Arlen

 

 

Arlen’s mind raced with the ramifications of his new find. After a little over sixty-nine years, they had found him.

Angela looked every bit like an angel, innocent and untouched by the shit that had made up his life. What was coming would get her killed, he was sure of it. His already possessive nature over the woman who’d claimed his very soul warred with the need to keep her safe even if she had to be sent away. Arlen couldn’t see another way.

“Arlen? What happened?”

“Someone threw it through the window. Don’t worry about it.”

It was the first time she’d actually held a conversation with more than a few syllables and head nods. He wanted to tell her exactly what was going on, but it wasn’t something he could bring himself to face yet.

Her brows bunched together, emphasizing the stubborn set of her jaw. “Do I look like I was born yesterday? Or like I have stupid written across my face?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.

He recognized her discomfort and softened some towards her. After all, he admired a woman who could be courageous in the wake of the worst month of her life.

“I’ll tell you about it, but not tonight. There’s no sign of anyone coming into the apartment and I highly doubt they’d come back right away. Let’s just get some sleep and see where we’re at tomorrow, hmm?”

He wasn’t sure he was ready to rip the bandage off the wounds that had been left behind. Not that he cared much about anyone or anything beyond himself.

“Fine, but if you think I’m letting you off the hook then you, my friend, are in for a rude awakening.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I believe Rhys described you as, oh, what was it? A Pitbull? Yes, that was it. You latch onto something and refuse to let go.”

Her scowl at the jibe only spurred his laughter until his belly ached.

Lifting an eyebrow, she said, “Then don’t forget it.”

He wouldn’t. It was that fierceness that made him so proud. Even as she was struggling to hold herself together, he could tell she’d give some poor soul hell if she needed to. She was a fighter. His perfect match.

“Um, I’m going to be on the couch if you need anything, okay?”

She gave him a faint smile and nodded.

Angela had been kept prisoner in an abandoned warehouse down by the water’s edge. He’d watched her as the days went by. Her bruises and cuts would fade and new ones would appear to replace them. She’d been broken down bit by bit, but there was something more to it. Something else had happened to her while she’d been their prisoner. He knew those memories were trapped in there, tearing her apart. She’d have to let it out and he’d help her with that, but it would have to be on her time. Arlen couldn’t force her.

More than anything, he wished he’d known she was his before. He wouldn’t have waited for a signal to take her away. The mate bond was a fickle one. He could feel the pull as he’d gotten closer to her in that cathedral, but it hadn’t been until he’d felt her in his arms that everything had clicked into place. He’d done his job as instructed and hurt the woman who was his other half in the process. Arlen couldn’t forgive himself for that. One day, he’d have to tell her how he’d failed her and he’d see the disappointment and betrayal in her face.

He slipped out of her room and made his way through the apartment. Going from window to window, he checked every lock and bolt, making sure everything was secure. He kept an ear out the entire time in case Angela needed him.

Eventually, he sank into the deep cushions of his sofa. His mind was still racing, and it was times like that that he wished he owned a television. For the most part, he didn’t have the time or need for the thing. But in that moment, he wanted to numb his mind until he could find the peace to sleep.

He didn’t know how long he sat there in the dark room, listening to Angela’s movements while she tossed and turned every few minutes. She calmed eventually. That was progress.

He could make out Angela’s tiny snores and he knew she’d fallen asleep. How long would she stay peaceful, though? He stood and stretched out his tight muscles, joints cracked and popped with each new pull. Arlen stared at the bedroom door and came to a decision.

He couldn’t keep her. She was light where he was layers of darkness. He would drag her down with him or get her killed. His line of work was dangerous. When someone needed to be found, he found them. When someone wanted someone else dead, he didn’t ask questions. It only meant that he worked for the sketchier people in society. If he pissed off the wrong client, there could be a lot of trouble.

He wanted to just enjoy being near her for the time being. The peace her presence brought him was like a drug and he couldn’t resist. He twisted the doorknob carefully so he wouldn’t make a sound. She was laying on the bed with her hair mussed up around her head in little knots. One leg was flung over the top of the thick bedspread. It seemed that she was a wild sleeper.

