by Scott, Helen
"That's not what I—"
"I worked my fingers to the bone at Westbrook. When my powers manifested, I trained day and night, only letting myself sleep for a few hours so I could be as good as or better than everyone else. I knew I needed to excel at everything to get out of there, so that's what I did. While other students were fucking their Masters to get by, I put in the work. So don't you—"
"I know you did!" he practically yelled at me, cutting me off. "All I'm saying is that there's a darkness in the world, and I don't want it to change you."
That was it. I was fuming mad and as I stalked away from him, I saw the guys lined up at the window watching in my peripheral vision. I swear Cade was eating popcorn, which normally would have made me laugh, but in that moment I was too furious to even do that.
"The darkness in the world already had its way with me long before I even entered the Academy," I sneered at him, letting the ugly side of my anger out.
"I'm sure your relationship with your mother wasn't the best—" Darius started.
Before he could finish speaking, I turned around and yanked my tank top up so I could reveal the length of my spine. None of the guys had seen this yet, even when we'd had sex. It had always been in the back of my mind to hide it from them, to pretend like it didn't exist, but I couldn't anymore, not when I was being condescended to and treated like a fragile piece of glass.
As soon as my skin was bared to him, he fell silent. The guys did not though. They practically exploded through the door and ran over. None of them said a word for a moment though, and I just stood there and cringed.
"Who did this to you?" Darius asked. His voice was feral, as though he was mostly Vampire.
"I'm going to fucking kill them," Cade whispered. I'd never heard his voice sound so dangerous. It wasn't the normal asshole tone that he had, but something much darker, much more intense.
"Slowly," added Raven, while Barclay just growled, his wolf clearly close to the surface.
"My father," I answered quietly, trying not to let my shame overwhelm me. Nausea rolled through me and I had to swallow multiple times to prevent myself from throwing up. I pulled my top back down, hiding the evidence of part of my childhood trauma from them.
"What happened?" Keir asked. I felt the calm steadiness of our bond and knew that even though this was difficult to talk about, they needed to know. I couldn't just show them the crisscross patchwork of my back and expect them to not ask questions. Their potential response to my tale terrified me.
I reached out and took Keir's hand, instantly feeling the connection between us grow stronger. I tugged on it, pulling as much of his calm into myself as I could, and he let me. He was happy to help, I knew that much from our bond. It was the only way I would get through this without completely falling apart. After all, it wasn't like Westbrook had therapists or trauma counselors on hand to help, and even if they had, they would be reserved for the Sixths, not the servants, which is what I was when I needed help the most.
"As you know my mother was a thrall, her keeper, her mate, abused her. He was particularly fond of knives. He'd cut her in multiple places each time he visited, because he liked to drink from a new place. He cut the skin from her body, used her like a towel to clean up the mess he'd made, and all the while I would watch, hoping she would survive yet another one of his visits. He seemed to know exactly how far he could push a pursang Vampire before they wouldn't be able to recover. It's a lot more than any child should ever have to see.
"When I was eight, I hit a point where I couldn't take it anymore. Where watching my mother be beaten and used wasn't something I could stand. That night, he'd whipped her into unconsciousness. I'd been in the closet, which was where she kept me when he visited. When she fell silent and I saw what had happened, I attacked him. I may as well have been a fly attacking a tiger.
"He threw me against the wall and while I was stunned, he moved me to the bed where he proceeded to whip me also. His favorite tool when whipping was a cat-o'-nine-tails, with silver and mercury laced beads that had sharp edges. Each stroke was hard enough to push me into the mattress and prevent me from moving, not to mention the pain kept me still as well.
"When I finally thought he'd stopped, I turned my head to the side, pulling at my mom to try and get her to wake up and protect me. As soon as he saw I was still awake, he started up again. I don't know what happened after that because I passed out. All I know is my back carries the scars from that night. The healer at Westbrook was the first person I saw when I woke up, and he was the one to tell me that my scars would be permanent, and that Westbrook was my new home.
"I had been extremely malnourished for too long, and the wound had been left without treatment for enough time that there was no way to repair the damage, since my skin had already started to try to heal itself as it was. He offered to make the scars look better by cutting strips away and forcing my skin to heal properly again, but Headmaster Winterborn wouldn't allow it. He said it would take me out of rotation for too long, and since I was doing the job of three people when I first got there, they couldn't have that."
When I was done speaking they all sat there silently for a long time. I felt sick to my stomach with shame and wanted someone to say something, mentally begging them to speak before the silence crushed me. Of course, my wish came true, but not in the way I wanted.
"How did all of you miss this? Are you idiots blind?" Darius railed against my guys. The words were slightly obscured because his fangs had swollen and extended, something that only happened to the oldest Vampires, not to mention his hands were taloned and his skin had turned pale silver in color.
"No! Do not put this on them!" I yelled at him, the anger suddenly rushing to the fore once again. I took a deep breath before I continued, "I hid it from them. I never show anyone unless I have to. All my clothes cover it. When we've been intimate, I've always been on my back. There was no way any of them could have seen it. Even when Cade was walking behind me to the showers, I used my ability to create an illusion so he couldn't see. I barely knew him at that point, and I wasn't ready to talk about it then, certainly not with someone I was trying to impress."
