Present Day
Tarek Rises in 14 days
“FOR THE EXCELLENCE OF NATURE, for the peace of all living, and for the good of the universe, we join together,” Tor, the Wraith of Earth, said, and then nodded to Genevieve, the Wraith of Water.
The delicate blonde Wraith raised her hands toward the fountain in the middle of the room. It was of a woman and man entwined in one another’s arms.
In one hand the man held a flame rising from his palm, and the woman had a flower tucked behind her ear. She had long flowing hair that billowed around them as if it had been swept up by a gentle breeze.
A stream of water curved in an arc between their bodies, flowing into an octagonal marble pool with soft-pink pebbles on the bottom. The water from the spout was golden, but as it hit the pool, it became cerulean blue as Genevieve’s hands weaved through the air.
The meeting had begun.
I fiddled with the candy dispenser in the front pocket of my black cargo pants as I looked at Mariana, the representative of the witches’ covens. She’d changed her hair—two dreadlocks now hung down either side of her face instead of three. The rest of her long, ebony strands looked like silk blanketing her back. But it was her eyes that caught my attention; the dark walnut globes swirled with foreboding.
Fuck, I hoped this meeting wasn’t because they’d discovered the vampire-slash-witch, Abby, was alive. I was supposed to execute her several months ago—I didn’t.
The Wraith of Fire, Edan, sat back in his chair, arms crossed, with an arrogant sneer on his face. The bastard had fucked Delara, and even though she’d been using him to gain access to the Deaconry so she could speak at Balen’s trial, it still pissed me off.
I had no right to be. I’d let her go twenty years ago.
Didn’t matter. I hated any bastard who touched her.
Tor’s raspy voice echoed in the marble room. “This unexpected meeting has been called to address an issue that we’ve been made aware of recently.” Tor turned to me and I tightened my grip on the dispenser. “Waleron, you’ve been a Taldeburu for centuries. A well-respected Taldeburu. We wish it to remain that way.”
Christ. What the fuck was this about?
Tor cleared his throat as if struggling with his next words. “Tarek rises from Rest in two weeks.” My hand crushed the container in my pocket and pieces of plastic cut into my hand. “And we’re concerned.”
I should’ve taken more fuckin’ pills. “Tarek will kill her this time,” I said, my throat strained. “Delara must be found and brought into the Talde before he rises.”
I’d been searching for her for months. I knew she was alive because she’d contacted Rayne, our daughter. The daughter she’d thought was dead and I’d never known about until recently. The daughter conceived that night when I said goodbye to her.
Urtzi, the Wraith of Air, spoke. “Tarek has done his penance. When he rises he is not to be touched unless he warrants it.”
Fuckin’ Wraiths. I stood and slammed my fist onto the marble table. “He will come after her!”
Zurina settled her hand on my forearm, but before I could shove it off, she pulled away. After I’d escaped Jasmine’s prison, I couldn’t stand anyone touching me.
Except Delara. It was almost as if my Ink controlled that part of me, the part that craved physical touch, allowing no one near it and therefore me.
“And this is our concern. You’re irrational when it comes to the Scar Delara.” Tor put his hand up when Edan went to speak. Tor continued, “We’ve decided it best Delara join another Talde.”
“What?” I stood, my piercing gaze on Tor. No fuckin’ way. Tarek rising and Delara not under my protection… that was not happening.
“Waleron, sit down,” Zurina warned. “You’re showing them exactly what they’re here to condemn you for.”
She was right. I had to pull my shit together. I sat, leaned back in my chair, and took a long inhale before speaking. “I swore to protect her. She is my responsibility. My oath.”
Tor looked to Urtzi and then Genevieve, who paled. The Wraith of Water was sympathetic to all and had trouble dealing with volatile situations. My eyes flicked to the fountain and the bubbling water—Genevieve was upset.
“Your oath?” Urtzi’s voice was like a feather, soft and caressing. “Your oath, Waleron, is to the Goddess. To protect the Scars and humans.”
