Divine Solace: 8 (36 page)

The first thing she’d seen had been the splintered side
door, a temporary latch and broken crime tape on it. When she came inside, she
didn’t know how long she stood there frozen, staring at broken tea pots,
shattered tables and chairs. Blood on the floor where Chloe had been beaten
nearly to death after she’d gone toe-to-toe with the man who’d been after
Marguerite. The twenty-something who’d always been mistaken for much younger
because of her pixie face and joyous outlook on life had fought him with no
defensive skills, just courage and determination to protect those she fiercely
loved.

Gen could only stand in that aftermath, feeling helpless
that she hadn’t been there to protect Chloe, no matter how futile they’d all
assured her that would have been. The intruder would have likely killed her or
hurt her just as badly.

It didn’t matter, didn’t assuage the guilt at all. She’d
thrown herself into cleaning everything up, arranging for the repairs, making
sure that when Chloe and Marguerite came back, it would be as close to the way
it had been as it could be. She’d cried every moment she’d scrubbed that blood
off the floor. Regardless of the number of pieces, she’d glued every broken cup
and tea pot back together. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t be used anymore.
She knew what they meant to Marguerite.

All that passed through her mind in a flash and then she
didn’t think. She shoved open the door, calling out his name, hearing the
terror in her voice. “
Noah
.”

“Here. I’m back here. Wait there, don’t come—”

But she was already hurrying down the short hallway. The
guesthouse was basically an open kitchen and living area, with a walled off
bedroom and bath, so it was only a few steps. However, as she arrived in the
bedroom door, she understood why he’d tried to keep her from coming to him.

His bed was soiled. It looked and smelled like someone had
urinated on it. Profusely. She pressed her hand against the framework, the
world spinning. She’d also cleaned human urine and feces off the floor of
Marguerite’s office, left by someone so malevolent he’d marked like a beast the
place M loved.

Though none of it had happened to Gen directly, she got a
hint now of what it was to experience a post-traumatic episode. Spots marked
her vision and she was back in Tea Leaves, scrubbing the floor, sobbing her
sorrow and rage.

“Gen, it’s all right. Come out here.” Noah blocked her view.
Nudging her with grim determination back into the front room, he pulled the
bedroom door closed behind him. But it wasn’t the only thing that had been
vandalized. Looking around, she saw a small collection of books had been torn
up. Dishes in the kitchen were on the floor, broken.

How was it that monsters like this could hate someone so
much, they showed it by destroying everything that belonged to them? Had Noah
been here when…

Her gaze snapped up to his face and then swept his body, her
hands following, taking inventory. No blood, no torn clothing. He was whole. He
was safe. She made herself take a shaky breath, realizing he’d closed his hands
on hers, was making a soothing noise.

“Noah, what the hell…who did this?”

“He’s already gone.”

“He was here while you were here?”

“It’s someone I used to know. He came to talk to me, and he
got angry. He has anger issues.”

“You think?” Gen realized he was shepherding her toward the
door.

“I’m going to clean this up. Go on in the house. I’ll be
there soon.”

“
No
.” She planted her feet. “You’re going to tell me
right now what’s going on, who he is, and why I shouldn’t call the police. And
don’t you dare tell me we’re not telling Lyda about this.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I’m going to tell her I need to live
somewhere else. It’s time for me to move on. He wouldn’t hurt her, but this is
just…this all belongs to her. He can’t destroy things that belong to her.”

It was the break in his voice that helped her look beyond
her own fear and anger, focus on his misery. As well as the fact his hands were
shaking. Not much, but enough to scare her, since he always seemed so placid.
Taking a breath, she framed his face. Something in his wandering gaze had her
worried he might slip from her fingers and disappear, even while he stood
before her.

“Sshh,” she said quietly. Firmly. “Look at me, Noah. Look at
me.”

He was looking at her now, but he wasn’t focused. She
repeated it, sharp and steady. The relief that gripped her when she saw him
tune back in to her made her run her hands down over his shoulders, his arms.
“Let’s sit down. Let’s take a breath.”

