Shattered Promises 02 - Fractured Souls (22 page)

“Try anything at all,” he threatens, lowering himself down onto me. “And you’ll pay severely.”

I keep my expression blank as he begins kissing me again. I allow him to relax as much as possible, and then, when he’s about to shove his hands down the front of my jeans, I finally open the box inside me, letting emotions flood out. I lean back and then slam my head forward, ramming our skulls together hard. There’s a sickening crack and then Nicholas screams out in pain. I give him no time to recover, kicking him between the legs. His face screws up in pain and he slumps to the side of the bed. I leap to my feet and immediately the blood rushes from my head. The room violently spins in indistinct hues and shapes as I stumble toward the bed and make a run for the door. Halfway there, though, I turn back and stare at the nightstand, at the Ira.

“You know you want it,” Nicholas grunts, clutching his goods. “If you leave without it, you’ll regret it.”

I’m weak and hungry and I feel like shit, but I do want it. Badly. The only thing standing between it and me is Nicholas. I glance around the room for a weapon and spot the rain stick on the wall. I snatch it down and position it in front of me.

Nicholas climbs off the bed, hobbling a little as he winds around to the foot of the bed. He grins at me, raising his eyebrows and spanning his arms out to the side.

“Go ahead,” he says with an arrogant grin. “Take your best shot.”

Trembling, I shuffle forward and swing the stick at his head. He ducks down and the force of the movement sends me sideways. My feet scuff against the floor, but I ungracefully manage to recompose my balance. I walk a half-circle around him, positioning the stick out in front of me.

He laughs at me as he turns to the side with me, making sure that his eyes stay targeted on mine. “Come on, Gemma. You’re a Keeper. You can do better.”

I shake my head, redirecting myself to the other side. “No, I’m not… I have no mark.”

He leans back against the footboard and causally props his elbows against it, unafraid of me to the point that it’s almost insulting. “What makes you so sure?”

“No mark.”

“Maybe it hasn’t appeared yet.”

I want to ask him what he knows because it looks like he knows something, but it’ll only get me distracted. Taking a step backward, I charge at him. He laughs, skittering to the side like he’s dancing, however I twirl around right at the last second and extend the stick out so it comes straight out in front of him. The heavy material slams against his gut and the stuff inside the stick makes it sound like it’s raining.

He lets out a sharp cough as he crumples over and I seize the opportunity to bring the stick over my head and ram it down on top of his. The sound is sickening and it makes me feel barbaric, but I’ve entered survival mode and all that matters is getting the hell out of here alive with the Ira.

I hit him again and again until he’s lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. He’s not dead, his chest is still feebly rising and falling, but I’ve beaten him pretty badly. I drop the rain stick to the floor and back away. I have blood on my hands and even some on my face. I’m a terrible, wretched person. I really am.

I grab the Ira off the nightstand, feeling a thorny vine twist inside my stomach. By the time I step out of the house and away from the
praesidium,
I don’t feel like Gemma anymore. I feel dead inside and I let the numbing feeling stay because sometimes, when it all comes down to it, being emotionally detached is better than feeling what really lies inside the darkest spots of our hearts, the one’s that we want to deny exist. Yet sometimes they’re impossible to ignore.

I walk to the center of the crystal-trimmed yard in front of Nicholas’s illusion house. There’s a fence carved of rubies and a large tree that grows miniscule pink diamonds. It’s beautiful, yet as Nicholas’s said, the beauty is just a delusion.

Taking the ruby-filled ball out of my pocket. I hold onto the Ira and shut my eyes. I’m not sure where to go since so much time has gone by, so I do the only thing I can think of.

I shut my eyes and think of the one thing that brings emotion out of me.

I think of Alex.

Chapter 22

When I land in the living room of Adessa’s, I start to feel alive again, my bones and muscles not hurting so much and my head clears. The air smells intoxicatingly of cinnamon and spices, and the velvet couch looks very welcoming. So does the person on it.

Alex is staring at a book that’s open on his lap, but when my feet hit the floor his head whips up. A blistering flame of need combines with desire and I start to run to him, but my knees give out on me and I slow down, bracing onto the armrest of the sofa.

