He didn’t say a word as I hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder and kneaded the tension in his muscle.
The connection.
The chemistry, kinship, and armistice that’d given us a fresh beginning last night could be found again. I merely had to be strong enough to survive him.
Slowly, he lifted his head, his good hand still locked over the cast I’d put on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
All the strength in my spine vanished, making me tremble before a new kind of power replaced it. This time, it was pure and possessive and I was ready to fight. I was no longer willing to let him take command and lead both of us into darkness. Here and now, I was in charge.
Moving to stand in front of him, I tipped his chin up with my fingers.
He sucked in a breath as he looked up; the open torture in his eyes undid me. He was a man stripping himself bare and reaching the same decision I had.
He needed help.
“If you want to know what happened last night, I will tell you everything. If it’s too hard to hear, then I won’t. It’s enough for me to know that it happened. It will be the rock I’ll cling to when times get hard. When you say things that hurt me, I’ll remember your whispers in the bath. When you upset me, I’ll recall the level of intensity that brought us together. But I must warn you, Kassen, things will be different from now on.”
I cupped his cheek, stroking his scruff. “Last night, you gave me the right to use your name. You dropped your walls and let me in. You showed me who I’m fighting for. And in doing so, we became friends. You don’t need to remember. You don’t even have to accept what I’m saying is real. You just have to...see me. See me and you’ll eventually figure out what is true.”
He frowned, raising his hand to cup mine over his cheek. He linked our fingers together, holding me tight. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Try.”
He flinched, his gaze dancing over mine. “What if this keeps happening? What if I keep forgetting?”
“Then I’ll just keep reminding you.”
“What if I don’t believe you?”
“Eventually, you will. You’ll learn to trust me.”
“Trust you?” His eyes narrowed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that when you keep telling me I’m temporary.”
“Ah, so you do remember some things.”
His jaw tightened. “I remember that you held a knife to my heart. I lined it up for you. I told you to push.”
I stilled, working back through time and trying to figure out when Kas’s memory had faltered. “Is that the last thing you recall happening between us?”
He fell silent, tugging at certain strings in his mind until he found one with substance. The range of emotions that scattered over his face was fascinating. Rage, worry, anger until finally, trepidation mixed with hesitation. “I think so. We...we were in the foyer. I took your knife and held it over my heart and told you to kill me now instead of making me work my ass off for the next few months only to kill me as winter arrived.”
I winced.
If that was true, he’d erased almost twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours where we’d worked our way closer and triumphed over what was keeping us apart.
Who knew if those memories were still inside him or if they’d been totally wiped away? Either way, we were back at the starting line.
Silence reigned until he coughed gruffly. “Do you wish you’d done it?”
“Done what?” I blinked.
“Taken me up on my offer.” He dropped his stare to his hands. “Do you wish you’d pushed that blade into my heart?”
A strange kind of laughter bubbled in my chest. No sane person could ask that after what we’d shared last night. Which only made sadness smother my laughter because for now, Kas wasn’t sane. And I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t crawl into his lap and murmur that I was in love with him. He couldn’t know just how much I cared because I had an awful suspicion that my affection for him would drive him deeper into his mind.
Love had scarred him. And until I knew how deep those scars went, I would stay quiet.
“Well?” he asked, shifting in the chair, impatience rising.
I spread my palms in surrender. I had no idea what to say. “That’s up to you.”
His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto mine. “You should know by now it isn’t up to me at all.”
“Well...it’s up to you to keep me safe then, regardless of the darkness inside you.”
He sucked in a breath, studying me. “You think I can control it? Control the filth inside my head?” He laughed once. “Because I don’t.”
Silence fell between us because, once again, I didn’t know what to say.
I could be positive and assure him that, yes, I believed he could control it, but in reality, who the hell knew if that was true.
“I’m not stupid, Kas.” I tossed hair over my shoulder, standing straighter. “I know parts of you will always be dangerous. Suppression has been your only tool at surviving what happened here, which has made you unstable.”
He tensed, coiling in the chair with power.
“I, eh...” I forced myself to keep going, not quite sure what I wanted to say or even how to word it. “While you were alone, trapped in this valley, I can see why you never worked through your trauma. Why you chose to bury it instead of face it because no one was here to help you. But...I’m here now. I’m strong enough to listen to what you endured. Use me to be free of it. Tell me. Allow those memories to finally be free.”
“Stop—”
“Who knows, maybe that’s all it would take to lighten that darkness. It could—”
“Stop talking.” He suddenly pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You’re making my headache worse.”
I let silence fall for a few heartbeats before murmuring, “If you tell someone. If you willingly welcome memories instead of pushing them away, maybe they won’t have power over you anymore, and you won’t have pieces of your life taken away without your consent.”
He snickered, his tone full of snow. “And I suppose you want me to give you every detail, huh? Every rape, every punishment? As if.” He balled his hands. “That will never happen. You’d run away screaming.”
“Or I’d welcome you with open arms.”
