Elizabeth
I woke up. No dreams, no memories, just coming from darkness to face pain again. My whole body was in agony. My mind was confused, my ears were trying to adjust to reality, and my eyes were too idle to open.
I knew it was day, and I was no longer in a scary place. I could smell him—his spicy and citrus scent. Heaven must smell like him. I sighed from pleasure. It had been a while since I had allowed myself to feel safe and a bit less frightened. His presence and his scent would do that to me.
My ears heard the sound of hospital machines. I felt the blood pumping inside my veins, and the hunger was less, as was the fatigue and the pain. He had taken me from my comfort zone inside that cage, and all I could say was: “Eric?”
“I'm here.”
I saw him when I opened my eyes. He was even more gorgeous than I remembered him to be. Then, I didn't know what else to tell him. I didn't even know why I called him in the first place. I felt ashamed, remembering I had hurt him.
“I'm sorry if I hurt you. I didn't mean it.”
“I'm sorry, too. I just wanted you to eat and heal,” he said. “But if you don't want to hurt me, then you shouldn't try to starve yourself to death.”
I had nothing to say to his words. He was right. Dying would be the worst pain a mate could inflict on another. But that was when I thought that mates were special. Mates were perfect and wouldn’t hurt us. So how, in a million years, Marie's mate could be the worst, the meanest vampire on Earth to her? How could sweet, loving, and caring Marie have that kind of soul-mate?
“I'm sorry.” Eric sighed, waking me from my sad thoughts.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I'm sorry for what my brother did to you. I'm sorry if I've saved you from dying, and I'm sorry if I'm not enough to make you want to live.”
He spoke the last words so sadly that I felt terrible. It was not his fault. He was not to blame for my weakness and incapacity to overcome my fears and bad memories.
“It's not your fault.”
Eric waited for me to say something else while I looked at him, memorizing each beautiful line of his face. Why the gods had been so good to me and punished Marie? Did she do something wrong?
“I don't feel I should be happy when my sister … is … being treated so badly by her own mate.”
I confessed what I was feeling. At least, a tiny percentage of my thoughts. Eric could never fully understand it. He wasn’t a female, and he hadn’t been abused or watched his sister being tormented by her mate while being savagely raped by him.
My sister hadn’t been strong enough and went mad. I had wished to go crazy, too. I had wanted to lose my sanity so I wouldn't understand what was happening to me. So, I could leave my body and go somewhere else, somewhere where I couldn’t feel repulsion, hopelessness, and my soul being ripped apart and shredded to pieces.
“He also hurt you,” Eric whispered.
He looked away as if he knew all the bad things that Alaric had done to me.
Is he repulsed by me? Is he disgusted by my body because I had been … raped?
He couldn't possibly hate me more than I hated myself. Any kind of jealousy or repulsion for what had happened was nothing compared to my agony. I hated males, hated sex, hated my body, and hated my own existence. I longed for oblivion. I longed for peace. Grief had become my only comfort and only escape.
“Please, stop crying. I can't restrain myself from touching you if you cry like that.”
Eric's words made me realize I was sobbing and shivering like a baby. Then I understood he said he didn't want to touch me. Did he actually say that? He didn't want to touch me! I burst into tears and let the pain shake my fragile body until it was hard to breathe.
“What's wrong?” Eric got up with a worried expression, apparently unable to understand why I was crying even harder.
“You hate me.”
I thought I wouldn't care. I thought I didn't want him, but it hurt even more than I believed it could, the rejection of my own soul-mate.
“I don't hate you! How can you possibly think that?”
“You don't want to touch me!”
Now I looked like a spoiled brat with a split personality. One thing is wishing that your soul-mate would ignore you and not want to touch you, and another is realizing he doesn't want to do that either.
“Elizabeth, you told me not to. I want you, and I want to touch you. You are my soul-mate.” He spoke gently.
I forced my tears to stop and gazed at him as I clumsily cleaned my wet eyes.
“What?” I stuttered, unsure if I had heard right.
“I want you. It doesn't matter what happened. I'm here now. We are meant to be together, and I'm not going to give up on you.”
His eyes were beautiful, his voice sweet and without a trace of doubt as if we’d known each other all our lives. I believed him. I don't know why, but I did. He knelt on the floor. His head was now at my level since I was laid on a bed.
His next words restarted my heart. “You are my soul-mate. How can you possibly think that I hate you and I would reject you?”
“Because he hates her.”
“Who, honey?”
“Your brother hates my sister, Marie, and he's her mate. He's her other half, but he torments and hurts her!”
Eric seemed lost for words. He just widened his eyes, and I heard his heart slow down its beat. Tears rushed down my cheeks. It seemed the typical thing to do these days. Finding my mate should be the happiest event of my life. But all I could do was cry and continuously remind myself of the injustice and cruelty of destiny.
Feeling drained, I closed my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep again, so I could stop existing for a while. Sleeping would lessen the pain.
Then I felt it: Eric wrapped his arms around my body and hugged me. He held me tenderly, not pressuring me, as if he knew I would try to run away.
But I didn't.
For a moment, I wanted to scream and push him back. Then I felt oddly safe. My head fell against his neck and our chests collided. A sense of peace wrapped around me like a blanket, and I felt safe like I never had before. As if I had just died and gone to heaven. If that was the power of a mate—that hug, that ability to make us feel safe—what would Marie feel each time Alaric would rape her, each time he would hit, scorn, and kick her?
Could it be worse than hell?