Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)

by Nashoda Rose

  “Go inside, Rayne.”

  “Kilter—”

  His eyes darted to mine and my breath caught in my throat at the anger and hurt blazing.

  Shit. There was no excuse for what I’d said. None. But he’d closed down. I sensed the shield around him like a solid brick wall. No matter what I said now, it wouldn’t matter.

  I undid my seatbelt and slid from the car. An ache settled in the pit of my stomach as I turned and walked toward the door. Only after I’d stepped inside did Kilter drive off.

  I knew behind his crude words, he had a good heart. But right now, I had my own issues to deal with. Having Kilter’s past demons around me would only make my recovery that much harder. Maybe in time, when I was stronger.

  I hung the keys on the horseshoe hook beside the door and leaned against the wall, my fingers pressed to my lips.

  I hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him.

  I’d learned to express myself over the past few months and cope with my emotions. But when it came to Kilter my emotions were all over the place and I didn’t know how to sort them out.

  A knock sounded on the door and my heart skipped a beat. Kilter.

  I opened the door and was met with piercing eyes and the intense scent of black licorice.

  FIND A REASON FOR her to live.

  Fuck.

  My lips pursed together and teeth ground back and forth as I gently cleaned Abby’s raw, bleeding wrists. I was meticulous with the wounds like I was every morning after she’d passed out from a night of ranting and raving.

  I applied the salve and light bandages and started to get up when her voice stopped me.

  “Don’t.”

  My gaze shot to her. She was awake and looking at me. What the fuck? She never woke this early in the morning. It was why I looked after her wounds at this time. After so many months, I knew Abby’s schedule like fuckin’ clockwork.

  She woke between ten and eleven, ate—if she could keep it down—then paced, showered, and sat in the corner of the room while I sat on the back porch.

  Then she slept for a few more hours before nightfall. That’s when I put the chains back on her. Psycho woman rose at eight or nine.

  She reached out and her fingers curled around my wrist. They were childlike, delicate, and gentle, yet I had the scars to prove how damaging they could be.

  Her eyes were red-rimmed with black circles beneath and I knew she was in pain. Fuck, I saw it in her eyes. I wanted to pull her into my arms and take it away. I’d do anything to take it away and make it my own.

  “Fuck, Abbs, don’t look at me like that.”

  She half-smiled then reached up and rested her palm on my cheek. I nearly fell off the edge of the bed onto my ass with the sweet gesture. She hadn’t been this mellow in months, and her touch… it was as if the Abby I once knew was back.

  “What’s the date?” she asked.

  I frowned at the peculiar question. “What?” Why would she care about the date?

  “The date?”

  “October third. Why?”

  She nodded, turning her head to stare at the ceiling. “It’s time, Damien,” she whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. I should’ve never… I thought I could survive this, but I can’t.”

  My gut twisted as I stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying. After all this fuckin’ time, she was giving up. But it was there in her eyes, the resolution, and the finality of what she was asking.

  She wanted me to kill her.

  “No!” I shouted. “Fuck, no.” I shot to my feet and paced the length of the floor. “No. Do you fuckin’ hear me, Abbs? Absolutely not.” I kept my head down, unable to look at her again and see that look, the one resigning herself to death. “Are you mad? Do you know how long we’ve been here? Do you have any clue what you’ve survived? And now suddenly you wake up all sane and calm and decide, ‘Yeah, Damien, you can kill me now.’ Jesus, Abbs, you don’t get that choice, and you sure as hell don’t have any right to ask me to do that.”

  “Damien,” she whispered.

  I approached the wall and slammed my fist into it. Then with my arms shoulder width apart, I rested my palms on the wall, leaning in to it and closing my eyes, rage whirling.

  “Damien.”

  She wanted me to kill her. She wanted to fuckin’ die.

  “Damien. Please.”

  I turned and looked over at the bed. She was sitting up, duvet tucked up around her, red hair tangled and strewn in every direction.