“Delara is a fuckin’ Scar.” Tor’s brows lifted and I knew why. I’d sworn. I rarely cursed out loud unless I was livid. Well, I was fuckin’ livid.
“Please, Tor, Delara belongs in Waleron’s Talde. She has been with him from the beginning. He taught her how to fight. Survive,” Genevieve, who sat next to Tor, pleaded.
“And how to fuck,” Edan muttered.
I clenched my jaw, refusing to respond because my only response was a fist to his face and that would land me in another prison.
Tor continued, “It has come to our attention that you plan to kill Tarek. Is this true?”
What the fuck? Who told them that?
Everyone knew I’d kill Tarek if he came after Delara, but killing Tarek regardless of if he came after her or not… that was against the law and not something the Wraiths would overlook, even from a Taldeburu.
“I never said that.” I hadn’t, but I’d sure as hell thought it.
Tor glanced at Zurina and Urtzi, then back at me. “Our law states—”
I interrupted. “I know what every single law states, Tor. And the law failed her. You didn’t see what that bastard did to her. He should’ve been executed, not sent to Rest.”
Uritz said, “He’s been in Rest for twenty years. That’s torture. Worse than death.”
It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
Tor stood, his face red and his brows low. “If you kill him without cause, it’s murder. And I know you’re considering it, Waleron. You’ll be condemned like everyone else. Do not think you’re immune.” He paused, then stated loudly, “It’s in Delara’s best interest and yours that she be removed from the Toronto Talde. If Tarek plans on coming after her, your Talde will be the first place he looks.”
“She can return to England and join mine again,” Zurina offered.
My eyes darted to Zurina. “No. Tarek has connections in England. Dangerous ones. She is safest with me.”
“So you can fuck her whenever you get the urge?” Edan spat.
“Jesus, Edan,” Mariana said, twirling a dreadlock between her fingers. “You’re such an ass. Get over it.”
“Edan,” Tor snapped. “Not a word. I warned you.” He turned back to me. “Spain. Xamien’s Talde. I understand you’d planned on sending her there months ago after the situation with the vampire Liam.” I had, but again, how did the Wraiths know that? “If Tarek makes an attempt on her life, he will be executed as is our law.”
I snorted. This was bullshit.
“Waleron, we do this to protect you and Delara. We know your connection to her is strong, but you cannot choose to protect her above all others.”
I stiffened. “I protect all the Scars. But Delara’s psycho ex is rising from Rest and will be pissed as hell that she testified against him.”
The floor vibrated beneath me and I met the Wraith of Earth’s piercing glare. Tor hated being challenged, but I hated being told what to do with my fuckin’ Talde. “Disobey us on this, Waleron, and your Taldeburu will be at risk.”
I froze. They threatened my Taldeburu? I’d sacrificed fuckin’ everything for them, for the Scars, for the Goddess. If they took my Taldeburu I had nothing to protect Delara. I’d no longer sit on the Deaconry. I’d have no control. No ability to Trace.
Zurina’s voice filtered in my mind. “Let me talk to them. Maybe I can convince them to make it temporary. If you push them too far, they will retaliate. You know this. Send Delara to Spain.” She glanced at my neck, her brows lifting. “And take one of the pills before you lose control of your Ink.”
My Ink snake slithered across my skin, awakening to my anger. I needed my steel room and more fuckin’ pills.
When I found Delara, and I would, I’d send her to Spain—temporarily. I didn’t like it. Fuck, I hated it, but if they thought for one second I’d allow Delara to permanently live with another Talde, they’d have to do a hell of a lot more than threaten my Taldeburu.
They’d have to kill me.
New Orleans
Tarek Rises in 48 hours
A trickle of blood slid down my naked thigh then pooled in the cleft of my knee before it dripped onto the porcelain tub. I bent, turned on the taps, and stepped into the cold spray, hissing as the water hit the fresh wound.
