Tempest managed a small smile. “That’s his nice way of ordering us out of here. Everyone calls me Rusti,” she told Syndil, oddly without shame before this other wounded woman.
As she slipped past Darius, he reached out to catch her hair and give a small tug. “Not everyone, honey.”
She sent him a quelling glance over her shoulder, forgetting for a moment her swollen eye and bruised mouth. “Everyone
else”
she corrected.
Darius allowed her hair to slide through his fingers, savoring the contact with her, however slight it was.
Tempest walked carefully, not wanting to jar her bruised ribs. Syndil gestured to the couch, and Tempest sank into the soft cushions. Syndil examined her face. “Did you allow Darius to heal you?” she inquired.
Her voice was beautiful, satin soft, haunting and mysterious. Tempest knew immediately that she, too, was a creature like Darius. It was in her voice and eyes. But as hard as she tried, she could detect no evil in Syndil, just a quiet sadness.
“Is Darius a doctor?” she asked.
“Not exactly, but he is talented at healing others.” She looked down at her hands. “I did not allow him to help me, and that hurt both of us more than I can say. Be stronger than I was. Allow him to do this for you.”
“Darius arrived before I was raped,” Tempest said bluntly.
Syndil’s beautiful eyes filled with tears. “I am so glad. When Desari told me you had been attacked, I thought...” She shook her head. “I am so glad.” She touched a swollen bruise with a gentle fingertip. “But the man hurt you. He hit you.”
“It’s far worse to be hurt on the inside,” Tempest said, pulling the throw pillows around her as if fashioning them into walls to keep her safe.
Chapter Three
Syndil stared at Tempest for a long moment. Then her breath escaped in a long, slow hiss. She sat down and leaned forward to try to read Tempest’s expression. “It happened to you. Not this time, but sometime in your past. You know what it is like. The fear. The revulsion.” Her eyes sparkled like black ice, like crushed jewels. “I scrubbed myself for three and half hours, and months later I still do not feel clean.” She ran her hands up and down her arms, anguish reflected in her enormous eyes.
Tempest glanced toward the kitchen to assure herself that Darius could not hear them. “You should get counseling. There are places, Syndil, people who can help you put your life back together again.”
“Is that what you did?”
Tempest swallowed hard, feeling the familiar nausea that arose every time that particular door started to crack open. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her stomach.
“I wasn’t in a position to seek help. I was simply trying to survive.” Once more she glanced toward the kitchen, then lowered her voice still further. “I never really knew either of my parents. My earliest memories are of a dirty room where I ate off the floor and watched grownups put needles in their arms, legs—every vein they could find. I didn’t know which of the adults was my mother or father. Occasionally the authorities would scoop me up and dump me in foster homes, but mainly I lived on the streets. I learned to fight off drug dealers and pimps and every other man that happened by. It was a way of life, all I knew for several years.”
“That is when it happened to you?” Syndil asked, her eyes so filled with pain that Tempest wanted to gather her into her arms. At the same time she wanted to run, to never have to relive that particular time in her life again. She couldn’t bear it, not on the heels of Harry’s attack.
“No, it might have been easier if it had been some sleazy drunk or junkie or even one of the pimps, but it was someone I trusted,” Tempest confessed in a low voice, the words forced out of her by some bond between her and Syndil, a bond forged by a terrible trauma they both shared.
“It was someone I loved and trusted, too,” Syndil admitted softly. “As a result, I do not know how to trust anyone now. I feel as if he killed that part of me. I cannot perform in the band. I loved playing; the music has always been inside me, and now I cannot hear it. I feel dead without it. I cannot stand to be alone with any of the males I grew up with, men I have always loved as my family. I know they worry for me, but I cannot change what has happened.”
Tempest twisted a length of red-gold hair around her finger. “You have to live, Syndil, not simply exist. You can’t let him rob you of your life, your passions.”
