She stared down at her hands, fiddling with them. “No one knows?”
“Well, Evelyn, but she’s different.” He couldn’t explain how. Evelyn was like a mother to him. “I have to get used to it. Used to talking about me. About anything, really.”
“It’s okay. I won’t push you.” She looked up into his eyes. He saw the sincerity in her mesmerizing gaze.
They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again. “I’ve been wondering about all these paintings. Are they all your ancestors?”
He smiled, relieved to be talking about something else. “Yes. My great grandfather came here from France. He brought most of the paintings. There’s a family bible in the library that has the family line traced back to royalty.” He waved his hand. “I never really got into researching it.”
“That’s kind of cool, though, right? Makes you feel like you belong to something…bigger than you.”
He shrugged. “I guess. It’s just that…”
She looked up at him. “What?”
“My father and I weren’t exactly close if you know what I mean.” That was an understatement. He’d hated his father for most of his life.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Water under the bridge.”
She reached out and took his hand, almost tentatively, and squeezed it. The touch of her skin sent his heart into overdrive. He needed to get away from her. He squeezed her hand and then pulled away.
Aribelle’s lips pulled down into a frown. “Evelyn says your father died in an accident. That must have been difficult.”
She had no idea. “Yes.”
“Do you have any other family?”
“No. It’s just me.”
Sadness filled her eyes. “I know how you feel. My father passed away a couple of months ago. He was all I had. And now…” Her voice trailed off, and tears filled her eyes.
He suddenly felt like a jerk, being so obsessed with his own circumstances, not even once considering Aribelle might be going through something difficult. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”
She buried her face in his chest and let out a choking sob. He rubbed her back, soaking in the feeling of her in his arms. She sniffed and pulled back, wiping at her eyes. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a crybaby. It’s still fresh, you know?”
“I understand.” The pain she held in her gaze made his heart ache. He wanted to take it away like he had her injuries, but that was beyond his power. He brushed off a tear with the back of his fingers.
“My mother left when I was in grade school. It was only me and pops, but he never made me feel like I was missing out. He was there for every softball game. He came to my school plays and always supported me. I never felt like I was less than the other kids.”
“Sounds like a wonderful man.” So different from his own father, who hadn’t bothered to take off work for anything his son did, not even for his high school graduation. It was only high school, after all.
“He was.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
He knew she was simply finding consolation in him and he shouldn’t take it as anything more, but the electricity coursed through him just the same. Her heart beat loudly in his ears, and her smell intoxicated him. For a small moment, he allowed himself the luxury of holding her, lightly caressing the skin on her arm.
Tomorrow he would tell her the truth, and she would fear him. But today he would sit and let himself enjoy being with her.
Warmth flooded through Aribelle as she snuggled up against Thaddeus. He’d called himself a beast. It broke her heart. She knew he wasn’t what he thought. He helped people. Saved them. She wished he could see himself the way she did.
He wasn’t perfect. She knew that. He snapped at people. But she got the feeling he was curt with her because he was pushing her away. He didn’t want her to know his secret. He was used to pushing people away.
What she had seen in him over the last twenty-four hours was different. He’d taken upon himself incredible pain for her. She would have died if it weren’t for him. And now, here he was, consoling her. He cared about her. A monster wouldn’t do that.
A soft snoring noise came from him and she pulled back to look at him. His head was back against the couch, his eyes closed. She should let him sleep. She looked at his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks. Was he getting more handsome?
She didn’t want to leave his side, but it was getting late. She stared at his face for another moment before leaning closer and gently kissing his cheek.
The wind whistled outside, making the windows rattle. It was getting chilly. She gently guided him until his head hit the pillow and covered him with the blanket. She walked over to the fireplace and opened the flue. She found a box of matches lying on the mantle. She picked up a log and placed it in the ashes. Then she crumpled up a newspaper and lit the match. Thank goodness she’d spent a few winter breaks at her friend’s cabin, or she wouldn’t have known the first thing about starting a fire.
Thaddeus slept, and she felt comfortable enough after his healing that she wandered into the library and perused the books. She’d finished the other one earlier today. There were so many to choose from, she had a hard time deciding. Finally, she picked one that had a bloody knife on the front and settled in the living room recliner to relax. She read until her eyelids grew too heavy and she couldn’t hold the book any longer.
Sunlight streamed in the window when she awoke, and she looked over at Thaddeus. The couch was empty. The kitchen was empty as well, and she almost panicked until she heard the shower turn on upstairs. He felt well enough to clean himself up. That had to be a good sign, right?
She started breakfast in the kitchen. When he came downstairs, he was sporting another hoodie, but he’d kept the hood down this time. The cut across his forehead was mostly healed. Only a small scab remained. She smiled at him and flipped the pancake she was cooking. “You’re looking better.”
