Broken Souls (Book of Shadows)

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Six

HER

He comes. Eventually.

When it’s too late.

When my rage has turned cold enough for me to think again.

When I’ve convinced myself I hate him.

That I don’t need him.

That he can rot in fucking Hel.

I don’t even turn towards him as he enters my room. I’m sitting in the middle of the mess I’ve made, my legs curled up under me, my hands on my lap, my eyes on them. Can I sacrifice him to get my magic back?

“Micha!” The concern in his voice might’ve patched up a small broken part of me if he hadn’t closed the door first. If he had reacted purely on emotions for me, but no, he always has to play the fucking game. Can’t let his brothers know he wants to fix things. Can’t let them hear me yelling at him. Can’t be seen to be weak, as someone who would fight for his girl despite the evidence against her.

Tears burn my eyes.

I would have fought for him.

If Dayne, the person I love most in the world –fuck you, Varius– was missing and all the evidence I found pointed to Varius having taken him, I still wouldn’t have tortured him for a location.

I would have trusted him.

Believed in him.

Believed in us.

When he kneels down in front of me, his hands reaching for mine, I snatch them away. What the fuck does he think he’s doing? He doesn’t get to touch me.

All of the women in his gang might be disciplined into being ‘good and proper’ little breedmares regardless of what their husbands do to them.

But I’m not a fucking Shadow.

I’m a godsdamn Black.

My head comes up as I sneer, “Get the fuck away from me.”

He stands, then turns away from me, and I stare at him in shock and pain and rage. Now, a logical part is telling me that he’s doing exactly what I asked him to do. But that cold anger I was feeling, that logical fury, has just been dropped into a fucking volcano.

Grabbing the nearest item to my right – a broken piece of the chair he tortured me in, I throw it at the back of his head.

He twists to the side at the last second, and the thing flies past his face. It doesn’t even graze his nose. Fucking bastard.

Growling, I grab another item and throw it at him. He ducks this time. I throw it at his feet. He jumps. My rage builds to the point I’m ready to throw magic at him and damn us all, but by then, he’s in the bathroom and opening the cabinet below the sink.

I freeze as I watch him squat down to grab the healing wand from inside it. My throat clogs up at his desire to care for me. But then bitterness opens it back up again.

Fuck him.

“I’m not using that,” I say, refusing to do anything he wants me to.

“You’re hurt.”

A mad cackle comes out of me as I clench my burned flesh into fists. The pain that erupts there is fucking terrible, but it’s a lot more manageable than the agony inside my chest. “I’m hurt?” I laugh again. “That’s fucking golden.”

“Micha –” he says.

“You tortured me!” I yell, jumping to my feet as he walks towards me. “I told you I didn’t do it, and you hurt me so badly, I –” My throat clenches tight, cutting off my words. But I force them out. Force him to know exactly what he took from me. “I can’t use my magic anymore,” I say, raising my hands and opening them, letting him look at the mess I made of my palms. “I tried to do a simple spell – Something a child can do… And I nearly killed myself.”

Grabbing my wrist, he hauls me to him. There’s darkness in his eyes – a primal, feral challenge that sends shivers down my spine. I start to tell him to get the fuck off me and never touch me again when he growls, “You’re not allowed to die.”

I blink, and my brain stops to try to figure out what the fuck that means, but my mouth doesn’t care. It just runs, fueled by all the pain and anger inside of me. Except when I start to tell him he can go fuck himself with his orders, his mouth crashes down on mine.

I freeze for a split second.

Then I try to knee him. Right in the fucking balls.

Impact.

He grunts against my lips and sags a bit, but he doesn’t release me. Doesn’t stop kissing me. His hands are cupping my face, and his tongue is pushing inside my open mouth. Giving me the comfort I’ve been craving. Then his hands are on my ass, lifting me up so he can straighten, and mine are on his chest.

To push him off.

To pull him to me.

He strides over to the bed but only takes a few steps before he pivots and heads back into the ensuite – the only place I haven’t touched in my rage.

“I’m not fucking you,” I say against his lips.

“You’re my wife.”

My heart stutters over that, but he’s never had an issue with claiming me in the dark, in the shadows where no one can see or hear or know.