It was a familiar and comforting pain, as if a squeeze from a mother’s hand—consoling and reassuring. My protection against the raw emotions I’d been trying for years to extinguish.
I hated it. God, I hated it.
But it was an addiction, the hold on me so tight that I was afraid if I stopped, I’d shatter into a thousand pieces.
Who was I kidding? I’d shattered a long time ago, I just held all my pieces in my hand. But now, they were slipping from my grasp and I was afraid once they did, I’d never get them back.
The mindweaving with Xamien helped numb the pain, although what I wanted he’d refused to do time and again. Erase Waleron. Take away my past. Forget and be able to finally live again.
God, I’d do anything to forget.
I placed my palms on the back of the shower wall, the hot water pounding into my back. “Stop. Just let me forget, damn it.”
It was like a cruel game. Falling in love then ripping it away only to bring him back and lose him again.
Was fate so cruel to have me love a man so deeply, only to lose him and never recover from the loss? Because that’s what it was. A perpetual loss. Feeling as if I struggled to breathe. Trying to reach the surface of the water, but being yanked under continuously.
“God, Waleron,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against the tiles.
I inhaled a ragged breath.
He was my savior.
My ruin.
My strength.
Jesus, he was my everything. Everything. And without him, I was nothing.
I shoved away from the wall, the hilt of my knife still cradled in my palm. I stared at it for a second, blood clinging to the edge of the blade.
I closed my eyes then lowered the tip of the blade to my thigh, needing the release from the debilitating emotions.
I had to go back to the Talde. It was time. Tarek was rising.
It was getting worse, this tie between Waleron and me. It was knotted, and there was no way to undo it. The knot continued to tighten, strangling me.
Even the mindweaving no longer had an effect on me.
And Xamien knew it. The last time I’d seen him before I joined Rayne and Kilter in the Turks and Caicos, he’d warned me the mindweaving wasn’t working. He’d wanted me to stay with him. But staying with Xamien was dangerous if Waleron found out, and I’d never put him in that position.
I applied pressure to the knife and the tip sank into my flesh as though it was butter.
Deeper. It had to be deeper this time. More pain to end the pain.
“Drop the knife, Delara.”
My breath hitched, chin lifted, and my eyes darted to the tall, dark shadow on the other side of the shower curtain. The knife fell from my grasp and clattered as it landed in the bottom of the tub.
A tattooed hand shoved the curtain aside, the force yanking two of the hooks from the steel bar overhead.
I nearly fell to my knees as my eyes locked on him, and I quickly placed my hand on the wall for support.
Waleron.
For weeks my shack in the swamps of New Orleans had been my haven where none could locate me—even those with extraordinary capabilities. Obviously, I’d underestimated Waleron. And the bastard had concealed his scent.
He bent over the tub, grabbed my knife, and placed it into the nylon sheath attached to his belt on his black cargo pants. Then he stepped back and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and ankles, a casual stance. I knew better. There was nothing casual about him. Ever.
“How did you find me?” I carefully watched his impassive face, wishing he’d give some indication as to what he was thinking.
He reached to the right, grabbed a white towel off the hook on the wall, and tossed it to me. “Dry off. You’re shivering.”
I caught it, but didn’t bother wrapping it around my body. Instead, I threw it back at him, hitting him in the chest. It fell to his feet, ignored. He never moved a muscle. The only change was his ice-blue eyes narrowing.
“What do you want, Tac?” I’d decided a long time ago that using the nickname was my way to remind myself of who he was now—tactical. Nothing personal. Not that it worked, but I knew he hated me calling him that.
He didn’t say anything and his eyes never once veered from my face to my wet, naked body.
I stepped out of the tub and droplets of water trailed down my heated skin. I placed my hands on my hips. “You have something to say? Fucking say it. Otherwise leave.”
Swearing usually managed to get some kind of reaction out of him. He’d once told me that he rarely cursed because of his mother. He didn’t share anything more than that, but then Waleron had always been guarded about personal shit.