He crossed the room and pulled the corner chair to the side of her bed and took a seat. A little crease formed between her eyebrows in a frown. She was dreaming.

Arlen sat there watching each subtle change in her expression. Angela would give tiny moans or something close to humming every so often. He wondered what she was dreaming about. It was the first time he’d seen her sleep without grimacing or screaming.

A light feeling in his chest took hold, a fluttering almost. It grew in intensity until he felt like he’d be sick. He’d never known anything like it before.

“What are you doing to me, you fascinating creature?” he whispered.

Arlen stayed there next to her bed until he could see the first signs of morning creeping into the night sky. He put the chair back and made his way out to the couch.

In no time, he fell right to sleep. It was the first time he’d known the peace Angie brought him since he was a boy.

***

Arlen shot up in bed, drenched in a sheen of sweat and panting hard. It had happened again. The nightmares were back. He could still see Liliana’s limp form sprawled out on the marble floor. Her agonizing screams were forever etched into the fabric of his mind.

He’d failed to keep his younger sister safe and he was beginning to seriously doubt whether or not he could keep his mate safe.

Arlen heard movement outside of his doorway. He slid his blade out from under his pillow and crept from the sofa. He paused beside the door, ready to spring on the intruder. His muscles were pulled taut like a bow string ready to release, pending the slightest trigger.

The creaking of floorboards outside of the door was the last straw.

Arlen sprung. He flung the door open wide and went for the throat. He had his blade against the intruder’s neck and had them pinned against the wall before it even registered that it was Angela in his grip.

Her eyes were wide and bloodshot as she struggled to drag in air. She pulled and tugged against his arm, sputtering as she fought for her freedom.

“Christ! I’m sorry! I thought you were someone else,” he said, easing off her.

Instead of staying upright, she crumpled to the ground and scrambled back from him. Her eyes were wide with fear and shock. She began to hyperventilate as she cowered at his feet, terrified of him. What had he done? Damn it! So stupid!

Arlen dropped to his knees and scooped her up in his arms. He cradled her against his chest and moved her to the couch. Sitting down, he released his hold, but she didn’t move from his lap. His hands hovered just above her skin, afraid to make the situation worse than it already was by touching her.

She was shaking badly, making tiny whines as she tried to calm down and catch her breath. Angela still wouldn’t look at him, not directly. Desperate to rectify the problem, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Arlen could feel his shirt beginning to dampen with her silent tears.

“I’m so sorry, a’maelamin, so fucking sorry.”

He kept his voice low so he wouldn’t startle her any more than he already had. She was warm against his bare flesh and smelled like wildflowers. He stroked her hair, letting the golden strands slip through his fingers like spun silk. She slowly began to calm under his gentle touches and her breathing evened out.

Arlen began to hum the familiar notes of his mother’s lullaby, letting the lilting notes wash over her and caress her soul. After a moment, she tensed and sat upright on his lap. Angie brushed the tears from her cheeks and Arlen quit humming. She shifted and plopped onto the cushion beside him.

“Who taught you that song?” she asked shakily.

He pushed a piece of hair back from her eyes and sighed. “My mother did. She used to sing it to us when we were young.”

Angie pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her cheek against them. Her big blue eyes watched him with awe.

“Would you like to tell me about her?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

He didn’t know what to say. Over the years, he’d thought of his family often and it was a painful ordeal each time. It was always followed by weeks of intense training to the point he was too exhausted to stay awake. They’d died because he’d been too weak and he’d vowed to never let himself be that weak again.

“Maybe some other time,” he said sadly.

Angie bit her lip, and after a moment, she gave a small nod.

He straightened, not ready to burden her with the bullshit that was his life. It took all he had in him to deal with it himself and he’d been bred and raised to show no weakness or vulnerability. That sort of training wasn’t the type of thing that was easily forgotten.

“Hey now, you don’t have to be tough around me. We all have the shit we carry with us. Yours just so happens to be the kind that makes you attack people with knives…in your underwear…” Angela’s brow quirked up and her eyes dipped to his briefs.