“I’m not marrying you.”

“The fuck you aren’t,” he growls, and I can’t even repeat my words because they’re too empty. Even though I hate him so fucking much right now, that doesn’t change the fact that he purchased me.

He has a signed contract from my father saying that if I run, my own damn Family will hunt me down and kill me.

I am his property.

His breedmare to take whenever he wants.

And now that I am with child, that contract is forever binding; the back-out clause concerning my infertility has officially closed.

“You’ll kill us,” I whisper as he sets me down on the sink and grabs at the skirt of my dress. He pulls it up past my knees before he stops. Lifting his lips off me, he presses his forehead to mine.

“Is there anything left to kill?” he whispers, and there is so much pain there, so much godsdamn hope that there is something left, some small tether that is still tying me to him, that I want to cry for what we have lost, for what he broke by hammering a screw into my hands.

For being able to keep going despite my screams.

My pain.

Heartless and cruel.

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know.”

Exhaling hard, he steps back, then offers me the wand he tucked into his waistband. “Heal yourself, Micha. Then I’m taking you to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep with you,” I mumble.

“Sleep or fuck?”

I stay silent. I don’t want to admit that I want his arms around me. That I want him to try to fix what he has broken even though I have no idea how he possibly can. Perhaps I just want him to try and fail. To feel so damn desperate to change something, like I was in that chair, yet never be able to.

Grabbing my wrist, he places the wand gently in my palm. “Heal yourself, Micha. I don’t like seeing…” He stops as I snort.

“Fuck you,” I say.

“I thought you were a traitor. All the evidence –”

“Fuck. You.”

“Fine. Be angry with me,” he says, his voice flattening. “But fucking heal yourself. That’s an order.”

My eyes narrow, and if my hands didn’t hurt so badly, I’d punch him. “Fuck you.”

His jaw tics, his patience clearly wearing thin. But fuck him and his patience. I’ve been so godsdamn patient with him over these last four months. I have been understandingof all his paranoia and pain. Fuck, I can still understand him now. Can still understand the choice he was forced to make as the clock was ticking down on his brother’s life. But I don’t care anymore. I don’t give a fucking shit about why he hurt me. He hurt me.

And he didn’t stop.

He didn’t fucking stop while I was screaming in pain.

No reason is good enough to make up for that.

“How is Maddox?” I ask as I stare at the wand, genuinely wondering how he is. He was the one who saved me, and now he’s just risked his life to save his brother. I want to know that he’s okay.

“Don’t ask about him.” There is a warning in his tone, a dark jealousy amplified by my rejection of him.

“Why not?” I challenge, my head snapping up. “I care about him. He actually trusted me. He actually tried to stop you, and he was the one to get Sau. He saved your fucking child.” A bitter laugh leaves my lips. “A child you haven’t once asked about.”

“I know she lives.”

“You know she lives?” I shake my head. “Fuck you.”

“You want to know why I haven’t asked about her?” he growls as he places his hands on my knees and shoves them apart. I try to keep my legs closed, but he steps between them, then hauls me forward by the hips until my pussy rubs against his cock. I try to squirm back, but his fingers dig into me, clamps that refuse to let me go. “Because all I fucking care about right now is how you are. Yes, I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry that I believed the evidence instead of my feelings for you. I wanted to punish you for kissing Antonio –”

“He forced –”

“I didn’t care,” he admits, his words heavy and dark and twisted. “I didn’t fucking care if you wanted it or not. You are mine, Micha. And he got to taste you.” His eyes dip to my lips. “I wanted to skin his fucking touch off you.”

“Well, thank you for not doing that,” I say sarcastically, using the words as a shield to cover the pounding of my heart. Because no. No, I’m not going to accept his apology just because my fucking neanderthal says, “Grrr.”

“I know you hate me,” he continues as he cups the back of my neck, his hold firm and possessive. “You hate me for the rest of your life if you need to, little monster. Wake up and plan how to make me miserable every day if you must, but just fucking wake up here. Beside me.” His head touches mine, and the sorrow pours from him, but I pull back and cross my arms.

“Oh, so you’d rather just let me hate you than fix what you broke?”

