Credo (Scars of the Wraiths Book 3)

by Nashoda Rose

  He reached to the right, grabbed a white towel off the hook on the wall, and tossed it to me. “Dry off. You’re shivering.”

  I caught it, but didn’t bother wrapping it around my body. Instead, I threw it back at him, hitting him in the chest. It fell to his feet, ignored. He never moved a muscle. The only change was his ice-blue eyes narrowing.

  “What do you want, Tac?” I’d decided a long time ago that using the nickname was my way to remind myself of who he was now—tactical. Nothing personal. Not that it worked, but I knew he hated me calling him that.

  He didn’t say anything and his eyes never once veered from my face to my wet, naked body.

  I stepped out of the tub and droplets of water trailed down my heated skin. I placed my hands on my hips. “You have something to say? Fucking say it. Otherwise leave.”

  Swearing usually managed to get some kind of reaction out of him. He’d once told me that he rarely cursed because of his mother. He didn’t share anything more than that, but then Waleron had always been guarded about personal shit.

  “Explain.” His gaze shifted to my self-inflicted leg wounds. Several scars lined my shins and calves, more on my thighs, and some on my forearms, although the faint lines were barely visible to the naked eye. “I assumed the scars were from Tarek.”

  His tone hardened when he said Tarek’s name. “Yeah, well, you don’t know a lot of things about me. Your choice, remember?” I yanked a towel from the brass holder beside the toilet then wrapped it around my head.

  “Why?” He never was one for long, drawn-out sentences.

  I shrugged. Opening myself up to him again would be the same as slicing my knife across my throat. I may have cut when the pain became unbearable, but it had nothing to do with wanting to die. No, I had things to do before I died, and one of them was confront Tarek.

  “Why, Delara?” he asked in that familiar husky voice that made my legs feel like marshmallows.

  “None of your damn business.”

  Waleron pushed off the counter. “You are my business, maitagarri.”

  The Basque endearment slipped over his tongue and my stomach whooshed. I hated the whoosh. And I had a love/hate reaction to his endearment. “You threw that right away. And don’t call me that.”

  He moved quick, arm hooking my waist while his hand cupped my chin, but it wasn’t a friendly grip, it was harsh and made certain I couldn’t look away from him.

  “That will always be my right,” he growled. “I was with you. Never have I been with others as I have with you.”

  His words cut deep and my stomach twisted. Because his words were cryptic. He fucked other women, even that witch bitch Trinity, who I hated.

  I jerked my head to the side to dislodge his hold. “Fuck you, Tac.”

  “Look at me,” he demanded. When I didn’t, he grabbed the back of my head, fingers bunching my hair and forcing me to meet his eyes. I couldn’t help but flinch under his piercing eyes. “You will never touch a knife to your flesh again.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Do. You. Understand. Me.” His fingers in my hair tightened.

  I hesitated then said, “Yes.” I wasn’t sure if I could hold to it or not.

  The pressure of his hand on my lower back increased and I felt the familiar scar on the tip of his thumb. I’d asked him about it once while we’d been lying together in bed one morning, before Jasmine, before Tarek, before this pain. His thumb had been casually tracing patterns on the back of my hand. He’d told me that it was from a vampire’s fang. That was it. No elaboration. No details.

  Maybe that had been my hint that eventually we’d end up like this, that he’d close himself off to me. But I’d fallen for him the moment he’d kissed me under that tree and there’d been no going back. Fate wouldn’t allow it.

  I placed my hands on his chest, his heart beating steadily beneath my palm.

  Then I shoved.

  He remained immobile, eyes driving into me. I held my breath, wondering if he was ever going to let me go. Not physically, but emotionally.

  His arm fell from my back and he stepped to the side.

  I brushed by him into the one room that held my bed, kitchen, and living space. I walked to the bed and picked up my jeans.

  The smell of him drifted to me and I wondered how long he’d been waiting in my shack before barging into the bathroom to find me slicing my thigh.

