by J. M. Davies
She bit her tongue, attempting not to cry out, but the pain intensified. Every determined slice across her skin touched her nerve. Excruciating pain scolded her flesh. The force of the blade as it penetrated her body with a knowledgeable accuracy lay engraved on her brain. Her body bucked and she screamed as pain coursed through her veins, hot and overflowing every cell, swamping her until she lost consciousness. The shroud of darkness held her, and only there in the void did Ella feel safe.
“Excuse me, sir, you have no right to be in here…you have to leave.”
“Get out of my way or so help me God, I will make you. She’s my wife. I have every right. Get the doctor in charge now.” The rich baritone growl was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry, sir, but that’s not possible…”
There was a high-pitched shriek, quick footsteps, muffled words along with gasps and other voices mixed in with the dominant and familiar voice. Ella knew it wouldn’t be long before the man who had captured her heart, once, appeared. Now, even the sound of his rich, husky voice didn’t soothe her.
CHAPTER FOUR
From the moment Marcus arrived in the hospital, he took charge. He was good at knowing what to do, barking orders, and making those around him comply with his demands. Few disobeyed him. He was a force of nature, dark and powerful. People stood back when he walked past, intimidated by his sheer size; added with his look of supreme confidence and complete command, he was a menacing figure to battle. Ella was one of only a few who argued with him, but her mind and body didn’t always agree. Many times her body was a traitor, giving in. Hearing his voice as it reverberated around inside her, despite how much she wanted to resist, brought her swiftly awake. Even if she wanted to stay locked away, being pumped full of drugs, he wouldn’t let her. Did he realize the power he held over her? At his arrival, her eyes opened, and within twenty-four hours, she was discharged home.
“Ella, I’m doing the best I can, but you have to help me on this. You cannot simply sit here wallowing. Come inside and eat.”
Ella had been home for a week. She couldn’t make eye contact and didn’t want to speak to Marcus. When her eyes opened that day at the hospital, she expected to see his anger and disgust; instead, his eyes were full of pity. She couldn’t bear it any longer. The swirling tension between them was suffocating. She needed to suffer and feel pain. Something other than the cloying numbness that consumed her. She fumbled with her hands in her lap, not answering him or hearing his words as his voice rose.
“Ella, the doctors said you have made a remarkable recovery in the two weeks you were there, but—after everything you suffered, they recommended you see a counselor. Doctor Elizabeth Davies works at the compound, and she specializes with trauma victims. She helps all the members of the team. I think she would help you.”
Ella peered over at her towering husband. No amount of talking would change anything that had happened. Didn’t he realize that? She studied the dark ominous giant who was barely recognizable as the man she once knew. A thick black beard covered his chin and around his mouth. Heavy shadows lay underneath his intense obsidian eyes that roamed hers, searching for understanding and something else she couldn’t grasp. His silky hair fell in disorderly directions, as if windswept, but she turned away, unable to help herself, let alone him.
“I need to be left alone. Why won’t you do that?”
A loud crash made Ella twist around. A glass vase, one of dozens containing yellow roses, lay shattered in a million pieces. She didn’t move and returned her gaze toward the ocean.
“Damn it, I promised myself I would be patient, but I’m not a patient man.”
Heavy boots trampled across the deck. Marcus grabbed her arm and she held in the hysteria that bordered her lips. He bent over close to her face and she flinched at the cold harshness mirrored there in his inky-black eyes. Why did it shock her when it was what she expected and had driven him to?
“Damn it, woman, you will not do this. Don’t shut me out. We need to talk. I know you’re in hell but you have to try. When you were in the hospital, the nurses took pictures of the baby…”
She drew in the air around her, taking as much oxygen as she could gather to breathe as her lungs squeezed tight. Ella pushed his hand and twisted away, but there was nowhere to go. Why was he doing this?
He held her hand in his and forced some black-and-white photographs onto her lap.
“Look at these, Ella, for Christ sake. They say it will help you to accept…”
“What, Marcus? Accept having my baby ripped from my body? Accept the fact my baby died? I won’t accept any of this. It’s wrong.”
He crouched down and gripped her hands in his with an iron-clad hold. “We need to make arrangements for Kate’s—funeral.”
They had agreed on Kate if their baby was a girl and Nate if it was a boy. She always believed it would be a boy, but as Ella stared blankly at the tiny pictures of the perfectly formed baby girl, she knew she was wrong. She studied the tiny toes and little fingers. Kate had been inside her. She had existed but now she was gone. It was too much.
“I can’t do this.”
It was true. No matter what she thought and wished inside her head, she couldn’t face burying her daughter. She didn’t know how to deal with all the emotions brewing up a storm inside her. Since waking up, a weight pressed on her chest and it wouldn’t go away. In all her lives, with all the suffering she experienced, nothing compared to this loss that festered inside her. Unable to remain in contact with Marcus and the pictures, she pushed up, charged across the deck and opened the front door.
Marcus followed close behind and grabbed the door as she let it swing in his face. Once inside, he grabbed her arm and tugged her around to face him. “You are doing this. You’re doing it for me. You’re doing this for Kate. Our daughter. The innocent who didn’t deserve any of this.”
