Chapter Seven
Sylvain
Marcus’s figure retreated out the door. That was the only word for it—retreat. He’d lobbed a bomb at Briar, and then, like a coward, he’d run away.
Sylvain could have chased him, forced him back to apologize, but he didn’t. Because he knew what it was Marcus feared. He feared it, too.
In his past, he’d been a soldier, and war was ugly. It was bloody, and dirty, and it stunk like rot and piss and shit, and there was nothing about it he wanted to remember.
The dead last thing he wanted was for Briar to see him wielding his ax, hacking to pieces beings Asher had decided were the enemy.
The dead last thing he wanted was for Briar to see how much he’d loved it.
He loved it still.
And there was the problem.
Briar’s gaze stayed trained on the door, as if Marcus would walk through any moment, but Sylvain knew his brother better than that. It was rare that Marcus dropped his bonhomie; there wasn’t much that could penetrate his everything-is-a-fucking-joke armor.
Except apparently Marcus himself.
“I wish I could remember,” Briar said, before scrubbing her face with both hands. She sighed, the breath seeming to come from her toes. The scent of sadness and blossoms filled the room, and Sylvain sucked in a breath, holding it in his lungs. God, she smelled so good.
Even sad.
The light in the room dimmed, and Sylvain glanced over his shoulder quickly. Valen had tugged the curtains back into place. He found a place to lean and crossed his massive arms over his chest. “Give him time, little one. He speaks from hurt. And fear.”
“I know.” She tucked her messy hair behind one ear and leaned her head back on Hudson’s chest. How the hell had Sylvain let that happen?
Which reminded him… “So I was right,” he crowed. “About everything. About Asher. I told you something was wrong. And none of you—” He pointed an accusatory finger at Valen, and then Hudson. “None of you listened to me. Fucking doctor, Hudson? How about I school you in common sense?”
Hudson frowned, his blue eyes flashing warningly. Sylvain smiled wickedly. Marcus’s house could use a little remodeling. If Hudson wanted to fight, Sylvain was down for some demolition.
“What did you see?” Briar asked. “What’s really wrong with me?” She turned in Hudson’s arms so she could see his face while he spoke. Hudson held Sylvain’s gaze a second longer before shifting it to Briar.
Her words yanked Sylvain away from the fantasy he had going where he elbowed Hudson’s smug mouth and then dick punched him for good measure.
“What I remember,” Hudson began then paused as if choosing his words carefully before continuing, “is him taunting you.”
There was more. Sylvain could see it written all over the doctor’s face. Was it so awful he didn’t want Briar to know?
“There’s more,” Briar said, repeating Sylvain’s thoughts verbatim. “Tell me. I’m tougher than I look, Hudson.”
Hudson’s eyes lowered, his dark lashes hiding his emotions. “I know you are. But I don’t know how to help you. And I don’t want you to be frightened.”
“It’s bad,” she stated baldly, and Hudson nodded. His brother framed her face, leaning down to place a kiss on her lips.
“You avoid sleep,” Valen started slowly, and with each point, took a step closer to Briar. “You’re exhausted. Pale. Twice now, we couldn’t wake you.”
Asher was torturing her.
The predator inside him roared and demanded he begin to hunt. He would tear Asher apart, burn each part of his body, and then when he was nearly dead, he’d allow the son of a bitch to heal, so he could do it all over again.
“Asher is feeding from you,” Valen concluded quietly and knelt in front of Hudson and Briar. His huge hand dwarfed Briar’s when he took it between his. “It is the only explanation.”
Her pale face drained of blood, leaving her scar a stark white and her freckles golden spots against her milky skin. She made a sound, something between a cry and a groan, and leapt from Hudson’s lap to run into the bathroom. Sylvain followed, and behind him, Valen and Hudson. Briar slapped the light on before pulling herself onto the counter in front of the mirror. She yanked her hair away from her neck, turning from side to side.
Sylvain’s gaze was drawn to the still-healing burn on her neck. He imagined Asher sinking his fangs past the fragile skin, and growled.
“Careful,” Valen warned, edging closer to Briar.
Sylvain elbowed him hard in the side, pushing Valen hard enough to smack into the doorway. He was going in first, Valen and Hudson could fuck off. People who were right about shit got to comfort Briar.
And who had been right?
Oh, yeah. It was him.
Sylvain took over from Briar, lifting her hair away from her skin to peer closely at her neck. “I don’t see anything,” he whispered, and she shivered. He leaned forward, kissing the red skin and then moved to the other side of her neck to kiss her there. “There’s nothing here.” He breathed her in. Apple blossoms. There was no hint of Asher around her.
“He may not have bitten her neck,” Hudson stated.
At once, Briar’s skin flushed, and she spun, her horrified eyes meeting Sylvain’s. “Sylvain?”
Earlier, Briar had asked him to bite her, and he’d done everything in his power not to drink her. The idea that Asher had taken something from Briar, something that wasn’t his to take, made him shut his eyes. Carefully, he dropped his forehead to Briar’s and breathed in her scent again. One breath after another.
Nothing mattered but her. Murder could wait until after he’d comforted her.
“Do you want me to examine you?” Hudson asked from too close. Sylvain snapped his head back and grimaced at his brother.
Briar shook her head quickly, but paused, and then nodded slowly. “Yes. I think you probably should.”
“So, first you say there’s nothing wrong with her, and now you’re the one who gets to check her for bite marks?” Sylvain ground out. “How the hell is that fair?”
Valen chuckled. “Little one, I think you will have your choice of men who are happy to study you from head to toe.”
“Oh.” The word left Briar on a breath. “I—”
“Enough,” Hudson cut in. “Valen. Sylvain. Get out. This is not a date. Clearly only one of us will be able to keep our head with Briar.”
Valen crossed his arms before shrugging good-naturedly. “All right. I would much rather the first time I see your form to involve…”
Fuck that. Sylvain lurched toward his brother and dragged him toward the door. The last thing he wanted to hear was Valen’s plans for Briar. He was fine sharing her but didn’t need the details.
The door hadn’t shut behind them before the smile dropped from Valen’s face. In its place was the hard gaze of a warlord, primed for battle. “Sylvain,” Valen said low, pitching his voice to keep Hudson from hearing him. His brother’s voice was choked, but he forced out the words. “He hurt her. He’s been hurting her.”
“Every night,” Sylvain replied. He thought about all the times he encouraged her to nap, thinking it would rejuvenate her and put the sparkle back in her eyes. But he’d been wrong. Each time he insisted on sleep, he’d unknowingly sent her back to Asher.
“Every time she slept,” Valen added. He stepped away from Sylvain to lean his forehead on the walls. He drew his head back, once to let it thump against the wall, and then again, this time hitting harder. A rain of plaster dust fell onto Valen’s head before he drew back and scrubbed his hand through the blond strands. “Any thought I had of ignoring him, staying off his radar is gone. I should have known, Sylvain. How the fuck didn’t I know?”
“How would any of us have known?” It wasn’t Sylvain’s role to comfort Valen, but something about seeing his stalwart brother going to pieces made him answer quickly. “If she hadn’t spoken to Hudson, we still wouldn’t know.”
“I wish she’d spoken to me,” Valen said thoughtfully. “But at the same time, I hope I wasn’t there. That she didn’t see what I’ve done. How can I hold her with hands that are still covered in blood?” He held out his massive hands, turning them from palm and then to the top as if the stains of a hundred years ago remained ground into his skin.
“I don’t know,” Sylvain answered. Because it was the same fear he had. With every bit of control he had, he resisted staring at his own hands. What had she seen? And how could he ever explain what he’d done?