He froze. “I’ve told you before, but I’ll tell you again, don’t push me. I can’t promise I won’t push back.”
I stared him dead in the eyes. “You won’t raise a hand to me again. I assure you of that.”
His shadowy gaze turned darker. “Is that a threat?”
I arched my chin. “It’s a promise. Your mind might not remember what occurred last night, but your heart does.”
He bristled, fear as well as anger etching his face. “And I suppose you’re about to tell me that I confessed I’m in love with you, and you’re everything I ever wanted, and if we had two white horses, we’d ride off into the sunset together.”
“Would that be so bad? To feel those things?”
His nostrils flared, his temper building. His body gave clear evidence he wasn’t ready. He might never be ready to talk, and that was the awful choice I’d made by falling for him.
I looked past him to the windows where the sun shone, promising fresh hope the moment we stepped outside of this evil, haunted house. Now was not the time to talk about things we couldn’t fix. Now was the time for action. For preparation. For chores to keep our hands and minds busy.
“Get up.” I put my hands on my hips. “We’re leaving.”
“What?” His head cocked as if I was mad. “Where the hell are we going?”
“I’m ready to help you.”
He scowled. “With what exactly?”
“With survival.” I tilted my head. “Or are you forgetting that too? If you remember the foyer and the knife, surely you remember your ultimatum that we are partners now. Relying on each other to survive and all that. You listed all the jobs that needed to be done before—”
“Winter arrives.” He ran a hand through his long hair, flinching as he used his broken arm.
A flair of annoyance ran through me. “You really shouldn’t keep using that arm. Punching the wall last night probably didn’t do it any good.”
He went deceptively still. “I punched the wall?” His eyes strayed to the bloodstained wallpaper as if he trusted answers from a building far more than he trusted me. I waited for him to ask more questions. But in the end, he huffed and said nothing.
“It needs to be in a sling,” I muttered, breaking the tension. “That would force you to rest it.”
He sniffed. “If we’re finally prepping, I don’t have time for a sling.”
“I’ll do most of the work. You only need to teach—”
“Ha.” He stood, swaying a little. With a slight shake of his head, he stayed upright. “You’re not doing anything without my help.” He rolled his eyes, wincing as he did. “Do you think our roles have switched so much that you’re the one in charge here?”
I raised my chin and quirked an eyebrow. “Yes, actually.”
He grunted under his breath, rubbing his temple as if he could rub away his headache. “Well, you’re wrong.”
“Well, I’m still going to help you. On one condition.”
His eyes met mine. “What condition?”
“I want the chain removed.” I waggled my ankle, making the leash dance on the carpet. “The blasted thing catches on everything. I’m sick to death of dragging a chair around or getting hung up on a table. I vow to you I will not run.”
His lips pursed as thoughts scattered over his face. He swallowed hard, probably analyzing my promise not to flee, debating on my truthfulness. Finally, he sighed heavily, chagrin painting him. “I don’t...I don’t remember what I did with the key.”
“Oh.” I bit my bottom lip before matching his sigh. “Damn, that does complicate things.”
His hands plucked at the chain slinking under his T-shirt, pulling up the material to reveal the leather belt tethering me to him. “No, not really.” Dropping his hand, he looked at me, stern and savage. “I wouldn’t have let you go anyway.”
My heart tripped, full of confusion that the man it’d fallen for could still be so cruel. I pushed the pain away and stayed brave. “You will. You’ll let me go eventually.”
He shrugged. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Striding around me, he headed toward the exit, stepping over shattered plates and ruined meat. “Come on. We don’t have all day.” He didn’t wait for me, knowing I wouldn’t have a choice. Eventually the chain would snap and I would follow and he would win.
Just like yesterday.
Just like the day before.
Just like all the days since I’d found him.
Nothing’s changed.
Everything’s changed.
I just had to remind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
“NO, YOU’RE DOING IT wrong,” I barked.
Goddammit, she infuriated me.
And perplexed me.
And scared me.
And undid me, one shitty piece at a time.
She was right.
My mind might not remember what’d happened last night, but my heart sure as fucking did. And it tripped over itself every time she was near.
“How else am I supposed to do it?” She huffed, swiping at hair that’d come unstuck from her ponytail. Dirt smeared her cheek, and the smell of compost was ripe in the air. For the last two hours, we’d stood side by side in the shed, filling pots, planting seeds, and doing our best to ignore all the unsaid things between us.
I didn’t even know why I was bothering.
The sun didn’t last as long these days, which meant the growth patterns had already adjusted for the colder seasons. I was probably wasting precious seeds on an experiment that wouldn’t yield edible results, but...what fucking choice did we have?
We didn’t have enough to last the winter.
If the animals sharing the valley had already started nesting elsewhere, then trapping enough to feed us would be tough. Whatever chocolate was left in Gemma’s backpacks wouldn’t be enough to keep us going. And we had no plan B.
Therefore, we had no choice but to try.
“Don’t just shove them in there. They’re delicate.” I grabbed the pot she was currently stabbing celery seeds in too deep. “How do you expect seedlings to reach sunlight if you’ve pushed them to the bottom? Jesus.”