He shouted and it brought her up sharp. Ella narrowed her eyes, studying the inky depths of his, and there underneath his words lay the bite of anger. She snatched her arm away but faced him rather than run away.
“Go on, Marcus. It’s been building up. I know you. I know you blame me. Well, join the club. I blame me. This is my fault, but…” She held her abdomen, where a vivid pink scar hid under her baggy sweatpants. It was a brand, a permanent reminder of what she had lost. A battle scar and she left it as a reminder even though, if she used magic, she could make it vanish. She shoved his chest with her hand. She couldn’t stop as her anger rose.
“But if you hadn’t left. If you had listened to me. If you had stayed, none of this would have happened. I needed you, but you left. Like all the men in my life, you deserted me. I don’t need you now. Leave. Me. Alone. You shout and roar acting like you’re a big man but underneath you’re a …” Ella wanted him to go crazy and she knew she was being irrational. She didn’t mean half of what she said but couldn’t stop.
Marcus pressed in closer and raised his hand. Ella gasped, thinking he would hit her, but instead he rubbed his face. He stepped away and she let go of the building energy. She closed her mouth and studied him as he leaned on the side table, gripping it until his knuckles were white, as he rocked back and forth. She sensed the rolling emotions that he reined in. The situation between them was tense to say the least and she wasn’t making it better. A part of her wanted to reach out, curl into Marcus, and let go, but a bigger part wanted to break and destroy everything in sight. She knew he was the same. Finally, his eyes locked with hers and he ran his gaze over her from head to foot but he remained where he was, the tension palpable. She crossed her arms and looked away.
“No matter what you say, Ella, you know I wouldn’t lay a fucking finger on you to cause pain unless I thought you would enjoy it. I cannot change the past, and for that I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have been stronger for both of us and stayed away from you right from the beginning. I don’t fucking know. What I do know is that I will not rest until everyone involved is dead. But before that, we must put Kate
to rest. We have to bury her, Ella.”
There wasn’t an ounce of tenderness or warmth in his ragged voice. He struggled with his emotions as much as she did, even questioning their union. He wasn’t wrapping his arms around her and telling her everything would be all right. Marcus leaned on the table a good distance from her and although they were in the same room, they may as well be an ocean apart. Since she had been back in their house, Marcus slept in the guest bedroom. At first, she didn’t notice, perhaps because of the medication she relied on to numb the pain, but now that crutch was gone. He may not be able to vocalize the words of blame but his actions pointed at them. Anyway, it was better like this.
Normally, she didn’t want confrontation and would choose to run rather than face an adversary. It had been her way of life. A means to survival. Things were different now. That gave her a power that the professor didn’t realize. That no one realized. Ella didn’t just want to find Aidan, and the Padre—she wanted to obliterate them from the earth.
“Ella.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
****
It was a warm, sunny day—not a cloud in the sky—but Ella stood frozen like a statue as people passed by in a blur to gather around a small rectangle opening in the ground to pay their last respects. She glanced sideways and studied her stoic husband. They had argued over the service and whether or not their daughter should be buried or cremated. It wasn’t surprising; they argued over everything at the moment.
Earlier, he had gripped her elbow to lead her down the path at the hilltop cemetery full of old souls that watched. She froze, unable to move. His warm touch caught her by surprise and she stepped forward, grateful for his support. But as they reached the plot, Marcus let go and she wobbled. She gazed over the many moss-covered headstones and wondered whether her child would be reborn like she had: alone, unsure of what had happened. She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off her desolation.
Marcus stood there like a granite pillar: imposing and invincible. His hands clasped together in front of his immaculate dark fitted suit. Next to him was Jake, who stood close to the tall and elegant Josephine, her mother-in-law. The team from Orion formed a tight circle around the grave. The beautiful Isabella, Bella for short, stood opposite her, and Ella lifted her gaze to watch the flaming redhead. But as their eyes met, she broke her hold. She didn’t want to be here, and she didn’t want the pity that stared at her from each and every face.
Looking back at Isabella, she saw tears in the young woman’s green eyes. For a moment, she wondered why she hadn’t been able to cry yet. Her baby hadn’t been due for another four weeks and yet its life was over. Ella cast her eyes over her slim frame. The weight had slipped off her; it wasn’t intentional—she didn’t feel hungry. Her stomach was flat and, apart from the scar, there was no evidence of her pregnancy. She heaved out a long breath, and vowed she would never bear a child again. What happened only confirmed her fears. She wasn’t supposed to be a mother. She loved Marcus, but she couldn’t stay with him any longer.
He deserved someone normal.
She knew he suffered and questioned everything. The rift between them wouldn’t heal, and she needed to make her move before they completed the mating ritual for real this time. Ariana explained in part what she had meant about the transformation, knowing right away she had not finished the ritual with Marcus because of her scent.
They could still part from each other without it killing them. The loss they shared would always be there. This was her destiny. Pain and suffering. She could deal with that if she could take out those responsible.
The cemetery was on a hill overlooking the moody ocean. A good place to rest, she thought.