The house was too small to sit anywhere that wouldn’t be in
view of the damage, so she drew him out to the front stoop, making him take a
seat with her there. He was barefoot. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten glass in
his heels. She should check that, because his expression told her he might be
in a little bit of shock.

“First things first. Did he hurt you?” Gen dialed back the
emotions the very thought boiled forth, but she wasn’t entirely successful,
because Noah gave her a wary look.

“No.”

“Not this time.” She studied his face, read the truth there.
She pushed back the long hair that fell over his shoulder as he leaned forward.
“But it’s happened before.”

“I was his for a while. Then he moved on. And came back. And
moved on.” Noah shook his head. “It’s complicated, Gen.”

She could well imagine someone being obsessed with keeping
Noah. Hell, she was already pretty tangled up over him. Even the hard-nosed
Lyda was protective when it came to Noah. But Gen was putting together pieces.
He’d come from New Orleans for the purported reason of taking care of his
grandmother. He’d “belonged” to Tyler before Lyda. Lyda had goaded him with the
comment about being his babysitter.

“Is he the one who collared you and then let you go?”

She wanted the answer to be no, but when he gave a bare nod,
she linked hands with him, let them rest on his knee as she reached up with the
other hand, stroked his hair back again. “And you’d let him do it again,
because you think once you belong to someone, you’ve made an unconditional
oath. What happens when they conflict, Noah? When Lyda’s ownership conflicts
with his ownership?”

Noah managed a wry look back toward the open door.

“So you told him no.” Gen felt a small spurt of relief.

“I told him I owed Lyda my loyalty until she lets me go. He
said he respected that, but he had to punish me for refusing him. That I’m his
property.”

“So if she let you go, you’d go back to him?”

Noah didn’t answer her, just looked at his bare feet. She
caught his chin, jerked his face up. A flicker of mutiny went through his gaze,
but he held still, let her make him meet her eyes.

“You answer me.”

She might not be Lyda or Marguerite, but she’d had years of
making hard decisions to regain control of her life, not waiting for it to be
handed to her. As a result, she now owned a cherished old beater car, had her
carefully tended mortgage and viable dreams of pursuing a full accounting
degree, once she paid off the last of the debts her marriages had left her.
She’d evolved from being Marguerite’s waitress to doing Tea Leaves’ books and
handling opening and closings. While that might not seem like much to most, it
meant something to Gen. She owned her life, and no one would ever take it from
her again.

All of that fueled her resolve now, reflected in the hard
note in her voice. That flicker in his expression acknowledged it, even though
he put his hand up, closed it around her wrist. “I have to, Gen. It’s the
promise I made.”

“To whoever picks you up off the street? Lyda doesn’t rate
better than a guy who pisses on your sheets to tell you how worthless you are?”

His expression became hunted. “It’s not my choice.”

“That’s total bullshit. You won’t make the choice.”

“I can’t.” He pushed himself off the stairs so abruptly it
startled her, but not as much as the fevered look in his eyes when he rounded
on her. She’d seen Noah’s brown eyes reflect deep lake calmness, brief flashes
of sexy rebellion, and sometimes a disturbing flow of shadows, here then gone,
like clouds passing over the sun. But now those shadows had gathered in full
force, threatening a gale.

“I can’t,” he repeated fiercely. “One person says that makes
me a gift, another says I’m damaged and I’m banned from their club.” His hands
closed into fists. “Someone else tells me I need to be this or that, and
none
of it is supposed to be about me. I’m everything someone needs me to be, until
I’m not, and then I can’t stop it or change it. I can’t think about it. I just
can’t
.”

The stress of whatever he’d just faced with that invisible
Dom had taken him over. He was shouting, though not at her. With his expression
so raw and open, she saw something else in his gaze. It wasn’t shielding. It
was like…

Tea Leaves was in a poor neighborhood, and sometimes
Marguerite gave tea and food to the homeless in the area. She had a knack for
drawing the ones with mental illnesses that put them out of sync with normal
society. When Gen helped her hand out the sandwiches, she saw it in their eyes,
a kind of impenetrable block between them and full comprehension of the track
from which they’d derailed. They ate what was offered, gave thanks and went on
their lost way, sometimes muttering to the voices in their head, sometimes with
quiet dignity.

