The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(66)

A voice was calling in the distance, but it was too elusive and it slipped beyond her grasp. Breath tangled in her throat. Lexi tried to swallow but her mouth had gone dry. She fell to her knees and plunged stiff fingers deep into the soft earth.

But the earth didn’t calm her as she’d hoped. It overwhelmed her.

“You are not to see him again, is that clear?”

Such stunning anger, but the woman did not relent.

“Where were you when the fields caught fire? When the rains came, and the dove-cote leaked with no one to repair it? When the mercenaries were on the roads and he called his men to protect this home—where were you Christan? Here?” A bitter laugh. “A thousand miles from here thrusting between another woman’s thighs?”

“He is not your husband, Gemma.”

“He has acted out of respect, taken on the responsibilities of a brother that I do not have—since I am alone other than you. And you are never here.”

“Do not push me on this.”

“Why should I not push you?” The sarcastic demand became painful. “Why do you lie when I see the truth in your eyes? Am I so awful? Does she hold you in ways I do not?”

“You could never hold me the way she does.”

“Where is your sword, Christan? Your knife? Why not kill me, then? Maybe if I bled out on the floor that would be enough!”

“It would never be enough.”

What fills the heart? What empties it? There was only one moment, that moment. Lexi pushed to her feet but her legs refused to hold her weight. She stumbled, regained her footing and ran toward the trees. Fear surged and she couldn’t think, could only act on the instinct of a wild creature. She was no longer in her body. Leaning against a tree, Lexi reached out to grip the rough bark while harsh voices roared in her head.

“Was he here today?”

“He comes to—”

“Did you eat with him today? Play chess with him today?”

Nothing.

“Did you sleep with him today?”

“You would dare say that to me?”

“I can smell him all over you, in this room, in that bed.”

“Bastard!” The sob of a woman, breaking, her voice filled with such pain. “Ti odio, Christan!”

His voice, with no emotion at all.

“E’ cosi facile da fare.”

Vaguely, Lexi heard someone shout her name.

She was no longer there.




She was in a garden, the garden of childhood, of innocence. The garden where she loved and lost and wanted to love again. She breathed in deep, memorized the sweet fragrance of the flowers, listened to water playing musically in the fountain. Everything carried traces of the past: the coolness in the night, the crunch of tiny stones beneath her feet. Crickets singing in the grass suddenly fell silent. She looked around; it was time to leave.

She had already been to the chapel, stood before the remembrance candles that guttered in the dark. Worked her way through the painful images. A small child, gripping the hand of the older sister, alone while two coffins were lowered into the ground. And later, an uncle, brusque but generous. An aunt, warm and outgoing. Later still, the flowers in a garden, blue delphiniums and white daisies in the sun, a meaning that faded from memory.

The air, even the night seemed to be sobbing as she stood where he’d made her his wife. So simple. Just the two of them and the priest, and two witnesses standing in the shadows. She didn’t remember who they were. But she remembered that her hair had been loose and he’d stroked it from her face. How he’d said the words so deep in his throat she thought they meant something. Those words had meant everything to her until she woke in her marriage bed and realized he’d gone.

For so long she imagined him a soldier. Then perhaps an assassin. Then she feared he’d married her for the land and nothing more, imagined him wrapped in another woman’s arms. She wanted a family, children. But he was never home. Their bed became a battleground where she realized the truth. He did not love her, had never loved her enough to reveal the truth, and when he touched her, she knew. When he rolled her to her back and entered her, she knew. When he walked away, she knew.

Tears formed and she swiped them from her face as if they would burn her skin. She turned to leave the shadowed chapel, but one last memory seared behind her eyes and she stumbled on the stone step, fell to her knees.

This time, when he returned, she found him sitting in the dark and staring into the flames raging in the fireplace as if that rage was burning in his soul. They fought. He said terrible things and she’d fled into the garden beside the chapel. Nico found her, took her into his arms while she poured out all her humiliation, the loneliness and the pain. Nico had offered to help. She knew what he meant and said no.

But Nico wouldn’t let it rest.

He tore her heart apart. Nico was more brutal than Christan had ever been. He told her things, described images she’d always feared to see. She felt a loyalty, the friendship of a sister to a brother, with no male relatives who could defend her. He wanted only to protect her. Hadn’t he always come to her aid while Christan stayed away? Vendetta was honorable and not a sin. If her father or her uncle had been alive they would be taking such an action for her, and Nico would ask for nothing in return.

“Tell me yes, Gemma,” he urged, a dark angel both broken and profane. And in her anger and weakness, she damned herself beyond repair, bending her head in agreement and then lifting it again. It was only later that she tried to take it back.