“Of course not.” He shakes his head, a flash of irritation in his eyes. He’s tired. I’m tired, and we’re both running ragged on emotions that have broken us, but I don’t want to be understanding right now. I don’t want to put in the effort of just ‘getting what he means’ so he doesn’t have to put in the effort of saying it.

“Just tell me how to fix this –” he starts, and I explode.

“Fuck you! You do not get to fucking break us and then ask me to fix it. This is on you. You created this mess. You. Hurt. Me.” I shake my head, my blood so fucking hot, I’m resisting the urge to throw my fire in his face.

“But if you just tell me, then you can stop hurting soon–”

“Fuck you!” I scream as I shove at his chest, mine so fucking tight it feels like I’m choking. And I know what it’s like to be choked. Thanks to fucking him.

But I don’t want to tell him. I want him to care enough to figure it out, to think about what he’s done and how he can prove to me that he won’t do it again. I want him to learn who I am and what I need and put in as much effort to fix us as what it took for him to break us.

Because he already told me he cared about me.

He already made me feel special.

Already made me believe in him, in us with his fucking, “Let’s blood bond and be tied together forever” shit.

And because I understood his paranoia and his station and his fears and all the experiences wrought on him, I let him get away with bringing the bare minimum into this relationship. I let him just talk the talk, to fool me with his words that were only ever said behind closed doors.

And look where that got me – strapped down to a chair and tortured.

So I can’t trust just his words. Can’t trust him at all if he doesn’t put any effort in to soothe my worries when he’s the one who created them in the first place.

“Fine,” he snaps. “Heal your fucking hands.”

I open my mouth, but he cuts in, “Don’t you want to see if it’ll work? If you can still use magic through a wand?”

My heart jumps into my skull, pounding hard as I glance at the thin tapered piece of wood in my hand. A part of me desperately wants to try, to believe that he hasn’t stolen all of it from me, but the other half is terrified of the answer. If I try to use the wand and it does nothing, then what am I?

A freak.

I wince.

An abomination.

I glance up at him, and he must see the guilt in my eyes, the direction my thoughts took me because his walls come down, shutting me out. He’s been called an abomination all his life for his lack of magic.

A cold, bitter laugh breaks through my lips. “We could be matching abominations.”

He doesn’t say anything, and a part of me hopes I hit a fucking nerve there, that I hurt him just a little. But a bigger part of me already regrets the words.

What a fucking fool I am.

He can torture me as I scream, but I flinch when he looks hurt. Pathetic.

Shaking my head, I aim the wand at my hand. “Iactus,” I say softly, then hold my breath. For one second, t–

White light glows from the tip of the wood, and I exhale harshly. The burn fades under new skin. As soon as I heal both hands, Varius grabs the wand and chucks it away, then bends down to place his shoulder in the middle of my chest as his arms come around me. He straightens, slaps my ass when I try to wiggle off him, then heads for the door.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask as I resist the urge to bite him. He likes it when I do that.

“I’m tired, so I’m going to bed.”

“Not with me you’re not.”

He shrugs. “You don’t want to tell me what you want me to do, so I’m just going to do what I want with you.”

“You’re a fucking neanderthal!”

“Says the one hissing at me like a feral cat.”

“Fuck you! In what fucking world would I not be pissed after you tortured me! You do not get to piss me off by hurting me and then get pissed that I’m hurt and pissed off! That isn’t unreasonable of me – of fucking anyone, you fucking turdstain. The only unreasonable thing I’ve done is not pack my bags and left before you even got –”

He swings me off his shoulder, then pivots and pins me against the wall. His eyes narrow as he ducks his head and growls, “You even think about leaving me, little monster, and I’ll kill everyone who hides you, everyone who saw you, just the tiniest fucking glimpse, and didn’t report back to me about where you were.”

I snort. “You can’t know who saw me if they didn’t tell you.”

“Then I will kill everyone in every city you pass through.”

“You’re delusional.”

His forehead presses against mine, and I am suddenly aware that we’re on the stairs leading up to the second floor. It’s dark, well into the night, and no one seems to be out, but we’re not hidden away in a room. We’re not protected from the eyes of his brothers. My eyes flicker back and forth across his, trying to see what this means, but then I stop. Look away.