He leaned against the counter beside her. “Almost myself again.”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “You had me worried.”
He frowned. “You should not worry for me, Belle.”
The familiar nickname pricked at her heart. She scooped up the pancake with the spatula and put it the stack. “My father used to call me Belle.” She blinked back the gathering moisture in her eyes.
He put his hand on her back, consoling her. She turned and slid her arms around him, breathing in the smell of him. He pulled her closer, and her heart raced. “Sorry, I won’t call you that if it bothers you,” he whispered, his cheek against her hair.
“It’s okay, really,” she managed to say. “I don’t mind. I like it.”
“You sure it’s okay?”
“Yes.”
He released her and she instantly missed his strong arms around her. What was wrong with her? All she wanted to do was stay in his embrace. She turned back to the stove and poured out the last of the batter, getting better control of herself.
He opened a cupboard and pulled out the maple syrup. “Breakfast smells good.”
“Thanks.”
After they were sitting at the table, she decided to try to get more answers. He was opening up to her, and she was hoping he would continue to do so. “Can I ask you another question?”
He looked at her warily but slowly nodded, lifting a forkful of pancake to his mouth.
“Have you always been able to heal others?”
He swallowed and didn’t meet her gaze. “No.”
She waited to see if he would expand on that, but he didn’t. He did, however, eat with gusto.
“You’ve gotten your appetite back.”
“These are good. I thought you couldn’t cook.” His lips curled into a smile.
She ducked her head. “I found a mix. Just add water.”
>
He laughed, the deep sound reverberating through her. “Figures. Still good, though.” He put another forkful in his mouth.
She held off on the questions for a while, finishing her breakfast. When it looked like he was about to get up, she blurted, “Did you pull my car door off?”
His gaze dropped. “It wouldn’t open.”
He hadn’t denied it. But he hadn’t said yes, either. “So you yanked it off?”
“I had to get you out.”
He wasn’t admitting to it directly, and frustration welled in her. “You have super-human strength?”
He stood suddenly, his chair scraping the hardwood floor and then toppling over. “No,” he said, his voice raised. “Not super-human. Not human at all.” His green eyes held fury and he stormed out of the room.
Aribelle ran after him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face her. “You’re not a monster.”
“You don’t know what I am. What I’ve done.” His eyes burned.
She matched his intense gaze. “Then tell me.”
“No!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll hate me.”
“I have no idea why I would hate—”
“I killed a man,” he interrupted. The anger melted from his face and guilt replaced it. He swallowed and took a step back from her. “I’m a murderer.”
She couldn’t believe his words. Didn’t want to believe them. This man before her was a healer. The kind of person who would put himself through pain to lessen someone else’s. He was not a killer. She blinked and swallowed, unsure of what to believe. She needed to know. Needed to hear him say it. “What happened?”
Defeat filled his face, and his shoulders slumped. “All right. I’ll tell you. Everything.”
Chapter 10
Thaddeus pulled his leather jacket down from the coat hook and handed it to her. “Let’s go for a walk.”
She slipped the coat on, an expression on her face that he couldn’t read. He wished mind reading was one of the powers he’d been given.
He led her around the house, to the pathway into the woods. Dried leaves covered the simple dirt path. “I used to come out here and play as a child.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, gazing up at the trees, bright with fall colors.
“It’s secluded.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. She stayed by his side.
He wasn’t sure where to start, so he began at the beginning. “My mother died in childbirth. I never knew her.”
“Growing up without a mother must have been hard for you.”
Sweet Aribelle. Always thinking of others. “It was. I grew up in solitude much of the time. My father did the best he could, but I didn’t have much structure at home. He was gone a lot and gave me whatever I wanted. I don’t want to blame him, because he doesn’t deserve that, but it fed into my narcissistic personality. I became a hostile and selfish teenager, and then a jaded and egotistical man.”
Aribelle walked alongside him, her boots crunching on the fallen leaves. She listened intently.
“I started seeing a woman named Serina. She was as self-indulgent as I was. She liked the lifestyle I could offer her, with the family wealth at my disposal. We mostly spent the weekends partying. We were young, and nothing bad could touch us. That is until we both got high and I got behind the wheel of her Lamborghini.”
Aribelle sucked in a breath and looked up at him. “You had an accident?”
He nodded. “I hit a steel lamppost going eighty-five.”
She glanced at the scar on his face. “Is that how…?”
“No. I walked away without a scratch. Serina died with the impact.”
Aribelle put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”
“I wish that were the end of the story,” he said. “My father had spoken of an old woman who lived near town. It was rumored she could…do things.”
Her eyes widened. “Heal people?”
