Bound by Secrets

by Angela M Hudson

  “Okay. I get it.” I patted his arm. “So you were brutal.”

  He nodded. “I made sure she suffered. And when she got the chance, she returned the favor tenfold.”

  I watched him cry for a moment, taking in his rounded shoulders and the way they quivered. He never really cried in front of me—it was something he avoided at almost all costs. I’d hear him in his room, but he always got away from me before the tears came, so to see him like this was hard. One part of me wanted to comfort him, but the other part knew he needed me to give him space.

  “What are the squares?” I pointed to my own ribs. “Why have you got those?”

  “She carved out runes in the ancient language,” he said, looking down at the scars. “They were heinous words, and the surgeon at the hospital removed them.”

  “Why? What words were they?”

  “Unworthy King.” He pointed to the lower rib cage. “This one here was a word that, in translation, means evil or bad father.”

  “Why did she do it where no one would really see?”

  “It’s to do with nature’s branding—the traditional points of Marking. The ribs are kind of a sacred place, close to the heart, and we wear our most true markings there.”

  My eyes moved to the two scars on his left rib. “What did those ones say?”

  “Demon,” he said, but stopped when he pointed to the next scar, his jaw going stiff.

  “What is it?” I shuffled a little closer, but it was no good. He’d gone tight again, and pale. His stomach sunk and lifted rapidly—the only outward sign that he was battling with something.

  “David, please.” I touched his arm, sending soft pulses of calming energy into him.

  “Theft of virtue,” he whispered in a crackly voice.

  “Theft of virtue?”

  “Translated into our language it means… rapist.”

  I drew my hand back, unsure if I heard him correctly. “It means what?”

  His head flipped up and he tossed his hair off his face, his tongue pushing into his cheek. “You heard me.”

  “Did you…” He held my gaze firmly. “Did you rape her when you punished her?”

  “Do you think I did?”

  “No.” I shook my head, my eyes wide. “And not one bone in my body would ever believe that.”

  “She did believe that,” he said. “Or at least she thinks I ordered her to be raped.”

  “Ordered it?”

  “I left her in the cell that night.” He pointed off to the side, as though she was in the opposite corner of the room. “I did nothing other than cut her and beat her. I didn’t rape her. And I didn’t order anyone to do it.”

  I nodded, touching his wrist again. “I believe you—”

  “Don’t.” The green in his eyes vanished behind a thick layer of tears, his gaze unwavering. “Because I am guilty of rape.”

  “What?”

  His next attempt at words broke away to sniffles and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I am guilty, Ara. And that’s why she branded me.”

  The air became thick and stale and my bones felt like lead. “Who… did you…?”

  “My wife,” he said in a breathy burst of anguish. I almost didn’t hear him, and when the words sunk in, I wanted him to repeat it, but I knew he wouldn’t be able to. I sat stunned, unable to speak because I couldn’t figure out in what scenario he would rape his wife—his very beloved wife.

  “I lived with what I did for days until Elora came to see me in the hospital,” he added. “I thought I’d gone insane—that I acted out of madness for the pain I was in after the torture…”

  “So this was in the tombs?”

  He nodded, tucking his head between his elbows. “When Elora said she’d slept with Falcon, it all made sense—the liquid Morgana fed me beforehand. Why would she give me water? Why would she give me anything that would offer comfort? And then, because it happened just after she fed me that water, I realized what it was…”

  He wasn’t making much sense, going back and forth, and so upset I could barely understand him, but I think I caught on. “So… you were drugged, like Elora and Falcon?”

  He nodded.

  “And you raped Ara because of that?”

  He nodded again, sobbing into his arms.

  “Then, David…” I crawled in between his legs and lifted his face with both hands. “You’re not a rapist—”

  “She screamed. She begged me to stop. And I didn’t.” Fat droplets of tears landed on my bare leg where it rested under him, David taking a second to get his voice back. “I didn’t care that she was screaming. I didn’t care that she passed out. How does that not make me a rapist? I went—I did that to her. I hurt her, I was on top of her, just fucking her over and over until I was…” His jaw set stiff and two jagged breaths entered his lungs involuntarily. “Done.”

  My hands fell from his face one by one, weak with devastation.

  “She wouldn’t have known I was drugged. She thought I did that by choice. I—”

  “No.” My soul bled as I realized how awful that must be for him. “She knows your heart. Even I know your heart. I know what you’re capable of and, David.” I lifted his face, holding his cheeks firmly. “You are not a rapist.”

  “Then what am I? Because I did fuck her against her will, Ara. And she was cut open at the time.” His mouth turned down and his eyes fixed on the horror on the other side of his mind. “Morgana cut chunks out of me”—he motioned down to his groin—“and when Ara begged her to stop, she did it to her.”

  “Do you mean…?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer. “She cut her down there?”

  He nodded, his hand tightly squeezing his mouth as fat tears rolled out, unopposed, over his wide, fixed eyes.

  “And she wasn’t healed when you…”

  He shook his head. “I could feel her cuts separate every time I entered her.”

  I covered my mouth, deeply sickened.

