***
Arlen shot up in bed, drenched in a sheen of sweat and panting hard. It had happened again. The nightmares were back. He could still see Liliana’s limp form sprawled out on the marble floor. Her agonizing screams were forever etched into the fabric of his mind.
He’d failed to keep his younger sister safe and he was beginning to seriously doubt whether or not he could keep his mate safe.
Arlen heard movement outside of his doorway. He slid his blade out from under his pillow and crept from the sofa. He paused beside the door, ready to spring on the intruder. His muscles were pulled taut like a bow string ready to release, pending the slightest trigger.
The creaking of floorboards outside of the door was the last straw.
Arlen sprung. He flung the door open wide and went for the throat. He had his blade against the intruder’s neck and had them pinned against the wall before it even registered that it was Angela in his grip.
Her eyes were wide and bloodshot as she struggled to drag in air. She pulled and tugged against his arm, sputtering as she fought for her freedom.
“Christ! I’m sorry! I thought you were someone else,” he said, easing off her.
Instead of staying upright, she crumpled to the ground and scrambled back from him. Her eyes were wide with fear and shock. She began to hyperventilate as she cowered at his feet, terrified of him. What had he done? Damn it! So stupid!
Arlen dropped to his knees and scooped her up in his arms. He cradled her against his chest and moved her to the couch. Sitting down, he released his hold, but she didn’t move from his lap. His hands hovered just above her skin, afraid to make the situation worse than it already was by touching her.
She was shaking badly, making tiny whines as she tried to calm down and catch her breath. Angela still wouldn’t look at him, not directly. Desperate to rectify the problem, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Arlen could feel his shirt beginning to dampen with her silent tears.
“I’m so sorry, a’maelamin, so fucking sorry.”
He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t startle her any more than he already had. She was warm against his bare flesh and smelled like wildflowers. He stroked her hair, letting the golden strands slip through his fingers like spun silk. She slowly began to calm under his gentle touches and her breathing evened out.
Arlen began to hum the familiar notes of his mother’s lullaby, letting the lilting notes wash over her and caress her soul. After a moment, she tensed and sat upright on his lap. Angie brushed the tears from her cheeks and Arlen quit humming. She shifted and plopped onto the cushion beside him.
“Who taught you that song?” she asked shakily.
He pushed a piece of hair back from her eyes and sighed. “My mother did. She used to sing it to us when we were young.”
Angie pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek against them. Her big blue eyes watched him with awe.
“Would you like to tell me about her?” she asked, sounding hopeful.
He didn’t know what to say. Over the years, he’d thought of his family often and it was a painful ordeal each time. It was always followed by weeks of intense training to the point he was too exhausted to stay awake. They’d died because he’d been too weak and he’d vowed to never let himself be that weak again.
“Maybe some other time,” he said sadly.
Angie bit her lip, and after a moment, she gave a small nod.
He straightened, not ready to burden her with the bullshit that was his life. It took all he had in him to deal with it himself and he’d been bred and raised to show no weakness or vulnerability. That sort of training wasn’t the type of thing that was easily forgotten.
“Hey now, you don’t have to be tough around me. We all have the shit we carry with us. Yours just so happens to be the kind that makes you attack people with knives…in your underwear…” Angela’s brow quirked up and her eyes dipped to his briefs.
He appreciated her effort to lighten the mood, especially after the stunt he’d pulled on her. Arlen didn’t flinch or blush over it. He simply gazed down at himself and lifted a single shoulder.
“It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t everything?” she countered. “Life is messy. Hiding from it isn’t going to change that.”
“I’ll take that under advisement. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get dressed.” Arlen started back towards the sofa and reached for his clothes. He could feel Angela’s stare boring in to his back as he went.
Slipping in to a pair of black jeans, he glanced over his shoulder. In doing so, he caught Angela’s enraptured gaze as she took in his shirtless form. Her eyes followed the thick muscles that ran the length of his back.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked.
Arlen watched the blush creep up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Unlike before, she didn’t avert her gaze. She had a bold streak that he’d bet was a mile wide and it was one of the first signs he had that she was getting better.
“Could be a lot worse.”
There it was. The snarky attitude Rhys had warned him about. He couldn’t help but find it to be a major turn on that she found him physically attractive. His manhood tightened his pants, forcing him to not so subtly adjust himself. It didn’t embarrass him in the least, in fact, he hoped she knew exactly what she could do to him.
Her eyes dipped to his groin drawn by his indiscretion before glancing away. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer. She shifted, not meeting his stare.
“Umm, did you want some coffee? I can, uh, make you some breakfast, if you’d like?” She gestured towards the small kitchenette.
“Never drink the stuff. Tea, however, is a different story entirely. And as far as breakfast, I’m not very hungry.” His voice dropped as he poured the seduction on.
“Oh, um, okay. So you like tea?”
He grinned, noticing her half hearted distraction attempts.