“Yes. I was egotistical enough to think I could take Serina’s lifeless body to her and force the old woman to heal her. I didn’t want to own up to my mistake. I wanted to cover it up. I showed up on her doorstep with Serina’s body in my arms, demanding she help me.”
He closed his eyes, remembering that hot, summer night. He was covered in Serina’s blood. He carried her to the door, much like he’d carried Aribelle the other day. But that time he’d been arrogant. Belligerent. “The old woman took one look at her and said Serina was dead and there was nothing she could do. But I didn’t want to accept that. I demanded she do something. Anything to heal Serina.”
They came to a fork in the path, and he motioned for her to take the right side. “The old woman said the only thing that would restore Serina was an ancient spell, laced with darkness. She warned me about serious consequences for using that kind of magic, but I insisted. She asked me if I was willing to let someone else die in Serina’s place. I gladly accepted those terms, thinking I would get out of any punishment if my mistake would be erased. I didn’t care about some person I didn’t know dying. I reasoned that people die every day.”
He looked down to see if Aribelle was appalled by his actions, but she was simply listening, her face unreadable. He continued. “The spell was cast, and Serina awoke. She was furious with me for ruining her clothes and her car. She told me never to call her again. I wasn’t upset. I was relieved. I had avoided punishment.
“I had no regrets as I walked home that night. I knew what I was going to say to my father to get him to pay for Serina’s Lamborghini. I was cocky and happy I’d gotten what I wanted.” They came to a small bridge and he stepped on the wooden planks then leaned on the railing, looking down at the tiny river snaking its way underneath him.
“When I got home, I saw him lying on the floor. He’d had a massive heart attack. He had no pulse.”
Aribelle blinked, her face stricken. “He was the one who took her place,” she whispered.
“Yes. And instead of feeling regret, I was filled with fury. I felt like I’d been tricked. I went back to the old woman and demanded she fix it. I wanted no consequences for my actions. Instead of fixing what she’d done, she cursed me.”
Aribelle looked confused, so he went on. “She said I was an overindulgent monster, and cursed me to become what I was. She took away my humanity. Turned me into a beast with the strength of ten men.” He couldn’t make himself tell her all of it, it was too humiliating. He left the worst of it out and continued. “She knew I wouldn’t be able to control it, so she gave me the power to heal. To take away what I was going to do to people, and take it upon myself.”
Aribelle took his hand. “But you don’t—”
“Hurt people?” he finished for her, pulling back his hand and turning away so she wouldn’t see the scowl on his face. “Yes. I do. At least, I did. I couldn’t control myself. I was full of rage and used to getting whatever I wanted. I ended up hurting a lot of people.”
She ran a finger along the rail, across the peeling red paint. “You healed them, though, right?”
He wished he were as altruistic as she thought. His actions had been appalling, but he had to tell her. She had to see him for what he was. “No. I didn’t care who I hurt. Not until the night I took a life.”
He started back across the bridge, back the way they had come, and Aribelle hurried to catch up. “How did it happen?”
His footsteps came faster now as if he could outrun his past. Leave behind everything he’d done. Become a new person. But he couldn’t. “I was out drinking. Seems like I did that a lot. As I left the bar, I heard a woman scream. I turned to see a man pulling her across the parking lot toward his car. My rage took over. I freed the woman and…” He couldn’t finish. He couldn’t tell Aribelle that he’d transformed into a beast and u
nleashed his animalistic fury on the man.
“He died,” she said for him, her strides long to match his.
“Yes. And once I realized what I’d done, I tried to heal him. Tried to take it back. But it was too late.”
“You might have saved that woman’s life.”
He glowered at her. “Or they could have been horsing around. I was drunk, Belle. I wasn’t in control.”
“So, ever since then, you’ve made it your personal mission to take everyone’s hurt upon yourself. Punishing yourself for what you did.”
Her words angered him, but he couldn’t deny it. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say.
She grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop and look at her. “Thaddeus, you are not the same person you were. Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”
“Because this is who I am. Don’t you see? I can’t live a normal life. I can’t be a boyfriend. A husband. A father. I must forever be this.” He jerked away from her, frustrated that he had to say it out loud. “A monster.”
They walked in silence for a while, winding their way back to his home. His prison. As they stepped into the clearing, Aribelle pointed toward the garden wall. “What’s back there?”
He was glad for the change of subject. “My mother’s garden.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” He led her to the gate, covered in vines, and slid the metal closure open. She gasped as they entered. The garden was horribly overgrown in some areas, and completely dead in others. A path led them through the trees and bushes. A stone fountain sat in the middle, a child forever pouring her pitcher, now empty.
“This must have been beautiful at one time.”
He nodded. “It was my mother’s sanctuary. Father hired a gardener to keep up with it after she died, but it hasn’t had attention in years.”
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