“Explain.” His gaze shifted to my self-inflicted leg wounds. Several scars lined my shins and calves, more on my thighs, and some on my forearms, although the faint lines were barely visible to the naked eye. “I assumed the scars were from Tarek.”
His tone hardened when he said Tarek’s name. “Yeah, well, you don’t know a lot of things about me. Your choice, remember?” I yanked a towel from the brass holder beside the toilet then wrapped it around my head.
“Why?” He never was one for long, drawn-out sentences.
I shrugged. Opening myself up to him again would be the same as slicing my knife across my throat. I may have cut when the pain became unbearable, but it had nothing to do with wanting to die. No, I had things to do before I died, and one of them was confront Tarek.
“Why, Delara?” he asked in that familiar husky voice that made my legs feel like marshmallows.
“None of your damn business.”
Waleron pushed off the counter. “You are my business, maitagarri.”
The Basque endearment slipped over his tongue and my stomach whooshed. I hated the whoosh. And I had a love/hate reaction to his endearment. “You threw that right away. And don’t call me that.”
He moved quick, arm hooking my waist while his hand cupped my chin, but it wasn’t a friendly grip, it was harsh and made certain I couldn’t look away from him.
“That will always be my right,” he growled. “I was with you. Never have I been with others as I have with you.”
His words cut deep and my stomach twisted. Because his words were cryptic. He fucked other women, even that witch bitch Trinity, who I hated.
I jerked my head to the side to dislodge his hold. “Fuck you, Tac.”
“Look at me,” he demanded. When I didn’t, he grabbed the back of my head, fingers bunching my hair and forcing me to meet his eyes. I couldn’t help but flinch under his piercing eyes. “You will never touch a knife to your flesh again.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Do. You. Understand. Me.” His fingers in my hair tightened.
I hesitated then said, “Yes.” I wasn’t sure if I could hold to it or not.
The pressure of his hand on my lower back increased and I felt the familiar scar on the tip of his thumb. I’d asked him about it once while we’d been lying together in bed one morning, before Jasmine, before Tarek, before this pain. His thumb had been casually tracing patterns on the back of my hand. He’d told me that it was from a vampire’s fang. That was it. No elaboration. No details.
Maybe that had been my hint that eventually we’d end up like this, that he’d close himself off to me. But I’d fallen for him the moment he’d kissed me under that tree and there’d been no going back. Fate wouldn’t allow it.
I placed my hands on his chest, his heart beating steadily beneath my palm.
Then I shoved.
He remained immobile, eyes driving into me. I held my breath, wondering if he was ever going to let me go. Not physically, but emotionally.
His arm fell from my back and he stepped to the side.
I brushed by him into the one room that held my bed, kitchen, and living space. I walked to the bed and picked up my jeans.
The smell of him drifted to me and I wondered how long he’d been waiting in my shack before barging into the bathroom to find me slicing my thigh.
I tugged on my jeans over my wet skin, then yanked the towel from my head and tossed it onto the bed. My hair fell in wet tangled strands to just above my shoulders, and drips sprinkled my skin. “I`m coming home in a couple days, so if that’s why you’re here, you’ve wasted your time.” I snatched my bra and T-shirt and put them on.
“You failed to answer a single e-mail or text,” he said.
He stood at the bathroom door, watching me, gaze unrelenting and anger simmering beneath the surface.
I gestured to the shack. “Do you see a computer? Cell phone? This is… was my place to be alone. Don’t take it personally,” I lied, because it was strictly personal.
When Waleron had come to the Turks and Caicos to visit Rayne and Kilter, I’d left. No one knew about this place and I came here when I needed to be alone. When I needed time to repair. To heal enough to face him again.
He snorted. And I knew why; he saw right through me.
I lifted my chin. “I’m coming back to face him, Tac. I won’t run or hide. Not from him.”
“And he will kill you,” Waleron stated in a cool, matter-of-fact tone.
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
Waleron didn’t say anything.
“I’ve changed since I was with him. I’m not hiding, Tac.”