  “Will you talk to me? For a little while. You know, before I become a bitch again.” Abby half-smiled and, despite the tightness in my chest alleviating when I saw the smile, I wasn’t sure if I trusted it. Her thirst for blood was strong and her body’s instinct was to get it any way she could.

  ‘Give her a reason to live.’

  I had to give her a shred of hope to overpower the poison that was streaming religiously through her veins. One flicker of hope. That was all I needed. All she needed to keep fighting.

  I walked to the bed and sat, but it was awkward with my back half turned, so I moved up to the headboard and leaned against it and stretched my legs out, crossing my ankles. It was a vulnerable position, but it was early morning and she’d be pretty weak after the all-night ranting of bloodthirsty Abby.

  What I didn’t expect was her shuffling up next to me and resting her head on my chest.

  Fuck. This was a bad idea. Really fuckin’ bad, and yet I stayed where I was.

  “I wanted to have sex with you from the second I saw you,” she said. “It was so cute how uncertain you were.”

  I snorted. I’d never been uncertain about anything in my life until the last six months. She was either delusional or thinking of someone else.

  Her palm lay on my abdomen and one finger slowly shifted back and forth as if she didn’t even realize she was doing it. I fuckin’ realized. My cock realized it, too.

  “You kept glancing at the other people around, watching what they were doing as they picked through the peaches in the bin. You picked up one and squeezed it. I remember thinking how gentle you were with it and how it contradicted your fierce scowl.”

  She tilted her head to peer at me, her cheek sliding over my chest. I was met with a sweet smile and a hint of laughter sparking in her eyes. Fuck, I hadn’t seen that look in over half a year. I quickly looked away, clenching my jaw.

  “You put the peach back and picked up another, studying it like it was a mathematical equation.” I snorted again. I remember thinking the peaches were all crap. “I was about to come over and help you, when you tossed the peach back in the bin as if it disgusted you. Then you moved to the bin of apples, grabbed three, and marched down the aisle to the checkout.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ march and I never liked peaches,” I muttered. I sucked at picking out fruits with all the rules of which were the best. Too firm. Too soft. Too ripe. Not ripe enough.

  “Liar,” she said.

  I chanced a glance at her and she smiled as she rolled her eyes. I didn’t know why I did it. I was crazy to, but I placed my hand on her head. I didn’t stroke, didn’t caress, just rested my hand there. I heard her slight inhale, and then she relaxed again.

  “You thought I was smoking hot,” she continued.

  I grunted to hide my grin because she was right. As soon as my eyes landed on the cute red-haired beauty, my body reacted to her.

  “It didn’t take much more than dropping my basket and a quick spell to get the pop bottle to explode, and I had your attention.”

  My eyes narrowed and I stiffened. “You did that on purpose? A fuckin’ spell?” She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Productive.”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it gets me into trouble,” she paused, then added, “like now.” She was quiet for a minute, her breathing matching mine so our chests rose and fell at the same time. “Didn’t think you’d be interested when you found out I was a witch. Scars and witches generally don’t get along, even if it is just sex.” Her
finger stilled on my abdomen and her palm lay flat. “Why did you, Damien?”

  Wasn’t that the question of my immortal life? Maybe because I’d been leaving to go back to Florida and knew I’d never see her again? Maybe because she was sexy as hell and there was no strength in this universe that could have made me walk away from her that day? I liked to believe I’d just wanted to get laid, but that was a lie. It was more. It had always been more.

  When the pop exploded and sprayed the both of us, she didn’t freak out. Instead, she laughed, not worrying about her clothes being ruined or pop in her hair or that everyone in the line was looking at her.

  Fuck, I liked that she’d met my eyes and didn’t flinch under my glower as pop dripped off my chin and splattered my clothes. Yeah, I’d been attracted to her and wanted to throw her up on the conveyer belt and fuck her right there and then.

  “Damien? Why me?”

  “Get some sleep, Abby.” Avoidance was the safest explanation.

  She remained quiet for a few minutes, and I’d thought she’d fallen asleep when she spoke again. “What if I remain like this? I mean, never changing, but never being normal. You can’t stay here babysitting me forever.”