  I tugged on my jeans over my wet skin, then yanked the towel from my head and tossed it onto the bed. My hair fell in wet tangled strands to just above my shoulders, and drips sprinkled my skin. “I`m coming home in a couple days, so if that’s why you’re here, you’ve wasted your time.” I snatched my bra and T-shirt and put them on.

  “You failed to answer a single e-mail or text,” he said.

  He stood at the bathroom door, watching me, gaze unrelenting and anger simmering beneath the surface.

  I gestured to the shack. “Do you see a computer? Cell phone? This is… was my place to be alone. Don’t take it personally,” I lied, because it was strictly personal.

  When Waleron had come to the Turks and Caicos to visit Rayne and Kilter, I’d left. No one knew about this place and I came here when I needed to be alone. When I needed time to repair. To heal enough to face him again.

  He snorted. And I knew why; he saw right through me.

  I lifted my chin. “I’m coming back to face him, Tac. I won’t run or hide. Not from him.”

  “And he will kill you,” Waleron stated in a cool, matter-of-fact tone.

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Waleron didn’t say anything.

  “I’ve changed since I was with him. I’m not hiding, Tac.”

  “Have you?” He stood like a statue, eyes flickering with deliberate blatancy to my thigh where the wound was covered by my jeans, but a splotch of red now stained the denim. “Changed?”

  “Don’t you dare use this against me!” Him witnessing me cutting was the worst possible scenario.

  “I want to know why,” he demanded.

  “You don’t have the right to know. I’ve never asked you what Jasmine did to you.”

  His feet shifted and I might not have noticed if it weren’t for the moonlight catching the shiny surface of his combat boots as it filtered through the spaces between the cottage window frame and the planked wall.

  He remained stoic in his silence, his eyes never once straying from me. I tried to act as if it didn’t bother me by crossing my arms, but my skin sizzled and my heart raced.

  “You’re not going back to Toronto. And you will not see Tarek ever again,” he stated.

  I stiffened. What? “Yes. I am going back.”

  Waleron’s voice rose. “You will do what I tell you this time, Delara. I’m your Taldeburu.” I knew he’d never hurt me physically, but still, what Tarek had done to me always lingered in the back of my mind. “Pack. We’re leaving for Spain.”

  Holy hell. Spain? What the fuck? “No.”

  His jaw tightened. “You don’t have a choice.”

  “If Tarek wants to find me, he will. Spain or in goddamn Hell. It doesn’t matter.” Shit, why Spain? Did Xamien talk to him?

  His hand reached inside his right pants pocket and I knew before he pulled it out that it was his candy dispenser. He ate those pills like candy ever since he’d escaped from Jasmine’s prison.

  A click sounded and a tiny, circular, light green tablet spilled into his palm. He placed it in his mouth. I often wondered what he’d do without the pills—what he’d be like. Would he lose control like he said he would? Would I still love him more than anything in this entire world?

  Yes. The answer would always be yes. Because love wasn’t a choice. You didn’t get to choose.

  I may have told myself and Waleron that I didn’t love him, but it was bullshit. Love was its own entity and it had me locked to him from the day we met.

  There was no escape, and sometimes when I lay in bed at night and closed my eyes and remem
bered how it used to be, I didn’t want to escape it. I wanted to submit to its pull.

  “Pack your bags,” he ordered.

  I softened my voice. “I’m a Scar, Tac. You trained me and I’m good at what I do.”

  “Not good enough,” he replied.

  He walked over to my black canvas bag on the floor beside the chair in the corner and picked it up. Then he went to the bed, tossed it on the mattress, unzipped it, and walked to the closet.

  “Tac. Stop.” He ignored me and yanked clothes off the hangers. “Damn it, Tac, if I don’t stand up to him then what do I have left? He tried to kill me. And in some ways he did. I need to face him again. I have to.” He walked back to the bed and folded my clothes before placing them in the bag. “Would you run? Have you run or hidden from Jasmine?”

  His hands stilled and his back stiffened. He slowly turned to face me and it took everything I had to stay where I was, because he was royally pissed.

  My eyes flicked to his Ink tattoo on his neck as it uncoiled, snake eyes flashing red.

