Courting Darkness (6 page)

Surprise stole her breath, or maybe it was his muscular shoulder digging into her stomach, knocking a little more air from her lungs with each determined step as he strode across the room. The window slid open as if he’d commanded it so, and without breaking stride, her abductor stepped out onto the small metal terrace. He descended the steps in rapid-fire succession.
Yes!
she cheered, despite Olivia’s indignant flailing. For where her mind failed to recognize this gorgeous stranger, her heart knew him well. Liam…

The sound of chirping birds invaded her sleep. As consciousness called, Olivia struggled to hang on to her dream—her memories…
No!
her mind screamed, not yet ready to let him go. She wanted to stay, wanted to know what happened next. Where was Liam taking her?

Buzzing added to the chirping, and despite her efforts, the vision before her faded into nothingness. Cracking open an eye, she reached for her phone vibrating on the nightstand. Olivia muttered an oath as she slid her thumb across the screen, opening her messages.
Ash: Hey, don’t tell your parents I cracked.

Really? You woke me up for that?
Olivia clicked on the light beside her bed, tossed her phone on the nightstand, and grabbed her journal, flipping to an open page. She wanted to record every detail, every thought, and every emotion before her dream could fade. She had to remember…

It was minutes before my wedding to Mitch. I should have been more excited than I felt. When I removed the necklace, it was like the final betrayal of my heart. As I held the stone tightly fisted in my hand, he spoke to me. The grief laced in his low husky voice mirrored the ache in my chest.

He was beautiful… His dark hair was nearly black in the dim room. It hung in waves around his handsome face. His jaw was strong—square. A muscle twitched in his cheek, giving away the hard clench of his teeth as he struggled to hold that mask of indifference.

I wanted to run to him—to throw my arms around him, but I couldn’t move. It seemed as if his reserved stance held me at bay. The dark amber of his eyes bore the truth of his pain—his sorrow… Sorrow that I knew I caused. I was ashamed and heartbroken. He wanted me to say it. He wanted to hear me confess that I loved another, but the lie I managed to force past my lips was a pathetic attempt, at best. My heart refused to release its hold on him—even as I prepared to marry Mitch.

I was a horrible person. A hypocrite even, and guilt clawed inside me until tears streamed down my cheeks. He looked as if he wanted to comfort me. I knew my pain brought him no measure of satisfaction. Yet, he resisted coming to me.

“I wish it was me waiting down there for you.”

Those words broke my heart. Standing there across the room, seeing him again for the first time, I wouldn’t admit it then, but I now know I fell in love with him all over again…

Tears splattered the pages, and Olivia dabbed up the moisture with her sleeve before it could fade the ink. Flipping back to the beginning of the journal, she began to read the entries. New-found hope began to bloom in her heart. Even though her memories were lost, perhaps they all weren’t truly gone. Here, in this book, were pages of remembrances, and she’d continue to fill these pages with her dreams. Someday, she vowed, she would have her life back.

By the time Olivia closed her journal, a box of used tissues lay scattered around her like confetti. Her eyes were puffy, her nose sore and runny. Her head ached, but perhaps that was from the 6 a.m. hangover she now sported. She’d spent the rest of the night reading and rereading her journal entries. It all felt so surreal…like she was invading someone else’s most private thoughts, their memories—experiencing someone else’s emotions as if they hadn’t been her own. None of them were familiar, save the last entry from her dream—that had been real, too real…

The story she held in her hands had been both beautiful and tragic. As she closed the journal and laid it on the nightstand, several painful realizations weighed on her. One: She was alive today because of Liam. He had given up his wings to save her, and miraculously, through his selflessness, had earned them back. Two: Liam had absolutely, without a doubt, loved her. Three: The old Olivia, the Olivia in this book, was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with an angel she could never have.

The whole thing was heartbreaking, really. After reading of the pain and misery that Olivia had endured, after experiencing it in that vivid dream, she had to admit there was a small part of her that was glad she couldn’t remember it all. But ultimately, that selfish part of her wasn’t big enough to deter her from wanting to discover the truth.

Why had Liam turned on her, and why had he taken her memory away? What happened during those unaccounted weeks between her abduction and her accident? Did the angel that loved the Olivia in that book—the angel who willingly gave his life for her—still feel the same? Or had something happened between them to shatter that bond? Oh, how her heart ached for him—ached for the truth…

Olivia’s eyes burned anew with the sting of tears that couldn’t come. She’d cried herself dry mourning someone else’s memories. Her life was as fractured as her heart. She felt like two different people— the before and after. The alarm clock on the nightstand clicked on, sounding a monotonous blare that would wake the dead, which was what it usually took to rouse her in the morning. Quieting the alarm, she crawled out of bed and started gathering tissues.

She had exactly an hour before she had to be at work. As terrible as she felt, Olivia wondered how she was going to make it through the day on a few hours’ sleep—exhausted, and hung-over.

The hot shower did little to improve her frame of mind or her condition, and there wasn’t enough makeup in the world to fix this face. Red swollen eyes, chapped nose, blotchy cheeks against the backdrop of her black hair, she looked like the walking dead. Too emotionally exhausted to care overly much about her appearance, she pulled her damp hair into a messy bun, slipped on a tank top and yoga pants from her laundry basket, and made her way down the stairs.

Her first class was at seven, and she had new members starting today, so she’d need to get there early enough to complete their registration. As her feet touched the floor, the scent of bacon hit her nose a moment before the rich sizzle reached her ears.

Olivia tensed. Who was here? In her home? And cooking breakfast? She tip-toed across the floor and carefully peeked her head into the kitchen. What the hell…?

“Good morning, Olivia.”

