Chapter 42 #3
Amryn darted to the bed and snatched up another pillow, but Carver was done. He strode forward, and before she could throw the second pillow, he’d taken hold of it, too.
She yanked it toward her chest, but since he didn’t let go—and his feet were firmly planted—the motion only dragged her closer to him.
She released an infuriated snarl and shoved the pillow into his chest. He swore he saw a flicker of hurt before her light green eyes shielded. She turned for the door once more.
He immediately dropped the pillow and grasped her wrist, halting her escape. “Wait—”
“Let go of me!” She yanked against his hold.
Stung, he released her.
But she didn’t try to leave again. She remained before him, her chest rising and falling with each harsh breath, a sheen of tears in her eyes even as she glared at him.
“You want to know why I risked what I did? Why I didn’t hesitate to use the bloodstone?
Because I would have done anything to save your life. Because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”
He stared at her, taken aback by her fervent words—and the surprising anger in them. “Amryn, I—”
“I know you’re angry,” she cut him off. “And I know you’re afraid.”
Frustration swelled. “Of course I was afraid. I already told you, the risks you took—”
“You were afraid of me.”
Shock blasted him. “What?”
Her arms crossed over her chest. The move was defensive, but it didn’t mask the hurt in her expression. “I don’t think that statement needs any clarification.”
“I disagree,” he said, his voice clipped. He’d somehow misread this entire argument, and now he felt utterly lost.
She laughed once, the sound brittle. “You want me to explain, when you’re the one who never explains anything?”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t keep things from you.”
“You don’t keep things from me?” She huffed a hard laugh. “Saints, Carver, you never tell me anything. You hide your emotions from me all the time!”
He stiffened. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“How does shutting me out protect me?”
Irritation flickered. “I’m not trying to shut you out.”
“You shut me out every chance you get.”
“I don’t even want to feel my emotions half the time. If I can keep you from feeling them, I will.”
“I’m an empath!” she burst out. “I’ve been feeling the emotions of others my entire life. It’s who I am. You can’t protect me from that.”
“You’re my wife! I’m always going to try and protect you. That’s who I am.”
Her fingers dug into her arms, her breathing accelerated. “You claim me as your wife, yet you don’t confide in me. I never truly know what you’re thinking or feeling—”
“You know exactly what I feel, all the time!”
“And you hate that,” she shot back. “It unnerves you.”
“Can you blame me?”
She jerked, as if he’d struck her.
He knew instantly he’d said the wrong thing. “Amryn, that’s not—I don’t—”
“No, thank you for your honesty.” Her voice was colder than he’d ever heard it.
And yet, her hurt was still obvious. It pulled at his heart to see her trying so hard to hide her pain.
“I’m glad you’re finally admitting it, since we both know you’re uncomfortable around me.
I’ve felt it before—flashes of guilt, or unease.
That fear you felt today only confirms how uncomfortable you are around me. ”
He could only stare. Saints, he’d been so blind.
Just because she could feel his emotions didn’t mean she understood them.
She might try to guess the reason behind what he was feeling—and with her experience and skill, she was probably right most of the time—but that didn’t make her infallible.
She could misinterpret things. She might feel something from him and think it was about her, or because of her.
Amryn’s gift was so incredible, he hadn’t even considered that sometimes she could be wrong.
So utterly wrong.
He didn’t bother to hide the growl in his words. “I won’t deny that I was afraid today.”
She flinched.
“I was horrified at the risk you took,” he clarified.
“Healing me out in the open like that? Even after I told you Rhone was nearby? Using the bloodstone—a thing that nearly killed you the last time you used it? I was bloody terrified.” He stepped forward, until there were mere inches between them.
She watched him with sharp eyes, that sheen of tears back in evidence.
Slowly, he cupped her unbruised cheek. Willed her to keep eye contact, to understand him fully as he said, “I was never—not once—afraid of you, Amryn. I was afraid for you.”
A single tear tracked down her cheek. Disbelief churned in her eyes as she shook her head. There was a pained pinch in her words that hadn’t been there before as she said, “I don’t believe you.”
He frowned. “Why not?”
“How can I believe you when you don’t trust me?”
“What are you talking about? Of course I trust you.” He’d trusted her in Esperance. Trusted her at every turn.
