longer.”

  The room was silent as Waleron and I faced off. No one was stupid enough to interrupt either of us. “The girl,” Waleron said. I stiffened. “Keir informed me of her condition, and we’ve decided she’ll go to a rehab center.”

  “What the fuck? You decided? You and he decided?” Every muscle contracted as his words hit me. “Over my dead body.” My glare shifted from Waleron to Keir, Jedrik, Hack, and then over my shoulder to Delara. They all avoided looking directly at me. They knew. They all fuckin’ knew this was going down. There was no discussion—it had been decided without me.

  “I got her out. You sat on your fuckin’ asses while she was being abused. No. You’ll have to go through me first.” I managed two strides toward the basement stairs when Waleron approached, his hand latching onto my arm.

  “Kilter, let it go,” Waleron warned in a bitter tone.

  “Fuck you.” I jerked my arm free.

  The heat in my eyes burned as my rage pulsed.

  “Kilter, man, she needs help,” Jedrik said.

  My gaze swung to Jedrik sitting on the edge of the leather couch, his forearms resting on his thighs, hands clasped between them. My eyes shot to the antique vase sitting on the table behind his head and, with my ability, I smashed it into tiny fragments.

  Screw control, this was exactly why I never trusted anyone. They went behind my back and did what they thought was best. No consulting. No discussion. Nothing.

  She was not being locked away. Fuck that. I swore to her. I asked her to trust me, damn it.

  It was betrayal laced with mistrust. She’d never forgive me. I knew what it was like to lose faith in someone’s words, and I wouldn’t do that to her. I fuckin’ wouldn’t.

  I managed two more steps toward the stairs before my body froze, and not by choice. Paralysis. “Let me go, you coldhearted bastard.”

  A low murmur of voices shifted through the room and I felt the energy around each of the Scars rise. Keir moved forward and nodded to Waleron. I knew they were speaking telepathically while blocking me.

  “You have fuckin’ shit to say, say it,” I said.

  Delara brushed by me, marched through the living room, and walked out. From her reaction, she was in disagreement with Waleron and Keir’s decision. One point in her favor.

  Anstice slipped her hand in Keir’s. “Kilter, don’t do this. Listen to what they have to sa—”

  “Fuck off!”

  Keir’s eyes flashed and his jaw clenched as he quietly warned, “Careful.”

  Waleron’s ability could only hold me for a minute, and then all hell would break loose.

  “You will let her go,” Waleron stated.

  I fought Waleron’s power, my eyes burning as my powers surfaced. “You lock her up, you sign her death warrant.”

  “She’ll be safe there,” Keir said, slowly moving toward me. “We’d never do anything to harm her. You know that, Kilter.”

  A cold fury enveloped me. No, goddamn it. No. I promised her. I fuckin’ promised.

  Waleron’s tone was calm and cool. “This is not your decision.” His hold finally dropped and I flexed my hands into fists. “If she chooses to leave rehabilitation, she can. But she must give it a chance.”

  “You will destroy what’s left of her.” That’s not what she needed. Not her. Not that way. “I’ll make sure she gets help.”

  “No, Kilter,” Waleron said in his monotone voice. “You’re too protective of this woman already.” My eyes darted to his Ink as it shifted on his neck. “You will not have any contact with her while she recovers.”

  “What? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” I ground out.

  “Disobey me and I will send you to Rest. Stay away from her,” Waleron ordered. “She needs time. Let this go. One warning. Don’t push it, Kilter.”

  I didn’t do well with threats, and I knew this fight could get me put in Rest, but I never backed down from anything in my life. And this was Rayne’s choice, not theirs.

  I jerked my head to the side and sent the entire wall of books flying off the shelves and into Hack. With the distraction, I crouched and rolled toward Jedrik who was on his feet now and coming at me. I kicked out and sent him on his ass. He leapt to his feet and dove for me again, and I swung, hitting him in the jaw and sending him back into Hack.

  “Cool it, asshole,” Jedrik muttered. “Shit.”

  I dove to the right when Waleron’s hands rose. A bolt of energy careened toward me, but I shifted at the last second and it hit an antique chair, sending it flying into the mantel.

  I leapt to my feet and ran for the basement stairs, but skidded to a stop when Keir stepped in front of the door and blocked my path.

  “Don’t do it, Kilter.”