  His Ink terrified me. As far as I knew, he’d never called it to life and I suspected it was because it was too dangerous.

  Then he spoke and it was calm, steady, but there was that unmistakable graveled undertone. “What you ask is beyond my capability. I lived what happened to you. Felt your pain. I fuckin’ saw what that bastard did to you.” I flinched when he swore. “He isn’t getting near you. Do you understand me? Tarek does not get near you. I gave my oath to protect the Scars. An oath to protect you, maitagarri.”

  “Fuck your stupid oath,” I shouted. But I knew he wouldn’t. That was why he was a Taldeburu. “And fuck you. I’m not going to Spain.”

  “You are,” Waleron replied without missing a beat.

  I pursed my lips. “No.”

  “Yeah, babe. You are.”

  Shit. I hated when he called me babe, even more than maitagarri.

  He walked toward me and I tensed, but he didn’t touch me. “This wasn’t my choice.”

  Oh.

  He continued, “The Deaconry decided.”

  My brows lifted. The Deaconry? Why would the Wraiths care if I went to Spain or not? Fighting Waleron on this was one thing, but I had no chance against the Deaconry’s decision. But if I could persuade Waleron, he might be able convince the Deaconry to allow me to stay with my Talde.

  “I need this,” I said calmly.

  His mouth tightened.

  “Tac, I need this,” I repeated. “Haven’t you hurt me enough? Now you want to take away the one thing I have left, my pride.”

  “This isn’t about pride,” he replied.

  “It is. I’m a Scar. I don’t run from a fight.”

  His brows lifted.

  “Me being here isn’t running from a fight.” I shoved by him, walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, snagged a water bottle, and cracked the lid. Then I kicked the fridge closed. “I trust my Talde. If Tarek comes after me, who better to protect me than my own Talde?”

  “Like I said, not my decision any longer.”

  God, so damn emotionless. I wanted to attack him and get some kind of reaction out of him.

  I chugged back the water then set it on the counter. I placed my palms on the cracked surface and dropped my head.

  Jesus, what was I supposed to do here? Tarek had nearly killed me and it was my right as a Scar to face him, even if the thought scared the hell out of me.

  His footsteps were quiet as he came up behind me. I closed my eyes and tensed, knowing what was coming and yet unable to move. He slid his arm around my waist and gently pulled me back into the solid warmth of his chest.

  My eyes hit the back of his hand as it settled on my abdomen. I used to put my hand on top of his, link our fingers together, then tilt my head back onto his shoulder while he kissed my neck.

  That was before Jasmine. Before Tarek. Before the pills.

  His breath wafted across my neck. “Delara,” he whispered. “Stop fighting me.”

  I smothered the sob threatening to emerge and instead pressed my hand to the wound on my thigh. I grit my teeth as pain shifted through me.

  “Don’t, baby.” His fingers locked around my wrist and moved my hand from my thigh.

  “Please… Please don’t touch me,” I begged. I couldn’t endure falling into his arms only to have him coldly walk away again.

  “Christ, I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. His lips trailed blazes of heat along the curve of my neck while his arms cocooned me.

  “I don’t want this,” I said, although it was a lie. It would always be a lie because I’d always want him.

  His tongue flicked the skin just below my ear and tingles erupted. “You do,” he whispered. “We both do.”

  He was right and I hated it, but the reality was that we were talking about different things. I wanted his love. And his body was all he’d give me.

  I couldn’t do that. The shattered pieces of me would slip from my grasp and sink to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found again. I’d never be found again.

  “Baby,” he purred.

  I shoved his arm off, pivoted, and punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to do that.”

  His jaw wiggled back and forth and he ran his hand over the surface. My knuckles probably hurt a hell of a lot more than his steel jaw.

  I brushed by him, went to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. I pulled out the folded tops, walked to my bag on the bed, and shoved them inside. I felt his eyes on me. God, I always felt him.

  I continued to pack.

  He continued to watch.

  Finally, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  My hand paused on the second drawer handle before I jerked it open.

