Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(17)

“I’ll do it,” Kilter said.

Hack snorted.

“Kilter, maybe she’d be more comfortable with another woman?” Anstice said.

Kilter shifted his food around on his plate, lips pursed together. When he met my gaze, he nodded to my plate. “Eat something.”

Everyone thought it was so easy to eat. Bite, crunch, chew, and swallow. Putting food in my mouth was like handing over the keys to my soul. It was easier to suffer. Safer. It didn’t hurt anyone but me, and it gave me control, something I’d never had in my life. The only time I lost that control was when Anton drugged me and forced food in me.

That was when despair was the greatest. Total loss of my life.

I shuffled the food around on my plate, but I couldn’t eat. I was never hungry anymore; my stomach was so accustomed to being empty that the sensation had disappeared.

“Fuck,” Kilter mumbled then dropped his fork on his plate, got up from the table, kicked his chair aside, and left the room.

A part of me wanted to rush after him. And do what? Lie and tell him I’d eat. I was caught in this web of mind play that I knew was killing me, but hiding who I was became more important than living.

“If you choose not to eat, that’s your choice, Rayne,” Anstice said. She half-smiled and tilted her head, and a long lock of red hair fell against her right cheek. “And I know it will take time, but we’re here to help. You’re free now.”

Free? Was I, though? Physically I was, but mentally, I was trapped within my body. Afraid of shadows, of what was around the next corner.

Jedrik got up, cleared his throat, and then punched Hack in the shoulder when he continued to shovel food into his mouth. “What?”

Jedrik raised his brows.

Hack looked at me then Anstice. “Right. Yeah.”

They picked up their plates and left the dining room.

As soon as they did, Anstice leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “I don’t know what happened to you. All I know is what Quill told us last night and what my husband told me from when Ryker was held captive.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on mine. “And what my body tells me.”

I slipped my hand out from under hers and placed it in my lap. The Wraith woman, Genevieve, was able to get into my head when she touched me, and I wasn’t chancing Anstice being able to do that, too.

Anstice continued, “You know about us and our abilities?” I nodded. “Well, I’m a Scar Healer.” Anton had talked about Healers a lot because he’d wanted to get his hands on one. “I’m able to heal wounds and I feel when a body is hurting.” She paused. “Your body is hurting, Rayne.”

I knew my body was hurting, but I was screwed up and self-destructing. It had been too long living this way, and now I couldn’t find my way back. I didn’t know if I wanted to.

She stood. “Come on. I’ll show you the movies.”




Anstice laughed while tapping her finger on the computer screen to a movie called Mr. and Mrs. Smith. “Look at this.” She pointed to Jedrik’s comment and rating below. “This is so him. Triple ten and, ‘She can shoot me anytime.’” She rolled her eyes. “He’s harmless, but a total player. He and Delara are best friends. You’ll meet her soon. Right now, she’s living at my best friend’s place above her art gallery.”

I kind of guessed that about Jedrik by his wink and cocky smile. My eyes shifted down the screen and stopped on Hannah’s name. There was a ten rating and the comment, ‘Now he is one hot guy.’ A bold line stroked out the word ‘he’ and Hannah had replaced the name with ‘Ryker.’

Oh, my God. “Hannah,” I whispered.

Hannah had been Ryker’s wife. My husband’s men had killed her and kidnapped Ryker when they raided the house in Newfoundland. I still heard Ryker’s haunted, anguished cry in my dreams as Hannah’s name tore from his lungs.

Anton had strapped him to a cold steel table and made me watch as they stuck needles in his arms to give him drugs, forcing him to submit.

“Hannah stayed here a few days a number of years ago. I never had the chance to meet her, as it was before I met Keir,” Anstice said.

Ryker’s rage had emanated from every pore—the dark vengeance in his piercing eyes and the insanity in his screams. I’d stood in the far corner of the laboratory, my trembling hand covering my mouth, eyes wide with horror. When Ryker’s eyes locked on me, he became a crazed, rabid animal.

I’d run, ignoring my husband’s furious order to stop. I’d hid in the sub-basement, crawling in the small space between the fridge and the counter in the kitchen. I huddled into a ball and covered my ears, trying to block out Ryker’s screams.

Roarke was the one who found me hours later. He’d crouched in front of me and held out his hand, not smiling, because Roarke rarely smiled, but there was gentleness in his eyes, gentleness he only showed me.

I took it and he pulled me out, but he didn’t make me leave. Instead, he sat on the floor, propped himself against the fridge, and pulled me between his bent knees so my back was against his chest. Then he wrapped one arm around me and eased my head onto his shoulder while he gently stroked my hair.

He held me like that for a long time, silently, until I finally relaxed.

When he helped me to my feet and took me to my bedroom, he told me he’d upped the sedation on Ryker as soon as Anton left.