“Have you?” He stood like a statue, eyes flickering with deliberate blatancy to my thigh where the wound was covered by my jeans, but a splotch of red now stained the denim. “Changed?”
“Don’t you dare use this against me!” Him witnessing me cutting was the worst possible scenario.
“I want to know why,” he demanded.
“You don’t have the right to know. I’ve never asked you what Jasmine did to you.”
His feet shifted and I might not have noticed if it weren’t for the moonlight catching the shiny surface of his combat boots as it filtered through the spaces between the cottage window frame and the planked wall.
He remained stoic in his silence, his eyes never once straying from me. I tried to act as if it didn’t bother me by crossing my arms, but my skin sizzled and my heart raced.
“You’re not going back to Toronto. And you will not see Tarek ever again,” he stated.
I stiffened. What? “Yes. I am going back.”
Waleron’s voice rose. “You will do what I tell you this time, Delara. I’m your Taldeburu.” I knew he’d never hurt me physically, but still, what Tarek had done to me always lingered in the back of my mind. “Pack. We’re leaving for Spain.”
Holy hell. Spain? What the fuck? “No.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t have a choice.”
“If Tarek wants to find me, he will. Spain or in goddamn Hell. It doesn’t matter.” Shit, why Spain? Did Xamien talk to him?
His hand reached inside his right pants pocket and I knew before he pulled it out that it was his candy dispenser. He ate those pills like candy ever since he’d escaped from Jasmine’s prison.
A click sounded and a tiny, circular, light green tablet spilled into his palm. He placed it in his mouth. I often wondered what he’d do without the pills—what he’d be like. Would he lose control like he said he would? Would I still love him more than anything in this entire world?
Yes. The answer would always be yes. Because love wasn’t a choice. You didn’t get to choose.
I may have told myself and Waleron that I didn’t love him, but it was bullshit. Love was its own entity and it had me locked to him from the day we met.
There was no escape, and sometimes when I lay in bed at night and closed my eyes and remembered how it used to be, I didn’t want to escape it. I wanted to submit to its pull.
“Pack your bags,” he ordered.
I softened my voice. “I’m a Scar, Tac. You trained me and I’m good at what I do.”
“Not good enough,” he replied.
He walked over to my black canvas bag on the floor beside the chair in the corner and picked it up. Then he went to the bed, tossed it on the mattress, unzipped it, and walked to the closet.
“Tac. Stop.” He ignored me and yanked clothes off the hangers. “Damn it, Tac, if I don’t stand up to him then what do I have left? He tried to kill me. And in some ways he did. I need to face him again. I have to.” He walked back to the bed and folded my clothes before placing them in the bag. “Would you run? Have you run or hidden from Jasmine?”
His hands stilled and his back stiffened. He slowly turned to face me and it took everything I had to stay where I was, because he was royally pissed.
My eyes flicked to his Ink tattoo on his neck as it uncoiled, snake eyes flashing red.
His Ink terrified me. As far as I knew, he’d never called it to life and I suspected it was because it was too dangerous.
Then he spoke and it was calm, steady, but there was that unmistakable graveled undertone. “What you ask is beyond my capability. I lived what happened to you. Felt your pain. I fuckin’ saw what that bastard did to you.” I flinched when he swore. “He isn’t getting near you. Do you understand me? Tarek does not get near you. I gave my oath to protect the Scars. An oath to protect you, maitagarri.”
“Fuck your stupid oath,” I shouted. But I knew he wouldn’t. That was why he was a Taldeburu. “And fuck you. I’m not going to Spain.”
“You are,” Waleron replied without missing a beat.
I pursed my lips. “No.”
“Yeah, babe. You are.”
Shit. I hated when he called me babe, even more than maitagarri.
He walked toward me and I tensed, but he didn’t touch me. “This wasn’t my choice.”
Oh.
He continued, “The Deaconry decided.”