“Do I make you nervous?”
She gulped, but met his gaze head on anyways. “Yes.” Her voice was breathy and laced with desire and fear.
It was the fear that brought him back down from the high that was Angela. She was a woman who could wrap him up in her web and never release him, yet she still held a deep seeded fear of him. Arlen was sure her scars on the outside were only infinitesimal compared to those she carried within her. It was the most sobering thought he’d had in many years.
He coughed and stepped back again. She wasn’t ready and there was a good chance she’d never be. And he’d never be good enough for her either. He was sick, just like those before him and bringing her along for the ride wouldn’t be fair to either of them. His mother had paid that price and Angie didn’t need to follow in her footsteps.
Angela used the space to slink over to the sofa and sat down heavily. He noticed she would eye the empty bedroom every so often.
“Can I get you something?” he asked, wanting to ease her anxiety.
The aroused tension between them had dissipated with the change in mood. Arlen could tell she was holding herself back from him just as he did with her.
She nodded without elaborating on what she wanted. Her thoughts were far away from him. Being the proper host that he’d been raised to be, he did what was expected, he set the kettle on to boil. Tea was his preferred hot beverage and it was a polite social gesture, a safe bet.
Angela was silent as he moved about the room, tidying up while waiting.
Arlen handed off the mug full of steaming oolong and headed back to grab his own. He’d only taken three steps when he heard her gasp and spun to see what the matter was. Just as his sharp eyesight honed in on her, he witnessed the mug tumble and crash to the floor, showering the area with hot tea. Angela’s eyes were wide and her pupils were dilated so the blue pools were thin bands.
It was a look he’d become all too familiar with since he’d brought the girl home. She was suffering from yet an
other attack.
He abandoned the idea of his drink and rushed to her side, hoping to provide some comfort as she rode it out. At least, she wouldn’t be alone when she came back to consciousness. She jerked and whined. He hadn’t had the will to ask her what was in her visions yet. All he knew was that whatever it was, it was bad. She’d spend hours crying and that made him hate the people who’d hurt her even more.
He worried about stirring up all the shit she still hadn’t been able to move past. The minutes ticked by and there was no sign of her emerging from the premonition. He began to worry that something was wrong. Would she even come out of it? Or would she silently slip away?
A thick knot welled in his throat at the thought of losing her. He couldn’t hide that somehow her very essence had imprinted itself upon his soul. There’d never be another for him. It was time he asked what had happened to her in captivity and hope she’d be okay.
Chapter 7
Angela
Bodies littered the streets, making the city she knew and loved unrecognizable. The scene before her was practically a war torn, third world country. It no longer looked like the city she knew and loved. The roads were empty and the black night sky was lit with the fires that ravaged New Orleans.
She walked slowly towards the small crowd of people gathered on the front steps of the St Louis Cathedral. Screams echoed down the alleyways. The closer she got, the worse the feeling in her gut became. Something was wrong. Everyone peered towards the ground at the front of the congregation. She shouldered between the onlookers.
By the time she finally reached the center of the group, she had found a face she recognized. Rhys stood gripping his hair tightly, bordering on hysteria and shock. A woman kneeled on the floor of the cathedral beside the body.
Angie stared at her own grief-stricken face then followed her eyes to the person laying dead on the ground before her. The vision evaporated before Angela could get a glimpse of who it was and she was sitting on the sofa in Arlen’s living room.
***
Slowly, Arlen’s handsome face came back into focus. He held her gently in his lap, rubbing slow circles into her back as he cradled her face against his muscular shoulder.
“I…I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to,” she stammered, sitting up arrow straight.
She shifted to crawl off his lap, but he held her back. She stilled her wiggles.
“You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Arlen begrudgingly released his hold on her.
She climbed off him and plopped down onto the couch cushions next to him.
“What happened?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
He had every right to know. After all, she had just randomly checked out for a while, but how was she supposed to explain it without sounding nuts? She decided that telling the truth was probably the best course of action. Besides, something about him begged for her honesty.
“I, umm, see things sometimes. It’s sort of new, so I don’t really know how to explain it.”
Angie picked at her cuticles, not wanting to watch his face turn from concern and curious to disgust, or fear. Her nails needed to be painted. The polish had chipped to almost nothing. She couldn’t leave them alone either. Not since she’d been taken. It had become a nervous habit.
“See things? Like the future or something?” he asked.
She nodded. “Future, present, and past.”
“Can you tell me what you see? I mean, of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about it if you want to,” he nervously rambled.
She giggled. It was sort of cute. The pointed tips of his ears turned pink. It was the first time she’d really noticed them. They didn’t look like they were body modifications, but they also were too pronounced to be totally natural. She tabled the thought and made a mental note to ask about them later. Perhaps they were fake.
“I’m really sorry. I just can’t yet. It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m not ready.”
It was partially true. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone the things she saw. By telling someone else, it somehow made it feel more real. That was something she wasn’t okay with yet.