A bit of heat entered her eyes. Saints, he didn’t want her angry again, but anything was better than the raw devastation that had been there a moment ago.
“I’ve shared more with you than I’ve ever shared with anyone else.
I’ve handed you my secrets, trusting you completely with them, but you refuse to return even a fraction of that trust. You won’t truly talk to me.
Not about the things that matter. How you’re coping with Argent’s loss, or about your nightmares.
You don’t talk about your time in Harvari or what happened to you there. ”
He'd stopped breathing at some point during her impassioned speech. The lack of air made his words come out too low. “I don’t speak about that with anyone.”
“Maybe you should.”
Pain. Terror. Helplessness. Those remembered feelings only served to bring out his anger. It was his only defense. He gritted his teeth. “I had no idea you thought so little of me. That you regretted trusting me.”
Hurt cut through her eyes, but her jaw remained tight. “I never regretted trusting you. Not until right now.”
The words were a blow. To keep from reaching for her, he fisted his hands at his sides. His words were hard as he asked, “If circumstances hadn’t forced your hand, would you ever have told me that you were an empath?”
“No.”
He stared at her, hardly believing her. “After everything we’ve been through, you truly don’t trust me? You think I would betray you?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
She may as well have stabbed him. He stepped back, his chest too tight, his words thin and hard. “There are things I don’t want to talk about, I admit that. But what could I possibly have done to make you think I’d ever betray you?”
“I can’t afford to trust anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone. I’m—” He cut himself off, frustration choking him.
I’m your husband, he wanted to scream at her.
He’d sworn to protect her. He had protected her.
And yet she still didn’t trust him? That infuriated him.
More than that, it hurt. How blind had he been to miss this?
Every time they’d been alone, had she distrusted him?
Had she feared him whenever he’d touched her?
Kissed her? The thought made his gut roll.
He eased back a step, his heart hammering against his ribs while bile rose in the back of his throat.
“You know how I feel about you.” He shoved a hand through his hair, fingers tightening as he clenched the strands.
He exhaled a harsh laugh. “I took a knife for you today—twice. How much more proof do you need that I would do anything to protect you?”
She cringed. At his words, his tone, or the raging storm of emotions she must be feeling from him, he didn’t know. But an answering storm churned in her eyes. “That was today, Carver. What about tomorrow?”
“I don’t know how to convince you if you’re set on disbelieving me,” he ground out. “But I would never betray—”
“My own father betrayed me!”
Her shouted words crashed between them, ringing in the horrible silence that followed. Carver stared at her, the flames of his anger freezing as he tried to make sense of words that were incomprehensible.
His mind flashed back to what she’d said in Esperance, the night she’d told him she was an empath. Words that had been overshadowed by the threat of her brother, and the bloodstone, and everything else that had risen up to haunt them. Words he should have latched onto much, much sooner.
“My father isn’t dead. At least, not as far as I know. He just left me for dead a long time ago.”
Left her for dead . . .
Carver couldn’t breathe. No. Saints, don’t let it be that . . .
Tears glittered in Amryn’s eyes, but none fell.
Her lips trembled, though her voice was hard as she said, “He made me a lot of promises, too. He made promises to my mother and brother. But one day, he decided our lives were worth less than a purse of coins. One of the knights taunted us about that right before he murdered my mother.”
Horror. Revulsion. Grief. Sorrow. Fury. Carver felt all of that and more. But his anger at Amryn? It was gone. Instantly.
Voice hoarse, he said, “Amryn—”
“My father proved that people can say anything they want,” she said, breathless and furious and so, so pained.
“Someone can claim they love you. They can even feel that love sometimes, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.
It doesn’t mean it will last. It doesn’t mean they’ll choose you.
” She choked on a suppressed sob, meeting his gaze as the tears finally leaked from her shining eyes.
“My own father sold me. How am I supposed to believe that anyone else can truly love me if even he couldn’t? ”
She was breaking his heart. Shredding it to pieces with every hurt word, every frayed breath, and every tear cutting down her face.
Carver stepped forward, moving slowly to give her every chance to pull away as he set his hands on her trembling shoulders.
She didn’t pull away. Just met his gaze with her own, cautious and wounded.