  “I’ll take you to Toronto until I speak again with the Deaconry.”

  Without looking at him, I said, “Fine. But I’m not going with you. You can Trace your ass back there. I’m flying.”

  “Delara,” he warned.

  I swung around and glared. “No. I’m not Tracing with you.” It was far too intimate and it was only recently that I’d discovered Waleron was able to Trace with me. It shocked the hell out of everyone, because the Scars who had the ability to Trace weren’t supposed to be able to Trace with anyone else.

  “You have two days.” I heard his footsteps move across the room. He paused beside the bed and from the corner of my eye I saw my knife bounce on the mattress. “Is that clear?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Is that clear?” he repeated, voice threaded with anger.

  “Crystal fuckin’ clear.”

  “The jet will be waiting at the airport for you. Clean and bandage your leg.”

  He closed the shack door behind him.

  I picked up my mud-encrusted boot from the floor beside the dresser and flung it at the door, sending dried flakes of swamp mud in every direction. It hit it with a thud then fell to the floor.

  Tarek Rises in 24 hours

  I FLEW BACK TO TORONTO on the Scars’ private jet, arriving at Pearson airport at four o’clock in the afternoon. I hadn’t expected anyone to meet me, since I hadn’t contacted anyone.

  “Sass! Over here.”

  I stopped, looking up.

  Jedrik jogged toward me, his blond curls dancing around his ears. Waleron must have told him I was flying in.

  Jedrik wore a pair of worn blue jeans and a designer black canvas coat, sporting his usual cocky grin. He barreled right into me, picked me up, and swung me around. He set me down and planted a kiss on both cheeks.

  “Public display of affection. Some might get the wrong idea,” I teased. Jedrik had no qualms about displaying anything, least of all his affection. I smiled. “Good to see you too.”

  “So, what was in New Orleans?”

  My getaway place was no longer a getaway, as it appeared to now be public knowledge. “Not much.”

  “I hate when you take off.”

  “Have you heard from Rayne?” Th
e last I talked to Rayne was a month ago, and she and Kilter had planned on returning soon so the baby would be born in Toronto.

  Rayne and Kilter had spent the last seven months in Turks and Caicos. After recovering from anorexia and nearly being killed by Jasmine, the Lilac who still wanted Waleron back in her webs, Rayne had needed time away. It looked like extended vacations ran in the family.

  “Yep, better than that. I flew out there a week ago for a few days in the sun. Mr. Overprotective won’t let her do anything. And man, is her belly big.”

  Kilter had always been an overbearing, crude asshole, but with Rayne, he didn’t live up to his nicknames, Killer and off-Kilter.

  “Everything okay with you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Unlike you.”

  I smacked his arm. “I’m fine.”

  Jedrik snorted. “Tarek rises tomorrow. Waleron’s been gone for months searching for you, arrives back and is pissed, but no longer the ice machine who’s existed since you left. Could have sensed some fear in that cold mask of nothingness if you ask me, but you won’t, so I’ll just say it. He finally looks semi-normal. Well, as normal as Waleron can be anymore.” Jedrik glanced my way, his boyish grin vanishing. “He’s acting weird. Tarek rising has fucked him up.”

  I didn’t say anything. What could I say? Tarek rising brought everything to the surface.

  Jedrik put his ticket in the green parking box and then slid ten bucks in the machine. “Jesus Christ. I was here fifteen minutes! Thieves.” He kicked the stand with his foot and stalked into the parking garage toward his black BMW. “How about a beer at the Dew before we go to the Talde house?” He unlocked the doors and slid onto the leather seat, me on the passenger seat. He started the car then revved the engine before peeling out of the parking spot.

  “I’m staying at the gallery,” I said.

  The apartment above Danni’s art gallery was quiet, and I wouldn’t have the Talde breathing down my neck.

  Jedrik slammed on the brakes and the car behind us skidded then blew its horn. I heard the guy shouting profanity through the window. Here we go. Mr. Big brother was going to blow his top. It was rare, but when he did it, he did it with flying colors.