  “We were both bleeding so heavily it gushed at times. And it hurt—so much I can’t even describe. I just…”

  “David, you need to listen to me.” I took a deep breath, having no idea what I should say. This horror, this is why he needed absolution from her. He needed her to look him in the eye and tell him she forgave him. Nothing I ever said would be enough. “Remember how you killed Jason’s pregnant girlfriend?”

  He laughed, looking up at me. “This is a hell of a time to bring that up.”

  “I know, but… bear with me.” I got up on my knees so our faces would be in line. “Ara forgave you, right, because she loved you and because she understood why you’d done it.”

  “And?”

  “And she might not have known you were drugged, but she would have known there was a reason you did that to her.”

  His eyes stayed on mine, ears reaping my words hungrily as though none of this had ever occurred to him.

  “David, she knew that wasn’t you. This girl you’ve all told me so much about, she doesn’t just understand you out of love or the years you’ve been together, she knows your inner truth. She knows who you are at your core—”

  “She begged me not to hate myself,” he said absently, his expression shifting from the tight twist of regret to the looseness of realization. “I didn’t make sense of it at the time—”

  “Then make sense of it now, because she’d damn well forgive you and you know it.”

  He coughed out and then buried his brow in his arm, his shoulders shaking though no sound came from his lips.

  “Look, I know it won’t mean anything to you, but I forgive you,” I said firmly, meaning it. “I know you, David, and I know you would never do something like that. I know you’re so sorry that you can barely even breathe sometimes. But from the very bottom of my heart, you need to know that I forgive you.”

  One arm came out of the tight fold he was in and wrapped my shoulders, drawing me in to the tear-moistened surrounds of his face and his chest. I exhaled deeply, feeli
ng more connected to him now than ever before, and just sat there in his arms, letting him grieve. I wasn’t sure why, but after a few minutes I cried too. His grief was just so heavy, and I so badly wanted to take it away. Everything he’d suffered hurt me as deeply as if I’d been there with him, and the only relief I’d get was in the form of tears, sitting here with my shoulder against his heart, my legs tucked up and his arms safely around me.

  He stopped crying then and cupped my jaw, angling my face up, and as he pressed his lips to mine, I wrapped my arms around his neck, angling my body inward. I knew what was in this kiss; I knew it was relief and pain and loss and longing and I knew, most of all, it was a thank you. Somehow, something I said had released him from his burden in some way. Maybe I would never know what it was, but I could feel it. I could feel the weight had lifted.

  But with this kiss, and with the way he moved out from under me and lifted me up off the ground, I had to wonder if he was kissing me, or his wife.

  He laid me on the bed and my body warmed with the possibilities, staying cautiously cool in case this ended. Right now, I was more naked with him than I would ever have imagined myself being, my body covered only by his t-shirt, his body covered only by jeans. But I wanted it to happen. I just wanted him to be here with me. At least for my first time.

  His hand slipped along my bare leg then and up the shirt, making me scared and excited in a very intense kind of way. A cool breeze moved in between my legs as he shifted back off the bed and stood there, unbuckling his belt.

  Based on the cruelty I’d seen him exude in the past, a part of me wondered for a moment if he was going to spank me with it, but he tossed it aside and slipped his thumbs into his jeans, moving them down his hips.

  I looked away. His bed felt so soft under my skin that I shifted my legs a little to let it touch every inch of them, my ribs lifting high with each deep, ready breath. I wasn’t just ready for sex—ready to feel him inside of me. I was ready for him—to feel the way his skin felt against mine. All of it. Every inch of flesh on his body touching mine at the same time. I wanted to be hollow, to evaporate and let him breathe me in. But I wasn’t ready to see the scars I knew were on his penis. It touched my leg as he bent forward and lifted the shirt up my body, exposing my nakedness for the first time. My first time.

  His eyes narrowed when he took me in, though, as if something was missing, but he didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t even ask if I was ready for him before he parted my legs with both hands and then pressed his body down on me, driving himself smoothly and quickly inside.

  My insides were so wet and ready that, as he slipped in, I gave nothing more than a small grunt, but my heart broke a little. It was obvious now that he was here with his wife, not me—not a girl who was essentially a virgin. But he deserved that, didn’t he? One night with her after so much pain. So it was technically my first time. Big deal. What was going on here was more important than that.

  I curled my fingertips and ran them down his back, pressing deeply but gently into the flesh, feeling the knots of his scars all the way down. When our eyes met again, David cupped my cheek firmly, searching for something inside my gaze. Maybe for his wife. I smiled softly, losing my control then as he went deeper and the tip of him touched something in me that sent warm quivers through my hips.

  “Ara.”

  “What?” I opened my eyes to his sexy laugh and his gorgeous smile.

  “You need to be quiet. We live with a bunch of immortals.”

  “Oh.” My eyes widened for a second. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned down and kissed me once. “I like it when you get carried away.”

  “You say that like we’ve done this a hundred times before.”