“But he did. That is exactly what he did. I loved him like a brother. I would have done anything for him. Yet he was so brutal, and his eyes were so vicious as he hurt me, as if he hated me.” Syndil turned away. “It changed all of us. The men now look at one another with suspicion and distrust. If such a transformation could happen to Savon, perhaps it could happen to one of them, too. Darius has suffered terribly, because, as our leader, he feels responsible. I have tried to tell him he is not, but he has always cared for and protected us. I know that if I could get over this, it would ease his suffering, but I cannot.” She looked at her hands. “The others do not treat me as they once did. Barack especially does not seem to trust me. They watch me all the time now, as if it were my fault.”
“Likely they are watching you protectively, not suspiciously. But you are not responsible for what anyone else is feeling, Syndil. You can overcome this, just as the others will in their own time and in their own way. You won’t forget it—it might haunt your life and even your relationships—but you can be happy again,” Tempest assured her.
“I have never spoken of this to anyone, not even Desari. I am sorry. I came here to help you, but I speak only of myself. I want to scream and weep and crawl into a hole. You are very easy to talk to.”
Tempest shook her head. “You have to find a way to go on.”
“Please tell me what happened to you, how you were able to cope.”
In the kitchen, Darius stirred, reluctant for Tempest to endure any more trauma. But he wanted to know, he had to know, and he realized it was important for both women to be able to discuss the traumatic events they had suffered.
“I met a great lady who was working at one of the homeless shelters I landed in. I was seventeen at the time. She let me live at her house. I used to steal cars and soup up the engines just for the fun of it. Ellen made me realize I could put my mechanical skills to better use and make a good living while I was at it. She helped me get my high school equivalency diploma, and after that she got a me good job at a garage with a friend of hers. It was great for a while.”
“But something happened,” Syndil guessed.
Tempest shrugged pragmatically. “Ellen died, and I had nowhere to stay again. As soon as I was without protection, my boss showed his true colors. He caught me off guard. I trusted him; he was Ellen’s friend. I really didn’t expect it of him.” She closed her eyes against the vivid memories crowding in, the way he had slammed her into a wall, knocking the breath out of her, leaving her dazed and completely vulnerable to his attack.
“Did he hurt you?”
“He wasn’t gentle, if that’s what you mean, and I had never... been with anyone. I decided it wasn’t something I ever wanted to try again.” She shrugged, trying not to wince when her ribs protested. “Unlike you, I’ve never had a family. I’m used to being on my own and working things out for myself. I’ve always had to learn everything the hard way. It’s different for you. You had a life, a family. You know what love is.”
“I cannot imagine myself with a man ever again,” Syndil said sadly.
“You have to try, Syndil. You can’t just withdraw from the world, from your family. Some of it has to be up to you. Ellen always told me to play the cards I’m dealt, not wish for another hand. You can’t change what happened to you, but you can see to it that your life isn’t destroyed by it.”
Listening from the kitchen, Darius vowed to himself that the group would play in the city where that garage owner lived sometime soon, and he would pay him a visit. Still, this was the first time he had heard S
yndil talk to anyone about what had happened to her, and he felt a sense of great relief. If she could talk to Tempest, perhaps they both would benefit from the experience.
He could feel weariness beating at his little redhead. Her body was sore, and shock was exhausting her. He knew she had jogged much of the distance she had managed to put between them, and she’d had no money for food or lodgings. He didn’t want to interrupt the women, but Tempest was visibly sliding down into the sofa cushions when he glanced at them from the doorway.
Syndil realized it at once. “I will talk to you when you are more rested, Rusti. Thank you for sharing your experiences with me, a virtual stranger. I think you managed to help me more than I did you.” She waved at Darius as she exited the trailer.
Darius glided toward Tempest in his silent, intimidating way. “You are going to bed now, honey. I will not listen to any arguments.”
Tempest was already lying down. “Does anyone else besides me ever get the urge to throw things at you?” She sounded drowsy, not combative.