She was stunned to the bone to see such a wall in Noah’s
eyes, too much like that disconnect to deny it. Gen struggled for something to
say, unable to reconcile this with what she knew about him. Yet Lyda had hinted
at it, Chloe had puzzled over how to explain it… Everyone seemed to hesitate
over explaining him.

“Noah, your value has nothing to do with Lyda, or this
asshole, or me or…anything else other than you.”

Of all the things she could have said, she’d apparently
chosen the wrong one.

Shaking his head, he turned away. His body was rigid, still
as a statue, but vibrating like a ticking bomb. She’d risen from the steps, had
started to reach for him, when he jerked into motion. He strode toward the
upside-down boat. She wondered at his intent, but then cried out as he ripped a
concrete rabbit out of the landscaping, descended on the boat and put the
statue through the hull with one powerful swing.

“No, no, no,
no
.” He snarled, pounding the boat with
every syllable. Gen stood frozen, no idea what to do. Self-preservation told
her to stay back. Noah in a fury was far more intimidating. Instead of the gentle
man she knew, suddenly he was like any other male who could attack and
overpower. Cause harm.

Guy had broken her nose with one punch, proven the strength
an angry man could unleash. But she hadn’t been afraid. She’d run out the back
door, into the street, where their neighbors were out walking dogs, mowing.
She’d gone to the nearest one, asked to use the phone and called the police.
Divorce papers had been filed within the week. She’d felt rage, betrayal, but
she’d refused to feel fear.

She felt fear now, but not on her behalf. This was Noah.
Dear, beautiful, sexy Noah, at war with inner demons she’d sensed but now saw
in full force, whipping around him in a dervish of uncontrolled and escalating
emotion. The boat toppled off the sawhorse and he fell onto his knees,
continuing to hammer it with the concrete. When the rabbit broke into several
pieces, he reached for the torn planks, regardless of the jutting nails.

“Noah—” She started toward him, her personal safety
secondary. Another voice cut across hers like the strike of a lash.

“
Noah
.”

Lyda was coming up the walkway, grim determination in her
stride. She wore her usual garb of jeans and nursery T-shirt, but as always, it
made her no less intimidating, enough that Noah paused, blinking in confusion. But
he was too far into his own head. His lip curled back and eyes refired, a
precursor to renewing his attack.

“Noah.”

Gen had heard husbands teasingly refer to their wives as
“She Who Must Be Obeyed”. With Lyda, it wasn’t a joke at all. That voice could cut
through diamond, let alone the demons clinging to Noah’s back.

He jerked, head whipping around, body following. Lyda was
reaching out to put a hand on his knotted shoulder. When he seized her arm, Gen
bit back alarm, but Lyda didn’t move. Her glittering silver eyes stayed on his
face.

“Stop it. Now.”

Noah stared at her, panting. His body was rigid again, eyes
unfocused. Lyda looked toward his grip, her expression cool. “Why are you
touching me without permission?”

One at a time, his fingers loosened. Like a tree left broken
by a storm, he dropped back onto his heels, back slumped, head down. Lyda
studied him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders, his hands curl
and uncurl on his thighs. Only when his breathing had evened out did she touch his
head. He flinched, but when he spoke, Gen realized he hadn’t anticipated a
blow.

“I don’t deserve it, Mistress,” he mumbled.

“That’s my call, not yours.” Lyda stretched out her other
hand, a subtle gesture to Gen. Gen came forward without hesitation, despite
unsteady legs. When Lyda sent her a pointed glance, she understood.
Follow
your instincts.
Kneeling next to him, Gen put her arms around his
shoulders, used her palm to press his face against her neck.

“Easy,” she whispered. “Just relax. Just breathe. I’m sorry.
I didn’t know the right thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“I’m never going to figure it out, Mistress.” Noah’s voice
was muffled.

“Just breathe,” Lyda said. “All you have to do is breathe
for us. Can you do that?”

“Yes Mistress. I’ll do anything for you.”

“I know. Be quiet now. No words. Just breathe.”