Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(11)

I slammed my fist into the hood of the car and Anstice jumped, but stood her ground. “Do you love her?” she bravely or foolishly repeated.

I met her eyes, unflinching. “Yes,” I said. But it didn’t matter.

“Then why, Waleron? Why?”

I stiffened, grabbed the door handle, and yanked the door open. “I can’t have her. This conversation is over. Don’t ever bring it up again. Get in.”

She paused, eyes softening. “Whether you can’t or won’t have her you need to unclip the leash and let her go.”





Toronto

“NOOO!”

I jolted awake to the same horrific scream from the rooftop. One I swore I never wanted to hear again. Never thought I would.

I leapt off the lounge chair I’d fallen asleep in last night, knife drawn as I scanned the bedroom.

My eyes landed on Rayne frantically wrestling with the sheets that had twisted around her legs.

“Jesus Christ.” I stalked across the room and reached her just as she tumbled to the floor in a mess of limbs. “What the f*ck?” Scowling, I bent and held out my hand to help her up.

Her eyes shifted to my hand then to my face. Her eyes wide and terrified she scuttled back on her palms until her spine hit the nightstand and knocked over the glass of water.

“Babe, I just saved your f*ckin’ life. You think I’d hit you?” The morning sun’s rays flashed on the steel blade in my hand. Fuck. Right. I sighed and placed it back in my boot before straightening.

I reached for her again and she flinched. Jesus Christ.

I lowered my arm. “I’ll tell a woman she’s a bitch when she’s being a bitch. I’ll do what I have to if she’s being stupid and going to get hurt. And, yeah, I’ve lied to get what I need done. Did it to you once; it was a mistake and I won’t do it again. But I’ll never hit a f*ckin’ innocent chick. She hits me first, I walk away. She does it again, I make sure she stops another way. But never will I lay a fist on her. You got that?”

She nodded. Carefully, she climbed to her feet, bringing the sheet with her and pulling it up in front of her like a shield.

“You can call me Kilter.” I chin-lifted to the bowl of soup on the nightstand and the plate of fruit. “I made soup earlier. It’ll be cold by now. Eat the fruit.”

She watched me, her fingers on her throat as if waiting for me to finish what her husband started. I couldn’t blame her. Shit, her husband had obviously abused her, how bad I had no idea, but by the look in her eyes, it was bad. I wanted to rip the pompous-ass into a thousand pieces and feed him to a horde of vampires.

I was uncertain if she took in anything I said, because her lips quivered and tears pooled in her eyes. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m not,” she said.

“Yeah, babe, you are. I see the tears. Why?”

She shook her head, eyes on the floor to hide the tears, and hair falling forward on either side of her face.

“Why?”

She hesitated before saying, “You.”

“Me?” Really, I shouldn’t be surprised. I just scared the shit out of her.

“You risked your life for me,” she offered in a quiet voice. “You helped me. No one has done that before.”

Her words slammed into me. Fuck.

I sat on the edge of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees, head bowed. No one had helped her before. Jesus. I got that. Lived it.

After a few minutes of silence, she said, “Is he really dead?”

At the sound of her voice, my heart skipped a beat then settled back down to a steady rhythm. I nodded. “Yeah, babe. Made sure of it. Can’t live after a knife wound like that.”

I felt her response to my words. I f*ckin’ felt it. I shouldn’t be able to feel her overwhelming relief, but I did. A Scar Reflector was able to take in others’ emotions, but I wasn’t a Reflector. I was a Visionary.

What the hell? My heart pounded and chest tightened. I had to get the f*ck out of here.

I stood and headed for the door. “Take a shower. You’re filthy. Clothes are on the counter.”

I shut the door harder than necessary because I was reeling from whatever the hell that was between us.

I blocked others’ thoughts from my mind and refused to let anyone into mine, but her, she just filtered into me. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the connection, and I didn’t like how I had no idea what that shit was about.

I hesitated outside her door until I heard the shower turn on, then grabbed the sheets from the closet and made the bed in the guest room. It was too late when we arrived last night, so I’d put her in my bedroom and crashed in the chair while listening to her breathe.

I used the guest bathroom to shower and re-dress my shoulder. When I came back to my room, I expected her to be done—she wasn’t.

I walked over to the bathroom and knocked. “Babe?”

No answer, but the shower was going and steam seeped out from under the door.

I tried the door handle—locked.

I knocked again. “Rayne?” It had been twenty-five minutes, no way she could still be showering. “Open the f*ckin’ door.”

I tried to unlock it using my mind—and normally it would take me two seconds—but with my lack of sleep over the last three weeks and my wounded shoulder, my abilities had shut down.