Marcus left her side to carry out his final duty as a father to their daughter. He walked with a determined stride, carrying the tiny white coffin to the equally small hollow in the earth. The priest said his prayers, anointing the wooden box and sprinkling holy water over the burial ground.
None of this felt real. As she stared at the white casket, there was no sense of her child at all. Part of her believed she would instinctively feel a connection, an unbreakable thread like the umbilical cord. When she closed her eyes, the only sensation that echoed was a baby’s insistent cry.
She flicked her vision toward the trees that swayed with the increasing breeze and back at her side, where Marcus now stood. Looking at the grave once more, the coffin was hidden from view. Ben Steel, Jake, and the team each passed the grave and dropped a white orchid before passing her. They all spoke kind words but as the clouds rolled in, obscuring the sun, a rain shower started and Ella blanked out the voices, refusing to accept their words of comfort. The cold raindrops fell on her skin, cleansing her, but she kept her eyes glued on the grave. Marcus laced his fingers with hers; she let him lead her over to stand at the final resting place of her baby. She couldn’t look down. The smell of fresh rain and damp earth did nothing to soothe her. She didn’t want to see the coffin. It wasn’t right. Letting go of Marcus’s hold, she walked away. There were no funeral limousines and Ella pulled the door open to Marcus’s black Humvee. Josephine and Jake sat in the back, talking softly. As she sat down, she glanced over at a subdued Josephine. Jake had his arm around Marcus’s mother but he stared out the window.
Ella didn’t have anything to say and sat still, studying the splashes of water trickling down the glass window. Outside, the rain increased and she watched as Marcus ran to the car, soaked through. The car door open, he dove inside and without another word, he turned the ignition on and the engine purred to life. The short drive back to their home was in silence. Once there, the rain paused to allow them to exit the car without getting wet. Jake helped Josephine. Ella studied the smart lady and sensed a new fragility about her. Her once bright-white aura appeared fuzzy. As Josephine climbed the steps, she leaned heavily on Jake. Ella swallowed as she finally grabbed the door handle to leave.
“Ella, I was wrong. You don’t have to do this. We can sit and just talk or we can go somewhere else if you’d prefer.”
After going through with the funeral that Marcus had organized, Ella was determined to see it through until the end. She dressed all in black, complete with leather jacket and boots. There was no mistaking she was in mourning but she longed to close the door on grief, and focus on revenge. Ella pushed the door open and stepped down. She brushed her hair back over her shoulders, where it reached down between her shoulder blades, and strode into the house, unaware whether Marcus had followed or not. When she opened the door, the heat of the room stifled her, and she stood for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. The distinguished Ben Steel stood a couple of feet away, surrounded by his team of striking men and Marcus’s band of military brothers. He caught her eye and nodded at his men, leaving them to come to her side. He lifted her hand and squeezed it. It shocked her with his unexpected familiarity, but Ella allowed the contact. She stood awkwardly at the door, unmoving.
“You need a drink. Come on, allow me.” Cradling her arm through his, he led her away from the gathering and moved them into the corner of the kitchen. He promptly poured a steep measure of whiskey. The smell of chicken and fragrant spices wafted around her, but she couldn’t stomach a morsel. She stared at the whiskey, which she hated, but knew the alcohol would numb her devastation. Ben handed her the glass tumbler and she took it as the front door clicked open. Marcus stepped inside and instantly, she knew he searched for her.
He removed his jacket and threw it on the side table before sweeping his gaze around. It wasn’t long before he found her and pinned her with his dark glare as she stood next to Ben. Lifting her glass, she saluted him and downed the whiskey in one swallow, pushing the glass back at Ben. People chatted and milled around, unaware of her spiraling, out-of-control feelings. She didn’t want any of them here. She wanted to be alone.
“Another one.”
Ben filled the glass and before he finished, she snatched it from his hand and poured it down her throat. She c
hoked as the liquid slipped down and stung the back of her throat. It was strong and it added a fire to her bones.
“Ella, I’m sorry for your loss. Nothing will make this any easier, but I’m here for you.”
Ben stepped closer and his imposing shadow fell across her. She blinked and sighed. She didn’t know the full story of the “Silver Fox”—her nickname for Ben—but he had always been direct and genuine with her. She appreciated that. He stood there like all the other ex-military men in her home—intensely masculine and hard. They were an intimidating band of warriors with the sheer strength and power that oozed from them, as well as handsome—if you liked them a little battered and bruised around the edges. He was older than the others and appeared aloof and solitary at times, hence her nickname for him. They were all quick, deadly intelligent, and without mistake, hunters seeking their prey.
“Thank you.”
Ella removed her jacket and placed it on the countertop. She reached for the whiskey bottle as she studied Marcus greet his mother with a warm embrace and a kiss on each cheek. The natural tenderness was touching. He spoke with Josephine and she nodded in response. Something was amiss. The aura that surrounded his mother wasn’t as strong as normal and yet, she didn’t remember him saying Josephine was ill. Marcus left his mother’s side and headed toward her. Ella unscrewed the cap and smiled at Ben, who examined her face thoughtfully as she poured another large measure.
“The alcohol is good for shock but you need something else to get through this,” he said.
Ella stared at the lines on his forehead and the tentative smile that lurked on his face.