I can’t keep searching for things that aren’t there. Can’t keep fooling myself into thinking he cares about me, seeing the little signs that mean he does. Fool me once...and I end up strapped to a chair and my magic ripped from me. Fool me twice...

“I fucked up, Micha,” he says softly. “When Talon told me you were the one who helped Antonio take Khalid, I didn’t believe him. So I forced Leno to wake Mother up from her coma.”

I swallow, remembering how badly her body was ripped apart by the werewolf alpha. She must have used so much magic to heal herself, used so much more to heal me. I saw the toil it was taking on her as she kept our child from bleeding out between my thighs. The more magic a witch uses, the more exhausted they become. And when they get too tired to protect themselves from the backlash of magic that occurs with every spell, then it starts to destroy their organs.

Sau lost a kidney, maybe more. The last I saw her, she needed a cane to move about. She will regrow them in time, but every bit of magic she uses before that happens, the more organs she will lose. Use too much, and it’ll kill her. Then, of course, there’s her curse. How many years has she lost in the past twenty-four hours? Will she even live long enough to see her grandchild?

“She told me you kissed Antonio,” he continues tightly. “And I fucking lost it. I’m sorry.”

My throat works wordlessly before I push out the words, “Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“So tell me what is,” he demands as he steps away from the wall, and my hackles start rising all over again.

“I told you I’m not telling you shit.”

“But if you know what I can do,” he says, frustration bleeding into his words, “then why not tell me so I can do it?”

“Because that’s just me fixing it! That’s me cleaning up your mess. Making things right. Putting in the effort –”

“I’ll be putting in the effort. I’ll be doing them! You need me to bring you flowers and chocolate, just tell me what kind and I’ll –”

“Flowers and chocolate?” I screech as he opens his door and steps inside. Then he kicks it shut behind him. “That’s what you think I need to forgive you for taking my magic from me? For looking me in the eyes while you stabbed me over and over again? Flowers and chocolate!”

“I don’t know because I’ve never apologized before!” he roars. “I am running fucking blind here, little monster, and I’ve had a long day –”

“You’ve had a long day? I had a nine hour fucking drive. Then I fought a monster – a legit, bonafide fucking snake, bat thing that your mother sicced on me because she thought I took down the wards because your asshole of a brother lured me back here to be his fall guy! Khalid’s girl tried to kill me, but I still saved her. Then I got punched in the stomach and learned I was pregnant! That is not the time to learn you’re fucking pregnant! That is the most stressful fucking time to learn you’re pregnant!

“And then you!” I yell, smacking at his chest as he holds me over his bed. “You torture me! You damn near cause a miscarriage and then you leave!” My voice breaks. Cracks. Fucking splits apart like my heart is right now. “You left me. You left me all alone when I was hurting so fucking badly, and then you come back… You come back and you yell at me.”

Tears burn my eyes, and I duck my head so he can’t see them. I am so fucking done crying over him.

“Fuck, monster,” he says, his voice softening. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. That’s all you fucking say. I don’t care that you’re sorry. I care that you did it.”

“Well, what do you want me to say then?” he asks in exasperation. “Do you want me to not say sorry?”

“Of course I want you to say sorry! But I want you to do other things too!”

“Like what?”

I flounder, not sure. What could he possibly do to prove I can trust him not to hurt me?

“Fucking hel, Micha. Just tell me.”

Just time, I realize. It’s just going to take time, constant little actions that show me he loves me. That he’ll choose me over his traitorous brothers and scheming mother and just trust me not to hurt him so he doesn’t hurt me. Ha! My heart breaks. Varius trusting someone. That’s never going to happen.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Micha. Stop acting crazy and just tell me what you need so I can fix this,” he growls, his voice low, not yelling but yelling all the same.

My eyes widen.

“Crazy!” I screech. “You want to see me crazy!” Twisting in his arms, I bite him hard on the shoulder. The taste of blood explodes on my tongue. I jerk my head up. “How’s that for crazy! Or maybe this!” I grab at his waistband, knowing he has knives somewhere. Finding a handle, I pull the blade out of its sheath. “Let me cut off your dick and see how reasonable you are afterwards!”