I waited for her to give me attitude. To roll her eyes or make some snide comment about my teaching methods. Instead, she carefully watched me create a small divot in the dirt, pinch a few seeds inside, then cover them lightly with a tiny amount of earth.
“Just so you know,” she muttered. “I own my own house, but I’ve never mowed my own lawn or pulled weeds. The only plant I’ve ever been tasked to look after was a fern my brother bought me. It died because I went off climbing for a few weeks and didn’t water it.”
I raised an eyebrow, brushing away the remaining earth from the pot lip. “And your point is?”
“I’m not blessed with a green thumb.”
I passed the pot back to her. “You just haven’t had a good teacher.” I coughed with a half-laugh, half-groan. “Or never been so hungry you’ll literally eat anything. That tends to make you learn pretty quickly on how to gather and hunt.”
She gave me a look that clenched my belly, reaching out to take the celery pot. “I won’t ask if living out here on your own was hard. That would be a really stupid question.”
“It would be stupid.” I turned and grabbed a tray, ready to sow lettuce and mixed greens. “So don’t.”
“But I want to know how you did it. You said you lost your memory for five years—”
My head shot toward her. “I said that?”
She nodded. “In the bath. Amongst other things.”
I shivered.
What else had we talked about, and why the goddamn hell couldn’t I remember?
She shifted on the spot. “So...how did you survive if you had no memory?”
I kept my hands busy, tipping soil and creating pockets for seeds. “You don’t need to know who you are to figure out how to survive. It’s irrelevant.”
“No, but you do need skills.” She waved at the mess on the bench in front of us. “Like this. If I suddenly found myself alone, not knowing who the hell I was or how to go home, I wouldn’t have the foresight to learn how to grow a string of beans.”
I pushed past her, stepping outside into the early afternoon sun. “You don’t know what you’re capable of until you’re forced to find out.”
She followed me, carrying the tray of seedlings and placing it on the ground as I waved instruction with the watering can I’d already filled.
“What was that first crop like?” she asked softly as I tipped a shower of water over the freshly planted pots. “Did it give you joy, knowing you could survive even if you didn’t know who you were?”
A chill shot down my spine at her insight.
Yes, it gave me joy.
It gave me something to live for even though death was a constant whisper inside my head.
I stopped pouring and ducked to grab the tray, but she beat me to it.
“Ah, ah.” She clucked her tongue. “You’re supposed to be resting that arm. Lifting is my job.”
I just grunted and pointed at the cart by the ivy-covered wall. “Put it on there.”
She did as she was told, then turned back toward me, still waiting for an answer. Seemed whatever had happened last night had loosened her tongue. There weren’t arguments between us now, just constant interrogations. Her questions made my head ache, and my desire to be alone increased every minute.
Massaging my nape (with my good hand), I muttered, “That first crop was...the best thing in the world. The first sprout, the first vegetable, the first taste of something I made from nothing.” I didn’t want to look at her, but her presence summoned me. My eyes searched
for hers and got caught in the kindness glowing there. No, not just kindness, newness, and never-ending eagerness to know me.
I didn’t like that.
I didn’t like her questions.
I didn’t like this.
Whatever this was.
Giving her a sneer, I headed to the cart and pushed it toward the kitchen door. “Of course, now that you’re helping, we’ll be lucky if anything germinates, thanks to your heavy hands.”
She shrugged, not bothered. “You were the one who said this might be a waste of time.”
I huffed.
I crossed the threshold, leaving dirty tracks on the marble tiles from the cart wheels. “Come.” Fables no longer had a greenhouse. A particularly bad hailstorm had ensured the glass did not survive.
But I had a better idea.
I couldn’t make the sun shine for longer hours, but I could ensure the seedlings would be kept at an even temperature all winter by sheltering them in the games room where the largest hearth and the warmest fire would flicker.
“Gemma,” I muttered, “come on.”
The chain slithered behind me, clinking on the tile, ensuring she’d have no choice but to follow. There was comfort in knowing that but also impatience too.
Yet another thing she’d been right about. My temper had reached its limit with how inconvenient working with the long chain had become. It hooked on everything. Later today, we were going into the woods to collect firewood, but the thought of Parable catching on roots and branches...fuck, what a nightmare.
But...the key.
Who the hell knows where—
THWACK!
“What the—” I spun, making the kitchen swirl and my head pound. Abandoning the cart, I tripped back outside. My gaze instantly fell on Gemma. Sunlight etched her with gold, highlighting her cheekbones and arms as she yanked at the ax embedded in the ground by her feet.
I forgot all about the seedlings.
Panic drenched my blood.
Stalking to her, I snatched the ax. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You could’ve chopped your damn leg off!” Fisting the handle, I scanned her body, ensuring she hadn’t rearranged anything. My muscles locked as my heart raced. I honestly didn’t know what I’d do if she’d maimed herself.
Fable of Happiness Book Two Page 35