  I tensed. “One day at a time, babe. That’s all I can handle. We’ll see how each day goes and not keep track of how long it takes.”

  “Liam. Is he looking for me?” she asked.

  “Not that I’m aware.” I talked to Jedrik almost daily and Liam had been quiet as a mouse.

  “Strange,” she murmured. She rubbed her cheek against me and I grit my teeth as my cock jerked. “It’s odd that he didn’t come after us. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

  “No. He’d have been stupid to come after me.”

  She laughed and I hadn’t expected to hear that sound again. Hadn’t heard her laugh since the hotel. And I fuckin’ missed it. I missed the Abby I had in my arms right now. She wasn’t sassy and quick witted and stubborn right now, but the sane and sweet parts of her were still here.

  “I’ll never regret it. Those nights we had. Even if we lost something precious from it.” This was the first time she’d mentioned the loss of her child, and I felt a tug on my heart. Her child? No, it had been our child.

  Her body jerked and her breath quickened, her fingers curling into a fist in my shirt. “Damien, I don’t think you should be near me anymore.”

  I peered down at her and the laughter and spark in her eyes had been replaced with pain. I put one leg over the side of the bed to get up then stopped. Shit, maybe this was a mistake, but I had nothing to lose at this point.

  I put my leg back up on the bed, bent one knee, and moved her closer to me, so her body was half on top of me. I slid my arm around her to rest it on her lower back and keep her locked to me. Then I pried her hand from the material of my shirt and linked our hands together. “What if we try and ride this one out together?”

  I felt the wetness on my shirt from her tears and I squeezed her, but didn’t say anything. Instead, I silently prayed for the strength to carry this girl through another day.

  THE INSTANT I SAW his fangs, I tried to slam the door. His palm hit it and shoved it open the rest of the way, knocking me off my feet to the floor.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? A delicious present wrapped in a stunning emerald gown.” He kicked the door closed with the heel of his boot and turned the deadbolt.

  I scuttled backward on my hands and feet as he stalked toward me. My back hit the wall and I used it to push myself to my feet. Then I dove for the front of the gallery and the front door.

  I made it two steps before his hand latched onto my wrist. I screamed and he yanked me sideways into the wall so hard, my breath knocked out of me.

  He clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he trapped me between his body and the wall. “Running will make this so much worse than it needs to be.” The strong scent of black licorice plowed into me, and I turned my head away, stomach churning. “He failed to mention how beautiful you are. A vampire can’t resist beautiful things, you know.”

  Vampires were fast, strong, and agile. Anton had one he’d been experimenting on for five years, but I only saw him once being taken into the lab in chains, although he’d barely been able to walk.

  He released my wrist and cupped my chin, long fingernails biting into my skin. “He wants you alive, but he said nothing about tasting you.” My eyes widened at the thought of his fangs sinking into my neck. He laughed. “What? You’ve never been tasted by one of us? Surprising considering the company your husband kept.” I swallowed. “It only hurts for a minute then—” he licked his lips, “—it’s not so bad. Unless, of course, we drink too much.” He shrugged. “Then you die.”

  I wasn’t going back to being used. Not now. Not ever. I’d rather die. He brushed a strand of hair away from my neck.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t kill you.” He ran his finger down the column of my throat.

  No. This wasn’t happening. Six months. I’d only had six months.

  He grinned as he leaned closer. Then his eyes closed and he hissed as his fangs appeared.

  I reacted. With the heel of my hand, I shoved as hard as I could upward into his nose. I heard the distinct crack as it gave under the pressure.

  “You bitch.” He stumbled back, holding his hand over his face, blood leaking between his fingers.

  I pushed off the wall and scrambled for the front door. I banged into an easel, and both it and the painting crashed to the floor.

  Run. The dress swished around my legs and slowed me down. Oh, God, I wasn’t going to make it to the door.

  His footsteps barreled after me.