He appreciated her effort to lighten the mood, especially after the stunt he’d pulled on her. Arlen didn’t flinch or blush over it. He simply gazed down at himself and lifted a single shoulder.

“It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t everything?” she countered. “Life is messy. Hiding from it isn’t going to change that.”

“I’ll take that under advisement. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get dressed.” Arlen started back towards the sofa and reached for his clothes. He could feel Angela’s stare boring in to his back as he went.

Slipping in to a pair of black jeans, he glanced over his shoulder. In doing so, he caught Angela’s enraptured gaze as she took in his shirtless form. Her eyes followed the thick muscles that ran the length of his back.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked.

Arlen watched the blush creep up her neck and bloom in her cheeks. Unlike before, she didn’t avert her gaze. She had a bold streak that he’d bet was a mile wide and it was one of the first signs he had that she was getting better.

“Could be a lot worse.”

There it was. The snarky attitude Rhys had warned him about. He couldn’t help but find it to be a major turn on that she found him physically attractive. His manhood tightened his pants, forcing him to not so subtly adjust himself. It didn’t embarrass him in the least, in fact, he hoped she knew exactly what she could do to him.

Her eyes dipped to his groin drawn by his indiscretion before glancing away. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer. She shifted, not meeting his stare.

“Umm, did you want some coffee? I can, uh, make you some breakfast, if you’d like?” She gestured towards the small kitchenette.

“Never drink the stuff. Tea, however, is a different story entirely. And as far as breakfast, I’m not very hungry.” His voice dropped as he poured the seduction on.

“Oh, um, okay. So you like tea?”

He grinned, noticing her half hearted distraction attempts.

“Do I make you nervous?”

She gulped, but met his gaze head on anyways. “Yes.” Her voice was breathy and laced with desire and fear.

It was the fear that brought him back down from the high that was Angela. She was a woman who could wrap him up in her web and never release him, yet she still held a deep seeded fear of him. Arlen was sure her scars on the outside were only infinitesimal compared to those she carried within her. It was the most sobering thought he’d had in many years.

He coughed and stepped back again. She wasn’t ready and there was a good chance she’d never be. And he’d never be good enough for her either. He was sick, just like those before him and bringing her along for the ride wouldn’t be fair to either of them. His mother had paid that price and Angie didn’t need to follow in her footsteps.

Angela used the space to slink over to the sofa and sat down heavily. He noticed she would eye the empty bedroom every so often.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, wanting to ease her anxiety.

The aroused tension between them had dissipated with the change in mood. Arlen could tell she was holding herself back from him just as he did with her.

She nodded without elaborating on what she wanted. Her thoughts were far away from him. Being the proper host that he’d been raised to be, he did what was expected, he set the kettle on to boil. Tea was his preferred hot beverage and it was a polite social gesture, a safe bet.

Angela was silent as he moved about the room, tidying up while waiting.

Arlen handed off the mug full of steaming oolong and headed back to grab his own. He’d only taken three steps when he heard her gasp and spun to see what the matter was. Just as his sharp eyesight honed in on her, he witnessed the mug tumble and crash to the floor, showering the area with hot tea. Angela’s eyes were wide and her pupils were dilated so the blue pools were thin bands.

It was a look he’d become all too familiar with since he’d brought the girl home. She was suffering from yet another attack.

He abandoned the idea of his drink and rushed to her side, hoping to provide some comfort as she rode it out. At least, she wouldn’t be alone when she came back to consciousness. She jerked and whined. He hadn’t had the will to ask her what was in her visions yet. All he knew was that whatever it was, it was bad. She’d spend hours crying and that made him hate the people who’d hurt her even more.

He worried about stirring up all the shit she still hadn’t been able to move past. The minutes ticked by and there was no sign of her emerging from the premonition. He began to worry that something was wrong. Would she even come out of it? Or would she silently slip away?

A thick knot welled in his throat at the thought of losing her. He couldn’t hide that somehow her very essence had imprinted itself upon his soul. There’d never be another for him. It was time he asked what had happened to her in captivity and hope she’d be okay.