Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(122)

The mountain, the forest, his world, his sanctuary, was a hostile, unyielding place. He couldn’t see its beauty, didn’t want its beauty.

Nothing—no one—could take her from him. She was life. She was happiness. She was his only reason to keep going. He needed her desperately. Her sisters couldn’t have her. They didn’t need her the way he did. He had been so alone, so empty. Each day, he had worked, breathed, lived as an automation, and then she had come into his life and everything in him had come alive.

They couldn’t take her from him. The universe couldn’t be that cruel. He wanted to scream his denial, but he needed to save his strength. He ran through the trees, leapt over rocks, foliage tearing at his skin. His damaged leg throbbed and burned right along with his lungs, but the image of her rising up to taunt him kept him running. Why had he left her? Why had he allowed them to be separated when she was so uncertain about their future? He had known she was wavering—feeling uncomfortable and unsure of herself in a foreign environment. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant and bossy. He could have asked—not ordered—her to go into the tunnels.

He wouldn’t let anyone take her from him. She could understand his turbulent nature, his wild cravings, and he understood her need for freedom. He recognized strength in her, an iron will, the same as it was in him. He recognized her loyalty; it ran deep and pure, the same as it was in him. They fit together, two halves of the same whole. They belonged.

He burst from the forest and half ran, half slid down the trail into the yard, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes a little wild. He ran across the uneven terrain. Dusk was falling. The house was dark, forbidding, silent. There were no lights on in the interior.

He flung open the kitchen door, his heart pounding, a raw gaping wound growing in his gut. She was gone. He knew it with such certainty he didn’t need to tear through the house, running insanely from room to room, screaming her name hoarsely, but he did it anyway.

“Mari! Damn you, Mari, come back to me.”

He heard his own scream of anguish, thought it should splinter the windows, but there was only silence.

Back in the kitchen he caught up the keys to the truck with a vague idea of going after her, but tears were blinding his vision. He stared, unseeing, at the tabletop, defeated, his broad shoulders slumped, his torn, dirt-streaked clothing clinging to his sweat-stained body.

It had to be her choice or he was just as bad as Sean and Whitney and his father. He refused to let his father’s legacy consume him. He wasn’t that man, selfish and unable to see that a woman wasn’t a possession. Mari had to choose him, want to be with him. She had to accept the flaws in him just as he would have had to accept the fact that she wasn’t Briony, with her much more submissive personality.

Love was a choice, and if Mari felt the need to be with her sisters, if the pull there was stronger than her feelings for him, he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force her. He pressed the heel of his hand between his eyes and made no effort to stop the flow of tears because he loved her enough to let her go.

He could hear the ticking of the clock. The passage of time. He couldn’t stop the sobs tearing his chest apart, the tears that had never come for his lost face and his destroyed manhood. He could hardly bear the pain this time. He had borne so much stoically, but losing Mari was losing life and hope all over again, and his throat burned raw with choking sorrow.

“Ken?” A soft inquiry, a beautiful voice.

He stiffened, not believing, not daring to believe. He passed a hand over his face, choked down the tight lump in his throat, and turned very slowly.

Mari was standing in the doorway anxious and very disheveled. Sweat beaded on her skin; leaves and twigs were caught in her hair. There were scratches on her arms and a rip in her shirt. She was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

“I thought you were gone.” His voice was strangled.

“I ran halfway down the road and then I couldn’t run anymore. I just stopped and stood there crying. I didn’t want to go any further. I don’t care if I should be with my sisters. I love you. I know I do. I can’t leave. I have no idea how to be anything you want me to be, but I’ll try.”

He took a step toward her, gray eyes moving over her hungrily. “You’ve never said you love me before.”

She tilted her head to look up at him. “You look awful, Ken. Did you get hurt?”

He waved the subject aside, gathering her into his arms. “I don’t want you to be anything but what you are, Mari.”

“Well, that’s a good thing because I was giving you a load of crap so you’d want me to stay.” She pressed little kisses along his throat, over his rough jaw.

The adrenaline surge was gone, leaving him feeling shaky and sick. His body roared at him, calling him all kinds of names for the abuse. He didn’t care. Nothing mattered but that she was in his arms and he could stroke her body, pull her closer, fit her hips to his. And that he wanted to smile again. She made him smile again. “I knew that. You’re always going to be a handful.”

“So true.” Mari linked her hands around his neck, her body moving enticingly against his. “I’m glad you realize that.”

His mouth slanted over hers, forcing her lips apart to feed hungrily.

“What about Sean?” she murmured when he lifted his head.

“He’s dead.” He said it tersely. “Let that be the end of it.”