"You could have told us. Out of anyone, we would have understood. We all have our own scars, although ours are mostly mental," Barclay said. I knew he felt slighted that I hadn't told him, told them first, that I'd shown my scars to Darius before them, but I couldn't help it, not in that moment.
"I have plenty of mental scars as well, trust me on that, but I don't particularly want to talk about those right now. One trip down memory lane is enough for one day," I responded, before laughing bitterly. Memory lane sounded so pleasant, but in reality, it was more like Nightmare on Elm Street. I turned my gaze to Darius. “Are you satisfied that I’m no porcelain doll, now?”
“I wish I wasn’t,” he said, his mouth forming a grim line as his features became human once again.
“You asked, I answered,” I quipped, before turning away from him. “I’m hungry, anyone else?” If nothing else, I wanted to take the spotlight off me.
“I could eat,” Cade replied. I smiled for the first time since we’d started talking. If there was one thing I could always count on, it was that my guys were hungry. All day, every day, at least one of them was making, eating, or talking about food. There was something much like a security blanket in that, after having grown up not knowing when I'd be able to eat again.
"Are there any waffles left?" I asked over my shoulder, as I walked toward the house.
In a flash, Darius was at my side, moving in a way that only a pursang could. “If there are no more waffles, then I'll make more, whatever flavor you want." I knew it was his way of saying sorry, that he shouldn't have doubted me. I could feel as much through the bond, and I appreciated it, but I still needed time to distance myself from old memories and emotions, time to learn to trust him, and time to fully accept him as my mate. I knew it was hard for him to understand, but it was the truth, and there was nothin
g I could do to change it.
13
Keiran
“Always knew squires were a pain in the ass.”
Cade’s statement had me rolling my eyes. “You think everyone in the whole damn world is a pain in the ass.”
He smirked at me. “I don’t think Marcella is.” He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles, and then when the rest of the room stared at him like they’d never seen him before—and to be fair, we never had seen this side—he released a growl of displeasure. “What the fuck are you looking at?” he grated out, shooting us all a glower that matched the growl.
Marcella released a giggle, and that sound? Maker, it had my heart feeling like it was about to swell in my chest—a distinct impossibility. By contrast to a human’s heart, mine was capable of thousands of feats, but swelling? No. Just no.
What this woman did to me though, it was almost beyond belief.
I’d think I was nuts if I didn’t know my brothers were just as in over their heads as I was.
“You’re not the ‘kissing the knuckle’ type, Cade,” Marcella teased gently, even as she tucked his fingers tightly in hers, and didn’t look set to release him anytime soon—lucky bastard.
Making note of the fact Marcella was a romantic, which now that I thought about it, made complete sense considering her past, I stated, “You’re the punch-the-florist-in-the-face kind of guy, Cade, not the ‘can I buy three dozen roses for my Valentine?’ type.” I grinned at him when he flipped the bird, shot it my way, then gave me the evil eye too.
And Cade’s evil eyes?
Yup. They were deadly.
“Now, boys, Cade can’t help it if I inspire him to be a romantic.” She snuggled deeper into Cade’s side on the couch. Everyone except Darius looked on in amusement, but then the Enforcer wasn’t exactly known for his levity. “Anyway,” Marcella continued, shooting them all a worried glance, “we need to focus. This is a Maximus issue, and we’re a Maximus Brotherhood, aren’t we, Darius?”
The Enforcer’s mouth pursed as he studied his nails—I was certain the prick had them manicured. Well, that figured considering the creepy ass talons he’d sprouted. Maker, I’d go to the manicurist if my nails could turn into something from the Thriller video too. “You are now,” he stated coolly.
“Meaning, what?” Raven grunted.
“Meaning I made the call yesterday.” Darius narrowed his eyes. “You fucked up. All of you. I can’t save your asses every time.”
“No, but you’ll save Marcella’s,” Cade pointed out, sounding gleeful, and I couldn’t blame him. Not when Darius looked so pained by what was so evidently the truth.
“If Keiran decides to go rogue,” Darius inserted grimly, “and locks another important member of our community in the dreamscape, then there’s only so much I can do.”
Though the barb was aimed my way, I didn’t let it affect me. If anything, I just said, “If you’d been there for our conversation—”
Barclay didn’t let me finish. “More like his ultimatum.”
My nostrils flared at the memory. “Yeah,” I grated out. “Ultimatum.” Maker, the fury wriggling through my veins was as fiery as it had been those few short weeks ago.
Darius’s head tilted to the side, and I realized he sensed my agitation. Perhaps because I was known to be anything but the hothead of the Brotherhood, he understood exactly what Winterborn had said. “He threatened her?”
“More than that,” Gideon stated grimly, and because he was on the other side of Marcella, settled in closer to her. “He was going to keep her as a slave at the Academy.”
Marcella’s jaw tightened. “He always did hate me.”
When I saw the sadness in her eyes, I wanted to kill Winterborn again—not that he was dead. Yet. He would be soon. He’d never wake up again thanks to the dreamscape I’d thrown him in. Almost like he knew what I was thinking, Darius shot me a look.