  “Have to,” I said, then swung at him.

  Keir ducked. I missed and he barreled at me. His fist slammed into my jaw and I staggered back. Before I gained my balance, he kicked me in the abdomen, but I was ready for it and flipped over and scissor kicked him off his feet.

  Doorway clear. I ran for it, but I didn’t reach it before I staggered and fell into the wall. Fuck. What the hell? My vision blurred and I grabbed my head with both hands as I fell to my knees.

  Shit. Shit.

  Waleron stood a few feet away, the eyes on his Ink bright red as it slithered on his neck. “I told you, I warn once. Six months.”

  Six months? The bastard was putting me in Rest?

  I reached for the doorknob, twisted, and then collapsed onto my back. I fought like hell to keep my eyes open, straining against the heavy weight that refused to give way to my impenetrable will. I tried to urge my Ink to rise, but it was too late. I was too late.

  “I promised her. Don’t lock her away again,” I said to Waleron. “Christ, what he made her do… You know what it’s like to be abused, Waleron. Give her the choice… find another way…”

  I slipped into the hell of Rest.

  I FROZE, HAND CURLED around the handle of the hairbrush, when I heard Kilter’s roar from upstairs.

  “Kilter,” I breathed. Goose bumps rose and my stomach dropped.

  I listened. There was no movement. No scuffling. But I heard his words, ‘You will destroy what’s left of her.’ Oh God, they were talking about me. Kilter warned me they wanted to take me somewhere.

  There was a loud thump and crash and then more shouting.

  I had no choice.

  I tossed the hairbrush on the floor and ran to the end of the bed, shoved my feet into the running shoes Anstice had given me, and ran to the window. I undid the latch and pushed it open before punching my fist through the screen.

  It took three tries to pull myself up onto the window ledge and climb out. The window was ground level and I wiggled out on my stomach.

  When I crawled all the way through, I looked back with some crazy hope I’d see Kilter, to know he was okay and, yeah, even wanting him to stop me.

  My eyes caught the blade lying on the dresser, one of Kilter’s knives he normally kept in his boot. It was smaller than the one he secured to his thigh. A sharp pain shot through my chest and I silently ached inside, afraid to leave him, but knowing from the sounds upstairs that this was my only choice.

  Kilter, I’m sorry. Please understand, I can’t risk it.

  The image of him looking down at me as I sat on the bathroom floor in the compound filtered into me. The surprise, the relief, and then the hope. He’d given that to me.

  Yet staying was a risk I couldn’t take.

  I climbed to my feet and snuck across
the yard, hiding behind shrubs and trees, making my way to the iron gate. There was no one around, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come after me.

  Would Kilter? Would he run with me? God, of course not. He was a Scar like them.

  The cool spring breeze sifted through my hair and my heart calmed as my body rejuvenated as nature lent me its strength. I didn’t know why I always felt stronger in the sun, moon, rain, and wind, but it was as if it fed me life.

  I leaned up against a tree, catching my breath, legs shaking and feeling as if they were ready to snap in half. They were so weak.

  It was too late for nature to feed me life. I was dying. I barely functioned normally any longer with the few nutrients I consumed. It had crept up on me day by day then week by week, losing more and more weight. At first, I’d stopped eating to suppress my abilities. Then it had become my control and reward. It became my escape—my hiding place where no one could reach me in this empty shell.

  I looked toward the house, but didn’t see anyone coming after me. I pushed away and took off down the driveway toward the gate. My body slammed into it, hands gripping the bars, heart pounding, limbs trembling.

  I glanced over my shoulder to the house. Afraid to leave. Afraid to stay.

  God, Kilter, what am I doing? Who can I trust?

  Anstice and Keir had warned me Kilter was oddly protective of Rayne; however, I hadn’t expected having to put him in Rest. I didn’t like putting any Scar in Rest, except Tarek. That asshole deserved death for what he did to Delara.

  Jedrik collapsed onto the couch, Hack beside him, books scattered at their feet. Anstice crouched beside Kilter’s motionless body on the floor and checked his pulse.

  “That was seriously fucked up,” Jedrik said.

  Keir walked over to Anstice, putting his hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up at him. “He’s okay. I don’t understand though. I know he felt responsible for her, but he—”

  Jedrik finished off her sentence. “Lost it?”

  I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. “To him, Rayne is Gemma all over again.”