  He stopped instantly and withdrew, leaving behind a very warm, wet feeling. “Oh my God, Ara…”

  “What’s wrong?” I shuffled to the end of the bed where he sat with his head in his hands. “David, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “I acted on autopilot.” He turned back and touched my leg. “I forgot this is your first time.”

  “So you…” I looked timidly at his hand on my knee. “You were here with me then?”

  “With you?” He turned fully to face me. “What do you mean?”

  “I… I thought maybe you were—”

  “Doing that to relive my past?” He looked shocked. “Ara, I would never do that to you.”

  “I didn’t accuse you of being a jerk for it, David. I understand, I—”

  “Sweetheart, I miss my wife. No. Scratch that, I miss being able to talk about old times or share memories with you, but you are her. I don’t see you as anyone else. And I know you do.” He clutched both my cheeks firmly, bringing his forehead to mine. “I know you want me to as well, but to me, you’re my wife. Yes, you’ve changed. Yes, we had to fall in love all over again, but the fact is, I do love you.” He gave my face an affectionate little shake. “I love you for who you are now and who you were then. And if I think back to the girl you were when we met the very first time, you’ve changed since then too, and I still love that girl. I will love the girl you become in twenty years’ time, but you will always be my Ara.”

  His Ara. I actually liked the way that sounded. I liked that, even without being who I used to be, I could still be his Ara. It made me feel safe that he would stand beside me no matter what.

  David shuffled a bit closer then, and my eyes took in his nakedness, seeing it for the first time in perfect daylight. Morgana had cut thick chunks out of his penis all the way down, but the doctors had obviously filled them in and left them as smooth yet wiry scars. When I felt them in the closet that one time, I just thought that was normal. And I didn’t care so much what it looked like, but I couldn’t even imagine how much that would have hurt.

  “Don’t look,” he said, lifting my face. “I don’t want you to think about that.”

  I shut my eyes tight, trying to erase it.

  “Does it bother you—the scars? Can you feel them when I’m in you?”

  I shook my head, not ready yet to open my eyes.

  His hand rested alongside my face and I felt his breath brush my chin when he spoke next. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.”

  “But you’re a virgin—”

  “Technically.” I opened my eyes, smirking at him. “But not physically.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “You didn’t know that?”

  “I…” He looked down at nothing. “I guess it makes sense now.”

  I laughed. “My body didn’t regenerate as a completely new body—”

  “Then why are your markings missing?” He nodded to my ribs.

  “My what?” I touched myself softly, and it was only then that I actually noticed the tattoo on his ribcage—a long line of fancy scroll in words I didn’t understand. “Like yours you mean?”

  He nodded.

  “I never knew I had one.”

  “You had several.” He took my hand and pressed his thumb to my ring finger. “There was a black band here as well—a marking placed there by Lilith”

  “The queen?”

  “No. Her grandmother.”

  “Why would her grandmother put a black mark on my finger?”

  “It was supposed to be an eternal reminder of the love you had for me that I would never return to you, but she was wrong.”

  I studied my finger, wondering where the mark had gone, remembering something from a dream I once had. “Maybe it will come back when all my powers do.”

  “Or maybe it won’t.” He capped my hand. “Nor will the mark of your promise.”

  “My what?”

  He showed me his rib. “Lilith is the new queen now, and my brother the king. Perhaps mine will fade with time too.”

  “What does them being on the throne have to do with anything?”

  “We got these markings the day we made our promise to serv
e as royals to the monarchy.”

  “Royals?”

  “No one told you yet?” His brow hung low over wide eyes. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Ara, we were King and Queen.”

  I sat back a bit, letting that sink in. And then so many more things made sense, as if I’d known the facts all along but hadn’t really had time to process them. I looked at his scar, where the rune depicting “Unworthy King” had been.

  Of course. If I once had the soul of Lilith, was a descendant of hers, then I was, before she was resurrected, the only true and rightful queen—also since I was the daughter of the Drakarian King. How had that never occurred to me before now? Brett was a member of the Queen’s Guard. My guard. No one had ever said otherwise and yet I never made that connection.

  “Who put the marks there?” I pointed to his tattoo.

  “The mother of nature, I guess.”

  “Then did she take them away because I’m not running the show now?”

  “I don’t know.” He smoothed his thumb over where I imagined my mark once was. Then he leaned a bit closer and pressed my ribs, angling them to the sun coming through the window, focusing on them intently. “No. It’s still there but it’s faded.”

  I narrowed my eyes at it, but I couldn’t see. “So maybe it’ll come back.”

  He looked away in thought. “It could be to do with your memories—maybe because you don’t know who you truly are.”

  I shrugged. I really didn’t care right now. David was naked and even with his body covered in scars, he looked sexy and I just wanted to lay back down with him on top of me. I shuffled sideways and closed the tiny gap left between us, letting my leg fall against his.

  “If you become a vampire again, will the scars fade?”

  He nodded. “If we cut them cleanly away, yeah.”

  I nodded too, realizing we’d have to turn him sooner than later. He couldn’t live like that. It wasn’t fair.

  “Ara?” he prompted.

  When I looked into his eyes, he motioned down to where his hand lifted mine, gently moving it away so he could part my legs.