Darius hunkered down beside her so he was at eye level with her. “I do not think so. If they do, they do not have the audacity to tell me.”
“Well, I think throwing something at you is the only way to go,” Tempest told him. Her eyes were already closing, and her voice was weary and sad despite her heavy words.
Darius stroked the wealth of red-gold hair away from her face, his fingers soothing her scalp. “Do you? Maybe tomorrow might be a better time to try it.”
“I have a very good aim,” she warned him. “It would be easier on you if you just quit giving me orders.”
“That would ruin my reputation,” he objected.
A smile curved the corners of her mouth, emphasizing the thin red cut at the side of her lip.
Darius resisted the impulse to lean down and find that small cut with his tongue. “Go to sleep, baby. I am going to do my best to take away some of your soreness. Before you fall asleep on me, I made you an herbal concoction that will help you rest better.”
“Why do I feel as if you’re taking over my life?”
“Do not worry, Tempest. I am very good at managing lives.”
She could hear the laughter in his voice, and an answering smile found its way to her mouth. “Go away, Darius. I’m too tired to argue with you.” She settled deeper into the pillows.
“You are not supposed to argue with me.” He focused on the glass on the counter in the kitchen. It floated from there to his palm easily. “Sit up, honey. You have to drink this whether you want to or not.” He slipped his arm behind her back and lifted her so that he could press the glass to her lips.
“What does it taste like?” she asked, suspicious.
“Drink it, baby,” he instructed. She sighed softly. “What’s in it?”
“Drink, Tempest, and stop giving me your sass,” he ordered, practically tipping the contents down her throat.
She coughed and sputtered but managed to get most of the herbal mixture down. “I hope there were no drugs in that.”
“No, it is all natural. It will make you sleep easier. Close your eyes again.” He placed her back among the pillows.
“Darius?”She said his name softly, drowsily, and it seeped into his soul and tightened his body to an urgent ache.
He reached above her head to the shelf of candles his family made, searching forests and marshes for the ingredients that would produce the aromas they needed. “What, honey?”
“Thank you for coming after me. I don’t know if I could have gone through it again.” She was so tired, the words slipped out, revealing far more than she would have willingly disclosed.
“You are very welcome, Tempest,” he acknowledged seriously. Darius gathered a few candles, and turned off all lights, plunging the motor home into darkness.
A small cry of alarm escaped Rusti’s throat. “Turn on the lights. I don’t want them off.”
“I am lighting candles for you, and you are not alone, honey. No one can hurt you here. Just relax, and let that drink take effect. You will fall asleep, and I will do what I can to ensure that you wake up without so much pain. If you like, I can bring the cats in to keep you company.”
“No. I’m always alone. It’s safer that way,” she murmured, too far gone to watch her words. “I take care of myself and answer to no one.”
“That is what you used to do before you met me,” he corrected gently.
“I don’t know you.”
“You know me. With the lights on or off, you know me.” He bent once more to brush his mouth lightly in her hair. Her heart nearly stopped, then began to pound. “Tempest, leave off all this unnecessary fear. I would never harm you. You can trust me. You feel it in your heart, in your soul. Lights do not stop bad things from happening. You know that, too.” But he lit the candles anyway so that the soft glow would reassure her and the aromas would soothe her.
The herbal drink he had given her was beginning to take effect, her eyelids growing too heavy to hold up. “Darius? I hate the dark. I really do.” Still, she drifted with his tide, not asking herself why she felt so safe and comforted with him when she was so uneasy with the rest of the world, when he was not even human.
He stroked her hair gently, silently giving her a small mental push toward sleep. “The night is a beautiful place, Tempest. When you are feeling a little better, I will show you.”
His hands were soothing, and she relaxed beneath his caressing fingers, breathing in the aromas of the candles. Darius began a soft chant. It was not in English; she had never heard the language. The words seemed to seep into her, brushing like butterfly wings in her mind, and she wasn’t sure if he was whispering them out loud or not.