Arlen pressed his lips into a thin line and gave a single nod.
“I’m ready to listen whenever you want to talk about it.”
Angie got quiet after that. Even as her belly was jumping with butterflies, she was comfortable in their mutual silence. It was new to her and much to her surprise, she sort of liked it.
Standing up from the sofa, he took a few steps away and stopped. Turning around to face her, he hooked his hands on his hips and sported the most determined expression she’d ever seen.
His jeans hung low and gave her a tiny glimpse of his skin underneath. She saw the hint of an oh so happy trail and wondered briefly as to what he was packing underneath.
Angie peered up at him to catch the most devilish grin and she immediately averted her eyes.
Holy shit, she’d been caught ogling… again.
“I want to show you something. Will you come with me?” he asked.
She could feel the terror welling up inside of her. Those shadows would be out there waiting for her. She wondered if they would succeed in killing her this time? Or had they lost interest?
Her host was watching her internal struggle with a hopeful expression.
“Sure,” she relented.
His face lit up at her answer.
“Okay. Now, we’re talking. You might want to slip into something a little more, uh, appropriate? It’ll be a little breezy,” he stated, eying the threadbare shorts with holes beginning to develop in some compromising places.
“What are you trying to say? Am I not high maintenance enough for you?” she joked, pulling her unwashed hair up into a messy bun.
Angela wasn’t wearing a bra and her feet were bare. She looked like a hot mess and she knew it, but passing up a chance to tease Arlen? Not going to happen.
“You know that saying if the shoe fits?” he asked, waiting a beat for her reaction.
She playfully lifted an eyebrow as if she were daring him to call her out.
“It’s a joke, not a dick. Don’t take it so hard,” he quipped with a Cheshire cat grin.
Her smile grew until she couldn’t hold her laughter in anymore. It was just so unlike him.
“You have jokes?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He was playing coy. Better yet, he was playing. Angie didn’t remember the last time a guy did that with her. The guys she normally dated were more of the hit it and quit it sort.
“Give me a couple minutes, Your Highness, and I’ll be ready to meet your uppity standards.” Her tone was playful, but she sensed the change in him immediately.
“What did you say?”
“I’ll be ready in a minute? I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
He shook his head and scooped his jacket up from the arm of the sofa. The leather was wrinkled and worn.
She wanted to ask more about his minor assault, but she thought it’d be pushing him too far too soon. She left him waiting and disappeared into the bathroom for a quick shower. Within five minutes, she was out and pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain, white t-shirt before slipping into a worn pair of converses. She pinned her hair up and decided she was done being someone other than herself for men. Looking back, it had gotten her heart broken and ultimately kidnapped and tortured. Nope, any man who truly cared for her wouldn’t mind messy hair and casual clothes.
She checked herself over in the mirror by the door. Cuts still peeked out from the edges of her clothing.
Monster, she thought as she scrutinized each laceration in her reflection.
Those scars would mark her until the day she died, long after they’d faded into nothing. As a last minute decision, she threw a sweatshirt on. The winters in Louisiana were cool, but nothing like what the folks up north got. That’s how she
justified it anyways. If it also happened to cover the evidence of her abuse, then that worked, too.
She left the sanctuary of Arlen’s bedroom and trekked into the sitting area. He was leaning against the back of the sofa looking like an Abercrombie model. His almost black hair was pulled back into a man bun, which typically wasn’t attractive to her. However, she was fast growing a new liking and appreciation for the style. His black pants were slung low on his hips and the leather jacket pulled taut over his muscles. Arlen was downright yummy with a capital Y.
He heard her coming and pushed off the couch. She didn’t miss that his eyes focused on each and every curve as she moved. She didn’t miss the hungry gleam to them either.
“I’m, uh, ready,” she announced.
He nodded, not hiding the fact he was checking her out the entire time. Her belly did little flip flops. Arlen opened the door for her and escorted her out of the apartment and down to his bike.
Angie froze as soon as the bike came into view. She’d never been on one and had no intention of breaking that trend. Those contraptions were dangerous.
“What? What is it?” Arlen asked, concerned by her change in attitude.
He slid the key into the bike’s ignition and strode back to her. He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and kneaded them lightly to help relax her. Arlen didn’t need to do it. She was willing to bet he didn’t know that his touch alone did wonders for her mindset.
“That,” she said, motioning to his prized possession, “is what we’re taking?”
“Yes?”
She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Angie could tell by its shine and near mint condition it was maybe the one thing in his life he was proud of. The bike was a pristine black Harley Davidson which looked mean as hell. If she were into bikes, that would be the one for her. However, she couldn’t get past the safety concerns.
“It’s just, well…I’ve never been on one before,” she murmured quietly.
“Are you scared?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood.
“Maybe just a little,” she said, holding her thumb and forefinger up in a pinched fashion.
Broken (The Voodoo Revival Series Book 3) Page 3