He grabs for my wrist as I wave the knife around. I wave it more erratically to keep it out of his reach. The longer I manage, the more his frustration mounts, and the angrier he becomes. As his eyes darken to a cold steel, my heart slams around my rib cage, and I am hit with the memory of him standing in front of me while I was strapped to that chair.

Panic grabs hold of me, sinking its razor-sharp claws into my limbs, into my mind, and I am fully transported back to the moment I was there. When I begged him to stop hurting me. When I feared for my life and that of my child.

Lifting the knife up rather than out, I aim for the base of his shoulder. A part of me is screaming that the only way I can live is if he dies. If I stab him and rip myself free of my bindings. My vision blurs, but I can still see his damn eyes, haunting me in their cruelty.

One of his arms comes up to block me, his forearm crossing with mine. The other grabs my wrist and bends it back. I cry out, and he releases me. But the pain is done. The damage. The memory of how easily he can hurt me. How willing he is to do so.

I ram my head forward to crack his nose. He twists as he throws me down. I hit his bed on my back, and he jumps on top of me to pin me down. My arm comes up, instinctive and quick while he’s in mid-air. My breath whooshes out of my lungs as two-hundred-and-forty-odd pounds lands on me, crushing my fist into my chest and I gasp in pain, my eyes bugging wide. Fuck. I didn’t expect his full weight. I thought he would hold himself up to protect me, thought he would at least try not to hurt me again.

Tears burn my eyes as my rage suddenly dies, and all I want to do is curl up into a self-pity party, knowing that we are never coming back from this. I can’t see him outside of the man who tortured me. Who was okay with listening to my screams. And if I can’t trust him when he’s angry, how can I trust him when he’s not?

As a sob builds in my chest, I try to tell him to get off me, that he’s making it hard for me to breathe, that he’s hurting the baby, that I don’t want him touching me, that I want to be alone. My words come out as a jumbled mix of all those things though, and none of it makes sense.

But he doesn’t move, doesn’t say a single word, and that is such a strange reaction from him that it cuts through my sorrow just enough for me to feel it.

The wetness on my chest.

The knife that’s still in my fist.

Which is stuck between me and him.

My eyes widen.

His full weight is on me!

On the blade that’s poised right below his heart.

“Varius!” I shout, panic making my voice squeak. I didn’t want this. Not really. I just wanted him to stop hurting me. “Varius! Varius, get off me. I can’t –” I try to wiggle out from beneath his bulk, but I’m terrified of jerking the knife, of making the hole bigger. And he’s just too damn heavy for me to get free.

“Help! Someone help!” I scream.

I don’t care if the reaper is the one to come in. Don’t care if I’m charged with treason after. I just want Varius to live. He has to live. He’s my fucking neanderthal even if I hate him so much it hurts.

“Heeeelp!” I screech, but then I remember he kicked the door shut. The silence rune has been activated, and no one can hear me scream. No one is coming to help.

Jerking my hands out from between our bodies, I cup his face. He doesn’t turn his lips into my palm. Doesn’t move at all.

“No. No, no, no, no. Varius, please,” I cry as I look into his open eyes.

Open but empty.

Unseeing.

“Varius, please. Please stay with me. I’m sorry. Don’t go. Don’t go. Stay with me.”

Fuck!

I’m not a healer.

I can’t even control my magic anymore. But the knife is still in his chest, a natural blockade. I have a chance to save him. He has a chance to live. I just need to get out from under him.

I just need to get out and open the door and get Sau.

Simple steps.

Simple fucking steps.

I can do this.

Tears burning my eyes, I try once more to shove him off me.

But I’m a hundred-and-ten pounds. And he’s over twice my weight and nearly twice my size, and the torture and then my rage-fueled destruction of my room took so much strength out of my limbs. My arms shake as they shove.

He doesn’t move.

“Varius, please,” I beg. “Please don’t leave me to raise our girl alone. Please don’t –”

I scream as his head suddenly jerks up. Red eyes, sharp fangs – that’s all I have time to see before he grabs me and sinks his teeth deep into my neck.