“Where the hell have you been?” He takes in the traumatized state of me as he rises to his feet, dropping the book on the cushion. “And what the hell happened to you?”

I collapse onto the nearest couch and lie down on my side, cuddling the Ira to my chest. “Nicholas.”

Alex shakes his head and then storms over to the wall, slamming his fist through the drywall. “I’m going to kill him,” he growls with so much fury in him it vibrates across the room and into me, stealing some of my already fading energy.

I struggle to keep my eyes open. “I’m so tired.” I raise my arm in the air and hold up the Ira. “I got this from him.”

His green eyes widen as he strides across the room and kneels down beside the couch. “You have the Ira?”

I nod, gazing off into empty space as I remember the hell I’ve been through the last few days. My ankles and wrists are ripped apart from the cuffs while my legs and arms feel stretched. “Yeah, I stole it from him.”

“What happened? One minute I left you with Laylen so you could… so he could… and then Laylen said you just vanished. At first I thought he did something to you, but then I realized that he…” he summons a deep breath and shuts his eyes. “That he cares for you. So we searched the forest, however we couldn’t find you anywhere, so we came back here.” He opens his eyes and sadness abounds within each of them. He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the book. “I’ve been reading and reading on why the hell someone would just disappear, but I was starting to arrive to the conclusion that… that you ran away.” He pauses, waiting for an answer.

I shake my head. “Nicholas was playing fucking mind games with me.” I drape my arm over my head to block out the sting from the bright light. What’s been done to me… what I did continues to possess my fractured soul. “He took me to his illusion house and tied me to the bed. At first he said it was because of your father, but as the days kept passing and passing, I really started to believe it was for his own benefit.”

Alex remains silent for a while, deeply breathing in and out. Finally, the silence becomes maddening and I peer out from under my arm. His gaze penetrates me; my filthy clothes, the warm blood on my hands, along with the purplish blue bruises and deep red scratches covering my body. “Gemma, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I mean I can tell by the way that you look that you obvious went through something really bad, but…” He struggles, leaning in over me and sweeping my hair out of my face. “But you’ve only been gone for a few hours.”

I swiftly shake my head. “No… no there’s no way. I was gone for days. I know it.”

His eyebrows furrow as I wince from a sore area on the center of my forehead. “Gemma, I promise you that’s not true. I can even get Laylen in here to back me up.”

My head pounds as I rack my mind for what the hell could be happening. “But it felt like days. There’s no way it could have been only a few hours.”

He draws a line back and forth below each of my violet eyes. “Maybe he was messing with you... maybe he was making it seem like days had gone by. He could easily do that, Gemma.”

I sigh, thinking of how my sanity bolt had unscrewed. “Maybe…”I shake my head and sit up as he slants back to give me room. “I hate him. I really do.”

Alex slides up on the couch and turns to face me. His fingers find my hips and he carefully lifts me onto his lap so I’m straddling him. “Tell me what he did to you.” He scans over my clothes, my wounds, stealing my breath away the longer he stays focused on me. Electricity within me stirs and arouses, along with my emotions that I turned off.

I take a deep breath and tell him what happened, minus the making out details because I’d vomit if I had to say them aloud. There are some things that are better left unsaid and forgotten. The person I became is someone I want to forget.

It takes Alex about a minute before he speaks again. “I’d like to say that I’m surprised,” he says, slouching back in the sofa with his hands still on my hips. “But I’m not.”

“So you’ve heard of this Malefiscus?”

He wavers and then hesitantly nods. “When I was little, my father would tell me stories of him.”

“So you knew?” Stunned, I slide back to leave his lap, but his fingers press downward, securing me in place.

“Just stories,” he insists. “He didn’t tell me he was a descendant, only the story of who Malefiscus was and what became of him.”

“But you knew about the mark?”

He shakes his head, his pupils like black marbles as he begins to panic. “No, I really didn’t. I just knew who he was and what he did… my father started telling me stories of him right after my mother left and they kind of became like bedtime stories.”