My brows lifted. The Deaconry? Why would the Wraiths care if I went to Spain or not? Fighting Waleron on this was one thing, but I had no chance against the Deaconry’s decision. But if I could persuade Waleron, he might be able convince the Deaconry to allow me to stay with my Talde.
“I need this,” I said calmly.
His mouth tightened.
“Tac, I need this,” I repeated. “Haven’t you hurt me enough? Now you want to take away the one thing I have left, my pride.”
“This isn’t about pride,” he replied.
“It is. I’m a Scar. I don’t run from a fight.”
His brows lifted.
“Me being here isn’t running from a fight.” I shoved by him, walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge, snagged a water bottle, and cracked the lid. Then I kicked the fridge closed. “I trust my Talde. If Tarek comes after me, who better to protect me than my own Talde?”
“Like I said, not my decision any longer.”
God, so damn emotionless. I wanted to attack him and get some kind of reaction out of him.
I chugged back the water then set it on the counter. I placed my palms on the cracked surface and dropped my head.
Jesus, what was I supposed to do here? Tarek had nearly killed me and it was my right as a Scar to face him, even if the thought scared the hell out of me.
His footsteps were quiet as he came up behind me. I closed my eyes and tensed, knowing what was coming and yet unable to move. He slid his arm around my waist and gently pulled me back into the solid warmth of his chest.
My eyes hit the back of his hand as it settled on my abdomen. I used to put my hand on top of his, link our fingers together, then tilt my head back onto his shoulder while he kissed my neck.
That was before Jasmine. Before Tarek. Before the pills.
His breath wafted across my neck. “Delara,” he whispered. “Stop fighting me.”
I smothered the sob threatening to emerge and instead pressed my hand to the wound on my thigh. I grit my teeth as pain shifted through me.
“Don’t, baby.” His fingers locked around my wrist and moved my hand from my thigh.
“Please… Please don’t touch me,” I begged. I couldn’t endure falling into his arms only to have him coldly walk away again.
“Christ, I never meant to hurt you,” he murmured. His lips trailed blazes of heat along the curve of my neck while his arms cocooned me.
“I don’t want this,” I said, although it was a lie. It would always be a lie because I’d always want him.
His tongue flicked the skin just below my ear and tingles erupted. “You do,” he whispered. “We both do.”
He was right and I hated it, but the reality was that we were talking about different things. I wanted his love. And his body was all he’d give me.
I couldn’t do that. The shattered pieces of me would slip from my grasp and sink to the bottom of the ocean, never to be found again. I’d never be found again.
“Baby,” he purred.
I shoved his arm off, pivoted, and punched him in the jaw. “You don’t get to do that.”
His jaw wiggled back and forth and he ran his hand over the surface. My knuckles probably hurt a hell of a lot more than his steel jaw.
I brushed by him, went to the dresser, and opened the top drawer. I pulled out the folded tops, walked to my bag on the bed, and shoved them inside. I felt his eyes on me. God, I always felt him.
I continued to pack.
He continued to watch.
Finally, he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
My hand paused on the second drawer handle before I jerked it open.
“I’ll take you to Toronto until I speak again with the Deaconry.”
Without looking at him, I said, “Fine. But I’m not going with you. You can Trace your ass back there. I’m flying.”
“Delara,” he warned.
I swung around and glared. “No. I’m not Tracing with you.” It was far too intimate and it was only recently that I’d discovered Waleron was able to Trace with me. It shocked the hell out of everyone, because the Scars who had the ability to Trace weren’t supposed to be able to Trace with anyone else.
“You have two days.” I heard his footsteps move across the room. He paused beside the bed and from the corner of my eye I saw my knife bounce on the mattress. “Is that clear?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Is that clear?” he repeated, voice threaded with anger.
“Crystal fuckin’ clear.”
“The jet will be waiting at the airport for you. Clean and bandage your leg.”
He closed the shack door behind him.
I picked up my mud-encrusted boot from the floor beside the dresser and flung it at the door, sending dried flakes of swamp mud in every direction. It hit it with a thud then fell to the floor.