Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(112)

“Damn it why, Maitagarri?”

Her chin dropped. “You’re right, you know. We’re better apart.”

Fuck, no, we weren’t, but I’d never let anyone harm her and I was a threat. Still, I didn’t want her to go. “Don’t leave yet.”

She pried her arm from my grip, pitched forward as if to take a step, then stopped. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting my intense stare. Something in her softened.

“You’re good at what you do. Leading the Scars. Fighting to protect the laws. It’s what you live for. That’s who you are, Tac. Maybe I thought one day you might… no, not maybe, I did think one day you’d be able to share that life with me.”

Cold crept into me like a slow, deep freeze. Inch by inch. Every word out of her mouth was a death sentence, and it was because this wasn’t an argument or a heated passionate fight. This was Delara being calm and rational.

“I never thought I’d have the chance to see my child. Never. God, she is so special, Tac.” She lowered her voice. “I wanted more than anything for you to have that special. Have a piece of us. Hold our child. Know her. Watch her grow into a beautiful strong woman. That’s all I wanted from the moment I knew I was pregnant.”

I stiffened. “You should’ve told me.”

She didn’t say anything.

Then she stood on her tiptoes, tilted her head, and lightly kissed me on the mouth. “You did good, Waleron.” She never called me Waleron—Never. “With Abby. Jedrik told me what you did. She’ll learn to adjust, even if she doesn’t realize that now. Maybe some of that ice around your heart is melting.”

“Abby hates me,” I said. “As does Damien. I don’t know what he will do if he ever finds out she’s alive.”

Delara half-smiled. “I do. He’ll go after her.” She ran a finger across my jaw. A touch so familiar, yet so lost to the memories I had to bury. “We have a remarkable daughter who came from our love, Waleron. That is more special than you’ll ever know.”

My breath stilled as a single tear trailed down her cheek. Everything inside me wanted to grab her and not let go, but instead, I stared, unable to move as Delara picked up her bag and brushed by me.

I listened to her footsteps on the stairs, and then the gallery door opened and closed.

“Maitagarri,” I whispered.

She was gone.

“Fuuuuuck!” A deep, crazed roar escaped.

My Ink burned around my throat. Its movement just as crazed as my shout as it violently tried to escape me. I picked up a chair and threw it across the room. It crashed into the wall, breaking apart.

It was the beginning of my destruction.





Four weeks later

“BABE, SERIOUSLY?”

I strolled out of the washroom wearing the pink sundress I’d purchased in town. It clung to my curves. Curves I now had and loved when I looked in the mirror. Curves Kilter definitely loved, which made me love them even more.

I twirled. The dress flared out at the hem mid-thigh. “You like it?” I knew he did by the look in his eyes. That smoldering look that was often accompanied with a growl or groan.

“No way. You’re not wearing that.”

I laughed. He’d said that about my bikini when we arrived on the island. It seemed Kilter had issues with me being scantily clothed, and I was learning to embrace it. Of course, he was being irrational. We were on vacation on an island that was sunny, hot, and required less clothing.

Kilter had been relentless in his pursuit of finding two cottages within walking distance of one another. He’d finally managed it in the Turks and Caicos, and we’d been here for a month now.

Delara arrived two weeks ago and stayed in a cottage down the beach from us. She didn’t say where she’d been as she’d left Toronto the same day we did. Nor did she talk about what happened with Waleron, but I knew it wasn’t good, because anytime his name came up, she avoided the subject. If he called, which he did often, and Delara was with me, she moved away.

“Is it the pink?” I looked down at my dress to hide my smile. It wasn’t the pink. “I thought you like pink, hon.”

He snorted. “Don’t like f*ckin’ pink. Told you that.”

I cocked my hip, hands on them. “Not true. You said you liked me in pink.” He so did, and that’s why I bought the dress today when I saw it in the window. Well, one of the reasons. The other was for the exact look in his eyes right now—heated.

“Pink panties. And I was taking them off you.”

“Tore.”

“Babe?”

“You weren’t taking them off me. You tore them off me.” He stood at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the beach and ocean. A breeze from the open sliding glass doors ruffled his hair and the white dress shirt he wore.

He looked hot in a dress shirt and jeans. Cuffs undone and sleeves rolled loosely and uneven. The top two buttons were also undone and the shirt wasn’t tucked, but hung casually over the waist of his jeans. His leather belt peeked out from the bottom slit at the center of the shirt.

“You done?”

My eyes darted back up to his. I’d been admiring him and he noticed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t appreciating the attention. “I’ll never be done.”