“How long until he dies?”
I smiled at him. “Until he suffers enough.”
Marcella fidgeted. “You never did tell me what you did to him.”
“Put him in a living nightmare,” I explained calmly, wondering what her reaction would be. Would she defend Winterborn? Or would she enjoy the prospect of the bastard suffering like he’d made her suffer?
I watched her lift her knees and tuck them against her belly. It jostled the hold Cade had on her, and moved Gideon closer to her like he knew my words upset her. She propped her chin on her knees and surprised the hell out of me when I felt her tug at me.
Yeah, tug.
I was across the room, on the other side of the lounge, but I felt her.
“Marcella?” I asked, frowning as that tug centered itself in my core.
She hummed under her breath and rolled her head down so her brow was propped on her knees now, not her chin.
“What’s going on?” Cade demanded, but his voice was low, like he sensed Marcella was doing something.
I pressed my hand to my heart, and that sensation of it swelling happened again. “What the fuck?” I croaked, but my vision was blurring, and the room was starting to fade at the edges, like the shadows were starting to encroach on me.
Even as I saw Darius and Barclay on their feet, striding to me, I slipped off the seat and sank to my knees. Before they could grab me, I wasn’t seeing anything anymore. Nothing except for a pit, surrounded by flames and jeering beings with huge horns and gaping maws for mouths. Winterborn was in the center of the pit, sobbing. The circle of salt I’d left him in all those weeks ago, as a means of ‘protection,’ was growing thinner as the demons’ strength grew and his weakened. He’d be dead soon. The salt was, as I’d informed him, a monitor of how long he had left on this realm.
I jolted in surprise when I felt a hand slip into mine. Turning to the side, my mouth dropped open when I saw Marcella. Next to me.
Sweet Maker.
“Marcella? What the hell are you doing here?” I scowled. “Actually, what the fuck am I doing here?”
Her grin was sweeter than sugar as she dragged me toward the pit. Because the demons weren’t real, they parted as we approached, but then she did something, and all around the demons, a huge fire roared into life. Even though Winterborn appeared unconscious, at the sudden scream of the flames, he reared up, a hoarse cry tearing from his throat. His panicked gaze jerked from me to Marcella, and when he saw her, his sobs faltered as his mouth worked before he spat, “You!”
I turned to look at her, well aware I wasn’t in control here—how the hell had that happened? Maker help me, this woman was beyond strong. I didn’t even know this was possible!
A smile curved around her lips. “Yes. Me. Pleasure to see you again, Headmaster.”
Winterborn looked like he could piss his pants but also, I could tell he was on the brink of sneering at her—what the actual hell?
Seriously, this man thought he could cop an attitude?
Fuck that.
Before I could say anything, Marcella’s grip on my hand tightened. She squeezed so hard my fingers ached. When she released her hold, she squatted on the ground so she was at eye level with Winterborn.
“You hate me,” she murmured, but there was no vulnerability in her voice. Not even a hesitation or a doubt. “Why?”
Winterborn narrowed his eyes. “Let me out of here, Marcella. Get your runt to let go of me. I’ll make sure I speak kindly of you both to the council.”
A laugh escaped her. “You mistake me for someone who gives a damn, Winterborn. I’m not here to save you. I came here to watch you die, but before I do, I wanted you to answer some questions.”
“You can’t kill me,” he sputtered.
“Can’t I?”
The flames soared. Shifting from ten feet high to thirty. The heat was immense, I felt the sweat bead on my brow, and then she pressed into my side and I saw it.
The illusion.
This was an illusion.
I could see it now that she touched me.
The flames were there, but it was like I had 3D glasses on. I was aware of the shadowy fantasy, but wasn’t feeling it like Winterborn was.
Maker, this was… I’d never heard of anything like it before.
Not the power in the illusion nor the way she protected me from it.
Winterborn’s screams knocked me out of my shock. I stared at him, watching as the very skin on his face began to melt. Another illusion. A gross one. I swallowed, stunned despite myself, as the fat in the man’s chubby cheeks began to bubble and boil. Then, with a click of her fingers, it stopped.
The fire ceased its surging, its licking at the ceiling, and with it, Winterborn’s face returned to normal. His hands came up to touch his features, fingers patting what had once been dripping down to the ground, and he began to sob, screaming, “What are you?”
Marcella just studied him like she was a scientist and he a rat she was about to dissect—Maker, maybe she was on the brink of doing just that. “Someone you overlooked.”
“Overlooked?” He wept the word. “What are you talking about?”
“You overlooked me,” she repeated. “But never again. I’m protected.”
“Protected? No one is safe—”
A laugh escaped her and it was so loaded with joy, so relieved, that I knew what she was about to say and I could even feel joy for it also. “I’m the Maximus Enforcer’s mate, Winterborn. I am untouchable.”
The headmaster’s eyes widened. “No. It can’t be!”
“Yes. It can. And we’ve been instated as one of the Maximus’ Brotherhoods. We’re on a case. But Keiran just informed me of what he did to you and I wanted to see. More than that, I knew you’d give me answers here. I want to know why you hate me.”