“He told you of evil as a way to get you to go to sleep.” I’m stunned. Shocked. And kind of disgusted. All this time I’d felt pity for myself for everything I’d went through when I was younger, but I haven’t really thought about what it must have been like to grow up with a murderous traitor. “Alex, that’s horrible.”

He shrugs it off, staring over my shoulder. “That’s minor compared to some of the other shit he’s done to me.” His eyebrows dip together as he zones out on some distant memory.

I place my hand on his stubbly cheek and he flinches. “What did he do to you?”

His gaze slides to me as his fingers travel up my side, along each bump of my aching ribcage, finally resting on my shoulder. “You don’t need to worry about that. It’s in the past.”

“But I want to know,” I say. “I-I want to understand you more.”

He smiles sadly. “No, you don’t. No normal person wants to hear about the bad things that were done to someone by their father. They’d rather stay in the dark.”

“Well, I’m not normal,” I say as his hand covers my hand that’s on his cheek. He traces the folds of my fingers and I shiver from his affectionate touch, experiencing a fleeting moment where I feel like myself again, whoever she was. “Tell me,” I plead.

“That’s another story for another time,” he says gloomily. “Right now we need to work on getting you hidden better, especially if my father can brand people. Jesus, there could be a ton of people out there who have the mark. I mean, who knows how many people he branded.”

“So you think it’s true?” I say, sounding strangled, recollecting all the visions I had about the mark appearing on me. I casually glance over at the spot on my arm where it always appears to make sure I’m still good inside.

“I don’t know… maybe…” He shuts his eyes and his nostrils flare as he inhales sharply. “If it’s true, then my childhood would make much more sense.”

For a split second, I wonder if Stephan marked Alex, but I’ve seen him naked and he doesn’t have the mark anywhere or a severe scar where one might have been cut off.

“I don’t have one if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says, sensing my thoughts. He doesn’t sound angry, merely hurt and lost.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, tipping my chin down and staring at my lap while using my hair to veil my face. “I don’t know why I thought it.”

“Because of everything I’ve done to you,” he says straightforwardly. “You don’t trust me or anyone really.”

I shake my head and lift my gaze to his eyes. “No, I
didn’t
trust anyone, but I’m starting to.”

His eyes flare lustrously as he grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. I think he’s going to kiss me, however all he does is shake his head.

“Did he do this to you? Nicholas.” His fingers gently outline a pattern down the bruises dotting on my arm and then his fingers circle my torn up wrist.

I nod, the feel of his touch soothing me. “He did.”

He clenches his jaw, anger storming through him, and his muscles constrict. “I’m going to kill him for it,” he growls.

I nuzzle my cheek against his. “He already paid for it… I beat him up really badly.”

He pushes me back by the shoulders a little and then lifts my wrist to his lips and kisses my injury. “That’s kind of hard to believe,” he says between kisses.

“It’s true.” I shrug, shivering from his kisses. “I beat him with a rain stick.”

He seals his lips tightly to refrain from laughing. “I’ll take your word for it then, but if I do cross paths with him again, I’ll beat him unconscious.”

I want to say too late, though all I do is nod because I’m too tired to do or say anything else. Tired of fighting. Of running. Of simply existing. All I want to do at the moment is shut my eyes and go to sleep.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask, my eyelids fluttering shut as I yawn. “I’m guessing we have to leave.”

“Now we’re going to get you out of here,” he replies. “Go somewhere safe—somewhere hidden. Nicholas knows where this is and now that we know he’s helping my father, we can’t stay here.”

I nod and bury my face into his chest while he smoothes his hand up and down my back. “Let me go get Aislin and Laylen to see if we can come up with a plan.”

“Okay.”

He stands up and secures me to the front of him, carrying me with him as he leaves the room. My energy fizzles with each step he takes as I cling onto him. I keep seeing little images of objects and the color red. I see the mark. I see Death Walkers. I see the end of the world. The images are pulling at me to join them and I keep thinking what if I did? Join them? Join the easy side, the one that chases instead of runs.

“I think something’s… wrong with me,” I tell him drearily.