Assassin's Honor (47 page)

           
"And you don't listen," he said with strained humor. "You should have gone out the window when I told you to."

           
"It doesn't matter . . ." She hesitated for a long moment, terrified that she might be in denial. "You killed him. You saved me."

           
"Christus, Emma." He bent his head and groaned softly.
" Carissima
, it wasn't me. Deus help me, I wish it had been me."

           
The agonized torture in his voice sent ice slogging through her veins. Rigid with cold, she shook her head. "But I saw it . . . the sword . . . I saw it . . ."

           
"Dulcis Mater Dei," Ares breathed softly.

           
His hand caught hers and pressed it tightly against his cheek. After a brief moment, he turned his head to kiss her palm in a tender gesture before looking back at her with a bleak expression. She shook her head. It wasn't possible.

           
"But you killed him. I saw the sword--you took it from him." Why didn't he say he was responsible for the man's death?

           
"No, inamorato, I didn't--"

           
"Then Phae.
Lysander." Denial still held her in its grip. The chill sweeping over her was now bone deep as he shook his head. "Tell me it was one of them."

           
"Deus, Emma." There was a tortured note in his voice that set off a cacophony of alarms in her head as he shook his head. "I can't."

           
The anguished resignation in his words sent panic streaking through her as she tugged her hand free of his. Oh God, he was telling the truth. It hadn't been him. Maybe he was wrong about Phae and Lysander. She shuddered. No, he wasn't wrong. Slowly, an insidious knowing snaked its way through her, dragging with it the horrible images she'd tried to keep buried in the back of her head.

           
Terror swept through her once more as the cruel features of her assailant flashed in her head. She'd been so certain Ares would be able to reach her in time. It had been a fleeting thought as she faced what she truly thought would be her last breath.

           
The fear had swelled through her until all she could think of was how she could stay alive. What had been a sliver of a thought became a stark image in her mind, and panic had made the image grow sharper in her head. Her mouth was dry as she tried to swallow the knot closing her throat shut. It had been her. She'd been the one to wrench the sword out of her attacker's hands and plunge it into his chest.

           
"Oh God," she cried out as the weight of the truth crashed down on her.

           
"Emma, listen to me." Ares grabbed her by the shoulders to twist her toward him. "You did what you had to do to survive. It's going to--"

           
Horror sped through her like a lightning strike, and she shoved him away from her with a sharp cry. In that split second, she registered the fact that she hadn't even touched Ares, and yet he was flying across the room.

           
She screamed in terror at the same instant his body hit the wall. Her fingers digging into the bedspread she clawed her way to the edge of the bed. She'd killed him. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped them away with her sleeve. Please, God, don't let him be dead. Please. She ignored the pain in her side and swung her legs off the mattress.

           
Relief sagged through her as she saw Ares slowly sit up. He shook his head as if to shake off the impact of hitting the wall. If this was what it meant to be a Sicari, she didn't want to be one. She wanted to go back to being plain old Emma Zale. She didn't want super-hero powers. Her own ability had never been this painful.
Never this dangerous.
Trembling with emotion, she'd jumped when the bedroom door crashed open and Lysander strode into the room. He looked first at her and then at Ares, who was struggling to his feet.

           
"Deus damno id," Lysander growled as he strode over to Ares to help him stand. "I told you to let me handle this."

           
"Get out, Lysander," Ares said in a cold voice as he pushed his friend away and crossed the room toward her. "This is between Emma and me."

           
"Fotte.
She just--"

           
"Get out." There was a menacing note in Ares's softly spoken words that made Lysander hold his hands up in the air in silent surrender and leave the room.

           
When they were alone, Ares's steady gaze locked with hers. "It's all right, carissima. We'll work this out together."

           
"There isn't anything to work out," she said in a tight voice.

           
"You need help adjusting to your ability, Emma."

           
"I don't want your help. Let Lysander help me." Her sharp words made his features grow hard with cold fury.

           
"You're my responsibility, not Lysander's."

           
"I don't want to be your responsibility," she said with a savage anger born of the knowledge that she meant little more than an obligation to him.

           
Her next breath was a gasp of horror as Ares's legs sailed out from underneath him and his body slid across the floor. He hit the wall for a second time, his erratic skid knocking over a small table with a lamp on it. A tremor raced through her. She was doing this to him, and she didn't know how to stop it. As he stood up, he caught his palm on one of the pieces of glass scattered around him.

           
The sharp hiss of air he sucked in made her freeze with shock as several drops of blood hit the floor. Oh God. She had to make him leave. She was in enough pain already, and seeing him suffer only deepened the terrible ache inside her. There had to be something she could do or say to get him to leave. If he stayed, she could hurt him much worse. The knowledge sickened her. She heard the sound of material ripping and her gaze jerked to where his brute strength had helped him rip his shirt at the shoulder seam. He tugged the sleeve off and made a makeshift bandage around his palm.

           
"Don't you get it? I don't want you here."

           
"You don't have much choice, cara." The harsh arrogance in his voice made her want to strike back, if only to get him out of the room.

