Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(33)

DELARA CHANGED GEARS AND sped away from the red light. “Danni’s apartment is above her art gallery. Balen, that’s her other half, bought a house in the Rosedale area, so I’ve been crashing there. It’s small, but has two bedrooms and is in a great part of the city.”

I sat staring out the window, an ache in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was from—Kilter. He’d become my safety net, a safety net with holes, but still a safety net. And now that was gone.

Delara reached over and put her hand on mine. “It’ll be fine. You’re going to be okay.” She squeezed my hand, and then put it back on the steering wheel. “You’re pretty screwed up.”

My eyes darted to her. I was, but I hadn’t expected her to say that. At least not to my face.

She laughed. “Hey, I’m allowed to say that because I’m completely screwed up.” She stopped the car, shifted into reverse, and parallel parked before turning to me. “What I’m saying is, I get it. I mean, I don’t know what you went through? but I get the hurt. The wanting to be numb and keep everyone behind a wall.”

Before I could say anything, she jumped out, and put coins in a big green box on the sidewalk. It spit out a piece of paper, which she placed in the car windshield.

“Come on. Let’s get you settled in. And you’ll need some clothes. We’ll have to go shopping at some point.”

“I, ah…” Don’t have any money.

“Waleron pays. Scars money. You saw the private jet?” I nodded. “Yeah, well, money isn’t a problem. Being immortal has its perks.”

Relying on others was the last thing I wanted to do, especially if they were Scars, but right now, I had no choice.

Delara weaved through the people on the busy sidewalk and stopped at a glass storefront. I got out of the car and followed, looking up at the sign, ‘Danielle’s’ then in smaller writing, ‘art gallery.’

In the window was a stunning abstract painting of a herd of horses running along the beach. Glistening drops of water glimmered on their coats as the sun peeked through the storm clouds on the right; the magnificent creatures surrounded by an array of purples and reds.

But it was the enormous portrait I saw when I walked in that had me awestruck with its haunting beauty. It hung alone on a half-wall at the back of the gallery. I ambled up to it, stopped a few feet away, and stared at the beautiful man with rainforest-green eyes.

It was magnificent, as if the man stared right into the depths of your soul. Wet strands of hair hung down the sides of his deep cheekbones with one teardrop pooling in his left eye. The brush strokes were bold, and at the same time, the subtle mixing had softened the course roughness of his features.

“That’s Balen. Danni used to paint him all the time. Long story,” Delara said. “She’s a brilliant artist.” Delara tugged me further into the gallery. “Hey, Danni? You here?”

A crash sounded behind the end wall with the portrait on it and a giggle followed. An orange cat careened around the corner, slid into an easel, and made a dash for a window where he leapt up onto the ledge and sat peering outside.

“Stop, Balen,” a girl said.

I heard a light slap, and then a petite woman emerged while readjusting her clothes. She was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a pink T-shirt that had numerous red and brown paint splatters. Her auburn hair was curled up around a pencil, revealing an oval face, which sported a blush on both cheeks.

“Delar, hey,” she said.

Delara put her hand lightly on my lower back. “Danni, this is Rayne.”

Danni stepped forward and immediately offered her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you. I just heard from Anstice. She said you’re going to share the apartment. That’s amazing.”

I heard footsteps come up from behind the half-wall and looked over her shoulder.

“And this is my other half, Balen,” Danni said.

The man in the painting. Holy shit. He looked even better in real life.

He was tall with tattoos running down his left arm to his elbow and muscled, but not bulky, kind of like Kilter in stature.

He nodded to me then came up behind Danni and put his hands on her hips. She leaned back into him and his arms slid around her waist.

The three chatted for a few minutes while I watched, uncertain what to do. Their conversation flowed easily, like that of old friends. I felt the complete opposite, like a ghost standing in the shadows, alone and with nothing important to say. My experiences were so limited, my life so controlled that attempting to socialize with people was awkward.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Delara nudged my arm with her elbow. “We’ll shower and get settled in first.” She turned back to Danni and Balen. “Let’s say we meet at the pub around two?”

A shower sounded like heaven; going to a pub was more like a nightmare.

Balen swung Danni around in his arms, placing a brief kiss on her lips, then leaned in to her and whispered something in her ear. She smacked him playfully in the chest and he laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Delara whispered, “Balen is Anstice’s brother and what I consider jam—sweet, smooth, and delicious. And he is totally in love with Danni. Come on. I’ll show you the apartment.”

Danni snagged a cell phone from the easel tray where tubes of paint sat, tapped on the screen, and put it to her ear as she called out, “I’m calling Jedrik. He’ll be pissed if we don’t invite him.”