My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8)(11)

“Flame!” I jumped forward. Flame rushed out of my way and backed against the kitchen wall until he hit the plaster with a dull thud. “What is happening?” I demanded, fear becoming my leading emotion.

Flame’s muscular neck corded with tension, but with a gentle and lost hopelessness in his voice, said, “I’m hurting you.” He stared at his palms like they were the Antichrist. They were shaking. It destroyed me, eviscerating my heart, which was waiting for his confession, before beating again. Flame looked into my eyes as he began to crumble. “You’re still sick. I can still see it on your face, on your pale lips. You never lie to me. But I know you’re sick. I’m…” I froze as Flame reached out his hand, stopping just a hairsbreadth from my cheek. His gaze shone with unshed tears of agony. “It’s me,” he stated, so quietly I could scarcely hear his deep, broken timbre. “It’s finally happening.” He dropped his hand and ran his fingertips down the pattern of the veins on his wrist. “The flames are growing stronger. They’re getting to you too.” Flame blinked and a tear dropped to his chest, slipping under the collar of his white shirt. “I can’t hurt you. Not my Maddie. I can’t. I won’t …”

My stomach turned, nausea building in my throat. I shook my head since I could not find my voice. “No,” I rasped, realization dawning on me like the sun bursting from behind a gray cloud. “Flame.” I took a few slow steps forward. My husband looked lost, at a loss for what to do. “It is my fault.” The confession slipped easily from my lips. I had kept this from him. All the while, he had believed he was hurting me. He watched me. He always watched me. I loved that he cared for me so profoundly. But seeing me tired and sick … What had I done? He paid too much attention to me to believe there was nothing wrong, even though I told him I was fine.

“I promise I am not sick.” I reached for his hand and clasped mine tightly around it. Flame tried to draw it back, to pull away, but I held on tight. “Your touch does not harm me,” I said sternly. Flame froze in fear. Moving onto my tiptoes, I pressed my free hand to his bearded cheek. “I am not sick, baby.” I brought our hands to my lips and kissed along his tattooed, scarred skin. It bumped at my touch. A quick breath left his slightly parted lips. I watched the inner struggle, the pain I knew plagued him, drain from his body.

“Maddie,” Flame murmured, his voice graveled with emotion. His hand tightened in mine, so gentle in contrast to his large frame. “I can’t hurt you. Not you.” My eyes fluttered to a close when his other hand passed by my cheek and threaded into my long black hair. “Not you. You’re…” My eyes opened and I watched him search for a word to convey his feelings. To express the emotion he always struggled to comprehend. “I love you. I would die if you died.”

“Flame…”

“You keep the flames away. The devil doesn’t touch me when you’re near.”

Moving my head closer, I pressed my lips to his. It had taken us a long time to arrive at this moment. Both wary of affection and touch because of the monsters in our pasts. But, together, we’d chased the monsters back into their caves. We worked tirelessly every day to keep them at bay. And our kisses… every kiss we shared was our collective battle cry that we would not be taken down so easily again. Together we were stronger. Love helped us keep standing.

Flame moaned against my mouth. I could feel his reluctance to let go. I knew the voice inside his head would be telling him he was hurting me, that I would be harmed—the voice of his father, who had plagued him with self-doubt and hatred. So, I kissed Flame harder, running my hands along his broad shoulders until he had no choice but to respond. He pushed both hands into my hair and kissed me back with abandon. The relief was palpable inside me as his fingers moved through my long strands. “I am not hurt,” I whispered against his mouth. Flame moaned louder, a pained and disbelieving sound. “Your touch will never hurt me.” I kissed Flame between my words, never breaking the contact he so desperately feared. “You are not evil, and you will never be anything to me but my husband, whom I love so, so much.”

“Maddie.” Flame dropped his forehead to mine, just breathing in the air we shared as he held me in his tremulous hands. “I can’t lose you.”

“You will not,” I said and took a step back. With a reassuring smile on my lips, I led him into our bedroom. Flame followed. I knew he would always follow me, just as I would forever follow him. Once inside our bedroom, our place of solace, where so many demons had been silenced by our joinings, I closed the door. I wanted to banish the world for a while. Needed just him and me. Flame needed to be brought back to a place of peace, with me.

I needed him too. He calmed the fire in my own blood.

Flame kept his gaze on me as I gently placed my hands on his chest. His muscles twitched beneath my palms, but my husband stood still and allowed me to caress him. His breathing increased in tempo. It would always be this way, I understood that. Being touched would never come easily to him. But with me, it was something he could stand. With me, it was something he could treasure and enjoy. It was something he had learned to crave. As I did him. After years of rape and sadistic abuse, I felt completely safe with this man whom I loved beyond measure.

With careful hands, I rolled off Flame’s cut, hearing it fall to the floor. Running my hands back down his chest, I reached the hem of his shirt and slowly slid it over his torso, his flame tattoos shining in vibrant reds and oranges as he was bared to my eyes. The tattoos reminded Flame of demons and the sin and hellfire he believed ran through his veins. To me they were a vibrant sunset, the colorful antithesis of darkness offering the promise of a new day.