Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(36)

God, it had been months since I fainted. How did Delara manage to get me back here?

I tried to sit up, but Delara put her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t get up. You’re still really pale.”

The duvet was pulled up over me, and yet I still felt chilled. I’d fainted a few times at the compound, but each time had been during one of Anton’s sessions when he pushed me too hard. “How did I get here?”

Delara removed the cloth from my forehead. “I called Jedrik. He wasn’t far.” Her brows lowered. “If I had my way, we’d be at the hospital.” Delara’s tone was soft, but there was an underlying tense tone. “But Jedrik called Anstice and we gave her your vitals and what happened, and she said you more than likely passed out.” She paused. “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

I stared at the ceiling, knowing I had to do something or, like Kilter said, I was going to die. “No.”

She squeezed my shoulder. “You need help, Rayne. And if you don’t get it soon, you’re going to drop in the middle of the street one day. What if you’d been alone tonight?” Her hand slid from my shoulder and she sighed. “I know you can’t see it, but you’re fading away. Your body can’t function without fuel, and you’re not giving it any.”

“I know.” And I did, but I was safe here. I had control and no one could hurt me.

“Your body is screaming for help, and if you don’t give it what it needs you will die. I don’t think you want that. Not now.”

“There is so much more.” This may have started as a way to protect myself, but over the last number of years, it developed into much more than that. It became my power and I didn’t want to lose that.

“All the more reason. Jedrik called Waleron and he thinks he found someone you can talk to.” Delara reached for the bottled water on the nightstand and cracked the lid, passing it to me. I sat up, tilted the bottle, and swallowed a few gulps. “I get that it’s hard to change and you don’t want to. Shit, I run from everything, and I’ve done some stupid things, still do. But I’m not sick, Rayne. And, I’m not dying.” She paused. “Will you try?”

She was right, but facing the reality of it was harder. I’d fought a battle inside myself for so long, and I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I wanted to find peace, but there was only two ways. Let go or fight harder to win this battle.

I just didn’t know if I had any fight left in me.





DAYS AND NIGHTS WOVE into one another as I hung like a lamb to slaughter. My telepathy was useless. Vision ability a detriment to myself with the steel covering my eyes. And my Ink lay still and quiet, which wasn’t a good sign.

A couple men had replaced the steel bucket with a steel band that slipped over my head and covered my eyes. I’d fought them and got a knife across the face from ear to brow. It wasn’t deep enough to kill me, just make the rats happy.

I lived in complete darkness for weeks, or what I thought was weeks. I heard rats scurry across the dirt floor beneath my feet and, occasionally, when I dozed off, they’d nibble on my feet or try to crawl up my legs to get to the blood.

My throat was raw from shouting curses at my brother and from lack of water and food. He knew I’d survive longer than a human without food and water, and he was testing my limits.

It was hard to think in this damp hellhole. My calm, logical mind played games with me as days crept by. I kept going over and over in my head why my brother would turn on me. What had I done to push Ulrich this far?

I knew I’d die in this place. Ulrich wanted me to die, but not yet. For some reason, he liked watching me suffer.

And yeah, I wanted to die. Never thought I’d ever think that, but hearing Gemma’s screams echo outside the door was worse than any torture I could imagine. And my brother knew it.

Day after day, I struggled against my bonds, ripping my flesh open until blood pooled on the dirt floor where rats relished in a feeding frenzy. Cursing my brother. Then begging him to let Gemma go.

But it was when her screams stopped that the ultimate torture began. I didn’t know what happened to her, whether he’d killed her or let her go or maybe she was so broken that she no longer screamed.

Agony. Day after day in silence.

I hung limp against the manacles, no longer able to hold my head up or shout. And I didn’t want to. I had nothing left. Was nothing.

Gemma. I failed her. I failed my clan. The Scars.

That was when I died inside and something ugly rose from within.





“How much do you weigh, Rayne?”

“I don’t know.” I shifted uneasily in my seat. I didn’t want to talk about my weight.

Why had I agreed to see this woman? Because you need help. I’d reminded myself of that all the way here. Delara had insisted on accompanying me, and it was a relief to know, if I collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk, at least Delara could pick up my broken pieces.

“Rayne, I know you want to walk out of here.” Understatement. “You don’t know me and this is a very personal subject to talk about. That’s normal. But I want you to know that I care what happens to you.” She leaned forward, her forearms resting on her knees, her gaze intent. “If you continue to lose weight, you will die.” She softened her voice. “Do you want to die, Rayne?”