She glanced at the table, set for one. A glass of orange juice sat beside a plate filled with scrambled eggs and toast. Tate crossed the kitchen, pan in hand, and flopped two strips of greasy bacon onto her plate.

“Sit. Eat,” he commanded, nodding at the chair.

She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised to see him Martha Stewarting in her kitchen, or offended he’d taken the liberty to do so. As he turned to set the pan in the sink, she plopped into the chair with an indignant huff. “For being my guardian, you certainly don’t know me very well.”

Grabbing a coffee mug from the cupboard, he filled it with the strong black brew and turned to look at her, arching a dark brow as if to say “Oh really?”

“I don’t eat breakfast.”

He added her special sweetener to the coffee and then her creamer. Lucky guess on the creamer, there were four different bottles in the fridge to choose from. He crossed the kitchen and handed her the mug. Before she could mutter a “thanks,” he turned and poured himself a cup.

Sitting across from her, he took a sip, then set the mug down and said, “Well, you should. And I know more about you than you think. I also know you look like shit. You’re exhausted. You’ve been crying all night, and there’s no way you’re going to get through this day without at least a good hit of protein and carbs.”

Grudgingly, she broke off a piece of toast and popped it into her mouth. She hated to admit it, but he was right. She felt like crap and was running on empty.

“Oh, did I mention you’re hung-over?”

“Anything else?” she added with a hint of snark before forking a mouthful of eggs.

“This coffee is fantastic. I’ve gotta say, I’m delighted with your human beverage.”

Cute.
So her guardian was a comedian. She took another bite of eggs and washed it down with a sip of coffee. Damn…it was good. And he’d made it exactly how she liked it. Imagine that.

Stretching out in his chair, Tate crossed his long legs at the ankles and laced his fingers to support the back of his head in a negligent sprawl. “So here’s the deal, Olivia, you can’t keep going on like this, and I’m no
Mary Poppins
. If you continue to refuse me as your guardian, I cannot guarantee you’ll live a long and healthy life—”

Chugging her orange juice, she set the glass down with a firm
clap
and leveled him with an unwavering stare. “I want my memory back, Tate. Can you do that? Can you give it back to me?”

He sighed, looking not in the least bit surprised by her request. “Why would you want it when you know it will only cause you more grief? Look, the court may not agree with Liam’s actions, but I understand why he did what he felt he had to do. So no, Olivia, I can’t return your memory. I will not subordinate Liam’s actions to please you. It would be counterproductive to my end goal.”

“Which is what, exactly?” she snapped, hastily forcing down another bite of scrambled eggs so she could get the hell out of here. “You show up out of the blue, heal my broken ankle, tuck me into bed, and cook me breakfast. Are you trying to break my bond to Liam by getting me to fall for you? I’m not that easily seduced.”

A scowl of displeasure settled across his handsome face. He stiffened in his chair, clearly affronted by the suggestion. “Were I to put forth the effort, you might not find me so easy to resist. But it’s not your heart I’m after, Olivia. I want your soul—”

“Oh, well then in that case… For crissake, Tate, listen to yourself. FYI that is
not
what you should say to someone you want to trust you. ‘I want your soul.’ And if you think I can just stop loving Liam because you say so, then clearly, you’ve never been in love.”

“No, I haven’t.”

His emotionless retort flamed the already burning embers of her nerves. “Well, then kudos to you, because let me tell ya, it sucks. And it can’t be controlled. It’s not something I can just turn off and on at will. Do you think I want to feel like this? That I want to be heartbroken over someone who doesn’t want me anymore, who gave me up—”

Tate’s violet gaze locked on her with startling intensity. “I never said he didn’t want you. And I didn’t say he gave you up. I said you were taken from him and he’s not coming back.”

“
That’s
supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m not here to make you feel better, Olivia. I’m here to keep you alive. Now, accept me and let me do my damn job!”

She pressed her fingertips to her throbbing temples, trying to stave off the impending migraine. Each beat of her heart was like a nail driving deeper into her brain. Oh, she never should have consumed that much wine.
Perhaps this is all just a dream,
she pitifully tried to convince herself. It simply wasn’t happening. She was not sitting here in her kitchen, arguing with an angel over binding to her soul. Those kinds of things just didn’t happen. This was all just too much.

The chair across from her grated against the floor as her wishful hallucination stood, wordlessly crossing the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of Ibuprofen, and shook three pills into his hand before carrying them over to her.

“Here.”

Without giving him a glance, she held out her hand and drank the pills down with the remainder of her coffee. Silently, she ate the last few bites of eggs, bacon, and toast. Olivia stood and carried her plate to the sink. She had to go. “So, that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to move in and become my shadow until I bond with you? Is that what you’re saying?”

Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he tipped his chin defiantly. “Exactly, dove. When I’m not in court, I’ll be here with you. As a courtesy, I won’t block your sight. That way you won’t have to wonder if and when I’m watching you. I’ll respect your privacy and personal space as much as I safely can. If it’s any consolation, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here. Aside from the coffee, your world holds little appeal to me. You want me to go away, then bond to me. The decision is yours.”

Tate blocked her exit from the kitchen. She walked up to him, and shouldering her own stubborn stance, snapped, “So that’s it, then?”

“Pretty much.”

Just fucking great…

Chapter Five

Tate watched from the kitchen window as Olivia marched to her car, jumped into the Camaro, and peeled out of the driveway. Damnation, this female was a handful. As a warrior, Tate saw things as either black or white—but this female was nothing but gray. His decisions were always practical, his actions—methodical. He wasn’t impetuous by nature or rash in thought, so what in the hell had ever possessed him to tell his ward he was moving in with her? Because he was desperate...