Darius continued the chant long after he was certain Tempest was in a deep sleep. Only then did he lean down and inhale the fresh scent of her to take into his keeping. His mouth moved over her temple, the lightest of contacts, then feathered down to her swollen eye. His tongue bathed the bruised tissue with the healing agent of his kind. Finally, after so long a wait, he could find the tempting corner of her mouth and lave the cut with his tongue. He took his time, enjoying his work, holding her mind with his, continuing the chant to keep her asleep.
His palm moved down her throat, then slid across her shoulder, taking the robe with it, leaving soft, satiny skin bared in its wake. His tongue found the edge of a nasty bruise and traced it down over the swell of her breast. Tempest moaned and moved restlessly, fighting the layers of the hypnotic trance. She was strong, her mind oddly different, hard to control when he was indulging temptation and using his energy to heal.
Darius was intrigued and puzzled by her difference from other humans. In all the centuries of his existence, he had never run across a mortal’s brain pattern like hers. Because of their earlier blood exchange, it was easier to stay in the shadow of her mind, their bond stronger than before. And he was also beginning to realize the enormity of his own emotions, of the consequences of his actions and of binding her to him with the ritual words.
Tempest was no ordinary woman he was simply sexually attracted to. It went far beyond that, far beyond the boundaries he had previously accepted in relationships. His allegiance had swung completely to this one small woman, even above his own people, those he had protected, hunted for, killed for, led through centuries of turmoil and change.
Darius sighed and lapped gently at a huge, colorful bruise on Tempest’s rib cage. He knew he would protect her first above all others. He traced the delicate line of her jaw. What was it about her that made him feel more loyal to her than to his own family, his own kind?
In her mind he found great courage and a tremendous capacity for compassion and understanding. He studied her body, so fragile and delicate, so perfect. With a little sigh he pulled the edges of her robe together and brought the blanket up to her chin. He sent himself seeking outside his own body and into hers, a feat he had rarely attempted on a human. It required far more concentration than with one of his own k
ind.
He found each bruised internal organ and slowly repaired them from the inside out. He was becoming intimate with her mind, with her body, like a lover, though he had not yet shared her body or mind in the way he wanted.
Darius.
His sister’s mental call to him brought him back to his own body.
What is it?
he responded.
I sense your hunger. Go hunt. We will look after Rusti. Do not worry, brother. She will be safe with me. Only you.
The command came out before he could censor it, more from jealousy than from fear that anyone in their group would choose to harm Tempest. When his sister laughed softly, the hauntingly beautiful notes brushing in his mind, he cursed at himself for revealing his lack of control.
Shut up, Desari.
He said it without rancor, his voice a blend of mesmerizing sorcery and affection.
How the mighty have fallen. I notice that man of yours keeps you ona tight leash,
he retaliated.
You need to feed, Darius. Even the cats can feel your hunger. I will, all by myself, watch over Rusti.
Darius sighed softly. Desari was right. He couldn’t afford to start the cats fussing; they could wake the dead if they got upset enough. He rose reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave Tempest, for he sensed the nightmares lurking not far from her, but he padded to the door, where Desari waited on the other side.
He stepped outside and inhaled the night, allowing the wind to carry him information about creatures hidden in their dens, about human prey in the vicinity. Sasha and Forest pressed close to him, rubbed up against him. He felt their sharp concern. Darius automatically reassured them he would hunt, would feed. He stretched, loosened his muscles, and began to run, shape-shifting as he did so. The two cats flanked him, eager to hunt. The band would move on soon in order to make their next scheduled performance, but while in a town, the leopards had to eat meat provided for them by their Carpathian companions. Despite the ample prey all around them, the cats were forbidden to hunt except in the wilds, which was partly why the troupe tried to camp often in remote forests, parks, and preserves, allowing the leopards to utilize their natural skills, keeping them happy.
Dark Fire (Dark Series - book 6) Page 5