  I ran as fast as I could, but he was right behind me. Within seconds, he slammed into me and I went sprawling forward and landed hard on to the floor, his weight on top of me. His fingers bunched into my hair and he jerked my head back.

  “I was going to be nice. Now I’m not.” He leapt to his feet, taking me with him, one hand still locked in my hair and the other on my upper arm. I reached up with both hands, trying to alleviate the pain in my scalp, but he yanked hard and I lost my balance and fell to my knees, screaming as a sharp jolt shot through them.

  “Get up, bitch.” He pulled on my arm and I was forced to my feet or have my arm dislocated. “Outside now.”

  Scream. Scream until your lungs bleed.

  “Help! Help me!”

  He released my hair and shoved me so hard against the wall that the back of my head made an indent in the drywall. Then he was on me, his eyes blazing red as he grabbed both my shoulders and shook me.

  “A fighter. I was told you were meek and pathetic.”

  I jammed my knee up between his legs and his eyes widened before he collapsed to the ground, shrieking in agony. Vampire or not, they all had the same equipment, and Roarke had told me to use that move if Ben ever got too close to me.

  I ran for the back door because his body blocked me from the front and I didn’t want to chance going by him. I fell against it, hands on the doorknob, frantically turning.

  Open, damn it. Open.

  Which way did I turn it? My hands shook so badly I couldn’t turn the stupid doorknob. Why wouldn’t it open? Bolt. Deadbolt. I quickly flipped the deadbolt and flung the door open.

  The night air wafted over me as I ran out into the back alley. I managed twenty feet before he staggered out after me. I didn’t look back. I had to reach the main street. Someone would see—

  I heard a bang at the same time as a sharp pain hit the back of my thigh and my leg gave out. I crashed to the pavement.

  My hand went to my thigh and felt warm, wet blood seeping through the material of my gown.

  Oh, God, he shot me.

  I glanced over my shoulder as he approached. “Go ahead. Run. I like nothing better than a wounded bitch with the scent of blood all over her.”

  I swallowed the bile in my throat and I tried to get to my feet.

  He laughed as he continued to walk t
oward me.

  No. God, no.

  Past horrors flashed before my eyes—the isolation, the fear to sleep, to wake. I couldn’t live like that again. I’d rather die.

  Serafina. I didn’t know if she still lived inside me, but my tattoo was my only hope.

  Rise, Serafina. Breathe. Fight for me. Protect me.

  I crawled along the pavement toward the streetlights as I called to my tattoo Serafina over and over again.

  Footsteps ran toward me.

  Oh, God. I crawled to my feet again just as arms wrapped around me, pulling me backward into him.

  “No,” I screamed and flailed against his hold. I would never give up fighting. Never again.

  “BABE, BABE, IT’S ME. Shhh. It’s all right. I have you.” Kilter’s voice broke through my cries and sank into my panicked mind.

  I stopped struggling but my chest heaved in and out and my heart slammed against my rib cage. “Kilter?” He was here? But where was the—

  “He’s gone, babe.” He smoothed back my hair and said gently, “He can’t hurt you. I got you.”

  This was a side of Kilter that hid behind the rude and abrupt comments. Soft caresses trickled down my back, whispers of soothing murmurs as he held me in his protective embrace.

  “You came back,” I whispered.

  “Told you, just needed time to cool off.”

  I gave a pained smile. “Ten minutes?”

  “Don’t need much,” he replied. “Come on. We need to get you to Anstice. There’s blood all over your gown.” He swung me up into his arms and I curled into his shielding warmth. “I heard a gunshot.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t see my leg from my gown, but I saw the blood, and there was a lot of it. “He shot me in the leg.”

  “Fuck,” he grunted. He jogged down the alley to his car and placed me in the front seat. He leaned over me and pulled the seatbelt across before yanking up my gown. “Shift up, so I can see it,” he demanded.

  I put my weight on my left hip and he examined the back of my lower thigh. “Need to stop the bleeding.” He undid his belt, yanked it off, looped it twice around my thigh above the wound then pulled tight and buckled it. I gasped, but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “That should hold until we get there.”