Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2)(48)

“Yeah,” she said.

“Damn it, look at me!” When she ignored me, I cupped her chin and forced her to meet my eyes. I might hate being here, but I never shirked my responsibilities, and right now, Abby was mine. “You won’t be a vampire, okay? I won’t let it happen. We do this detox shit and you can go back to your coven and we can forget any of this happened.” I didn’t mention the baby because the chance of it surviving was slim to none.

Silence.

My fingers pressed into her chin and she tried to jerk away, but I tightened my grip. Her hand reached up and latched onto my wrist as she dug her nails into me until I let her go.

“Abby.”

She met my eyes and we stared at one another for several seconds. She licked her dry lips and my eyes darted to her mouth.

“So what happens, Damien? I live in a box and you guard it?”

“Pretty much.” This was so much worse than I imagined. And I imagined this scenario as being pretty f*ckin’ bad. “Balen says it will be worse at night, but once the craving fades, you won’t Transition.”

Her head dropped forward and her hair shielded her face. “Think the baby will survive the detox?”

“Christ, Abbs.” How the f*ck could I answer that? I put the car into gear and swerved back into traffic. “I don’t know.”

She shrugged and leaned her head back on the headrest. “Yeah, I guess not.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed her hand unconsciously caress her abdomen while she looked out the window. It was a sight I’d remember for the rest of my life.

Beautiful.

Mesmerizing.

So unaware and peaceful, and yet, what was about to happen would be anything but.

Balen said she’d more than likely lose the baby. But I couldn’t tell her that.

Abby had been a fling. A hot, sexy witch I f*cked while I’d been in town. That was all it was supposed to be. I’d made that clear before I’d taken her back to the hotel. She’d known I was leaving to go home to Florida.

I was supposed to f*ckin’ forget all about her.

But I never had.





“I WANT TO TALK about your childhood today,” Rebecca said.

I sat crossed-legged on the sunflower-printed couch, two white throw pillows, which I’d thrown across the room numerous times in sessions, nestled beside me, and an assortment of stuffed animals perched along the back of it. I was thinking about Delara, not what Rebecca was saying.

In the past two weeks, Delara was distant, not sleeping at the gallery most nights and returning in the wee hours of the morning. Her eyes were red rimmed and I wasn’t sure if it was from being tired or she’d been crying.

Last night, I woke at dawn to her and Jedrik arguing in the alley below my window. I heard snippets of words mentioned when Jedrik raised his voice. Something about Liam, Abby, and Waleron.

“Rayne?” Rebecca said.

“Yeah, sorry.” I looked up.

“Your childhood. Before Anton.”

I’d avoided talking about my childhood over the last few sessions. “I don’t remember much.”

“Let’s start with your parents. What were they like?”

I pulled a pillow into my lap and played with the tassels hanging from the corners. “When I was ten, they died in a car crash. I barely remember them.” My father received an emergency call from the hospital; a bus had flipped over on highway 400. They needed him and my mom in the E.R. Both being doctors, they often had emergencies. Anton had been a neighbor who had become a good friend of theirs. He looked after me if they were both called in at the same time.

They never made it home that night. Ironically, their car was hit by a truck on the highway and killed them both instantly. The driver of the truck was never found.

“Rayne, you’re avoiding the question,” Rebecca said. “That is what happened to them, not who they were.”

I tightened my hold on the pillow. “I was too young to remember them.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” Rebecca tapped her pen on her thigh, and with her silence, I knew what it meant. She’d sit and wait until I gave her something.

“Mom was quiet and calm and cared about everyone. Even when I got into trouble, I remember her being… I don’t know, just loving.”

“So, you were a curious child? Got into trouble?”

I shrugged. “Once I walked out the front door and wandered two streets over and sat on the edge of a pool. I couldn’t swim. Mom called the police and my dad had to come home from work. The owners of the house found me and I got a lecture from the police.”

“What did your parents do?”

“I don’t remember much. Just the police officer with the big moustache crouching down in front of me. He was so big and scary.” I looked at the pillow I clutched to my chest then said, “My mom and dad hugged me. And they cried.”

“So you were a pretty brave little kid?”

“I guess. I mean, I wasn’t scared of much.” Plus, I had Serafina, although I kept my friend a secret from my parents. They knew about the Ink because they taught me the words of how to call to it, but I was only allowed to if I was ever in danger. Of course, that only encouraged me to call to my Ink when they weren’t around. Serafina and I would play games and laugh—she was my best friend. Until Anton.