           
"Any more than I had a choice whether or not I wanted
a Sicari
ability?" Her voice was icy as she glared at him. His mouth thinned into a harsh line.

           
"You're
right,
you didn't have much of a choice. But I can't take it back, Emma."

           
No. He couldn't. There wasn't any going back, ever. She'd taken a life tonight. It didn't matter how evil that person might have been. She'd killed someone. That alone changed her. She wasn't Emma Zale anymore. The realization left her shaken and scared.

           
"I killed a man tonight," she whispered with repugnance.

           
"It was self-defense, inamorato," he said gently. "You did what anyone would do. You survived."

           
He took a step toward her and she recoiled, not wanting him to come near her. She'd barely blinked when Ares stumbled backward again, pushed by an invisible force. A force she'd created by her emotional responses. She flinched. If they stayed in this same room together, she knew she would continue to hurt him. This power of hers was uncontrollable, and she was quickly realizing that the intensity of her emotions determined its strength and unpredictable behavior.

           
"Get out," she said with a sob.

           
"I'm not going to leave you, Emma." His expression determined
,
he stepped toward her again. "You can keep pushing me away all you want, but I'm not leaving you."

           
"I can't control this," she cried. "Just go."

           
For a third time, Ares landed on the floor and the sight of him sliding away from her brought tears to her eyes. She didn't want this power he'd given her. She didn't want the ability to hurt anyone, especially the man she loved. Exhaustion sent her shoulders rolling forward as she hung her head. Even before he touched her, she could feel him. Her connection to him was almost tangible in its strength. She shuddered as he squatted in front of her and cupped her face in his hands.
Any second now she expected him to go flying across the room again, but she was so tired.
Drained.
Emotionally and mentally.

           
"You can control this, carissima. I'm going to see you through it."

           
She sent him a bleak look, her heart breaking as she remembered why he was willing to help her. He wanted her to embrace this thing inside her. But all she wanted was to destroy it. She just didn't know how.
To live with the idea that she had the power to hurt others--him.
Look at what she'd just done to him. No, what he'd done to her. She drew in a painful sob.

           
"Please, just go away. I don't want you here. I just want you to leave me alone."

           
"That's just it, carissima, I can't."

           
"Why, because you're responsible for making me this way?" she said bitterly.
"For making me into a killer?"

           
His body whipped backward from her, and for a moment, she thought she was responsible for his sharp movement. He rose to tower over her, the expression on his face closed off, unreadable.

           
"I'm paying a steep price for what I did, Emma, but if you'll recall, the reason I performed the blood bond was to save your life because you didn't listen to me." His gaze was cold and unforgiving as he stared down at her. "It doesn't excuse what I did. But you didn't protest my sealing the blood bond, did you?"

           
The brutal truth of his words washed over her, leaving in its wake the understanding that she bore some responsibility for what had happened between them. If she'd listened to him that night at Julian's funeral, none of this would have happened. Everything would be different between them. She shuddered. It didn't matter who was to blame. All that was left was to pick up the pieces of her heart, and try to move on with this new life the two of them had created for her.

           
"I want you to go now," she said in a quiet voice.

           
"Emma--"

           
"I said go." Her heart twisted inside her as she met his gaze. Maybe in time she could forgive him, forgive herself, accept what had brought her to all this, but not right now. "I want you to leave."

           
He narrowed his eyes as if assessing her strength and determination. "Christus, why do you have to be so stubborn, Emma. All I want to do is--"

           
"Help?
You've been helping me since we first met, and look where it's gotten me." The bitter resignation in her voice made him flinch. Exhausted, she met his gaze with a tired shake of her head. "Just go away. There isn't anything else to say."

           
His features were hard and impassive as he stared down at her. Once more, his deep blue eyes reminded her of Lake Michigan in a storm. But the emotion she saw there was grim and disturbing. While his stoic expression revealed nothing, his gaze reflected a dark emotion she couldn't decipher. He took a quick step toward her, and she recoiled in fear, terrified she might hurt him again. The stone facade he wore cracked, and for a moment, she saw a bleak torment engulf his features.

           
The fracture quickly repaired itself and the emotion vanished beneath a granite expression. Without another word, he whirled around and left the room, the door snapping quietly closed. A quiet sob broke past her lips as she curled up into a fetal position. Later she would think things through. It was all too fresh--too raw to deal with at the moment.

           
The memory of Ares flying across the room not once but several times pulled another sob from her. God, what was she going to do now? If she could do that to him, she could do it to someone else. And he was right. She was partly to blame for all of this. She'd interfered when she shouldn't have, forcing him to save her. And looking back on what had happened the morning after their bonding, he had tried to tell her about the consequences, but they'd both been caught up in the heat of passion. A quiet knock on the door made her stiffen. She didn't want to see anyone.

           
"Go away," she called out in a hoarse voice.

           
The door opened despite her command, and she turned her head to see Lysander standing just inside the doorway. She rolled away from him and closed her eyes. She was too tired to argue anymore. He cleared his throat.