Mack (King #4) (7 page)

The men surrounded us, and that was when I knew that I had once again made a mistake.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TEDDI

Why did he stop? Why the
hell
. Did. He. Stop?
I realized I’d scooted forward, literally sitting on the edge of my seat, hanging on every word in that dark room. Yes, it was a fictional story—obviously—but as he wove his tale, using that deep, hypnotic voice, I had been transported to another time and place. I saw every detail he spoke of plus many more he hadn’t—the earthy smells of the jungle, the thick texture of the air, the sunlight filtering through the tree canopy—as if I were right there with him. My heart was even pounding and my palms were sweating. I felt torn for the two of them. And the sex—dear God, had he been trying to torture me? It took everything I had not to drool on my lap. No, he hadn’t gone into too much detail, but it wasn’t necessary. Like I said, my mind felt plugged in to his memories, and anything he didn’t say, my imagination filled in.

You’re an idiot, Teddi. The story’s not even real. Just like that cheese you ate yesterday
. Regardless, my heart genuinely ached for this couple.

I cleared my throat and settled back in my chair, trying to gather myself. “S-so what happened next?” I asked, sounding only slightly less desperate than I felt.

It took him a while to respond. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear this?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

“You’re a bit of a smart mouth.”

I was really more of a person who lacked experience in the couth and diplomacy department. One needed to be finely attuned to the feelings of others in order to excel in those particular areas. But that was neither here nor there, and I wasn’t about to talk about my issue.

“Yes. And don’t change subjects,” I reprimanded.

He rose from his chair, and the action startled me. His place was over there on the other side of the room. My place was over here close to the exit.

I was about to get up and head for the door, but then he walked over to the window away from me.

“I’m not changing the subject,” he said, his voice quiet and pensive. “I’m merely being a gentleman and warning you—the rest of the story is not a pleasant one.” He cracked open the curtain and gazed outside at the plum tree in the courtyard, shattering the intimate cocoon of our little world and bathing the institutional white walls and marbled tile floor with bright light.

Begrudgingly, my eyes adjusted, and once they did, I sucked in a quiet, appreciative breath.
Dear God
. The light filtered around him like a seductive aura, giving me my first breathtaking glimpse of his masculine, godlike silhouette and the back of his tall—six three or so—body. His shoulders were powerhouse broad and tapered down into a tight waist. His legs, incased in dark jeans, were muscular and long. His hair was dirty blond and a bit shaggy in the back, just enough length to run one’s fingers through while fucking like two sex-starved animals with only hours to live.

Wow
. Why the hell had I thought that? The “two hours to live” part, I mean. The part about animals was obvious. The man was huge. Or, maybe huge wasn’t the right word. He was more like impressive, the sort of guy who walked into a room and drew everyone’s eye—the men because they’d see him as a threat. The women because they’d be wondering if he looked just as good naked as he did clothed.

As I ogled and he stared out the window, he lifted one arm against the glass and rested his forehead for a moment. That was when I noticed his heavily inked biceps with what look like dates and symbols and such.

“What do the tattoos mean?” I asked.

“I thought you wanted to know what happens next in my story.”

“Can’t I ask about both?”

“You can ask,” he replied, his tone indicating that he wouldn’t necessarily answer.

Pill. This man is a pill. Yeah, but he’s a sexy pill, so there is that in his favor.

“I choose story,” I said. “Your body art can wait for another day.”

I watched his large, powerful shoulders rise and fall a bit with an anguished sigh. He then snapped the curtains shut, pulling us back into his world of darkness. But now, more than ever, I ached to see his face. Did his front look just as good as his backside?

He turned and took his seat while I sat there like an eager puppy waiting for my next treat.

“Well?” I said. “What happened?”

“What do you
think
happened?”

Ugh. He’s toying with me.
“I don’t know, Mack. That’s why I’m asking.”

I heard a grumble of displeasure from across the room. But then finally, he gave me what I wanted.

“They separated us. I was brought back to that small hut on the outskirts of their village, where I was guarded by several men. She was taken elsewhere. I spent the next several weeks begging to see her and trying to explain that she’d done nothing wrong, but they seemed more interested in me. They spoke to me and asked questions. We traded words, and I learned anything I could, treating it like a game. I would walk my fingers across my palm, pretend to drop dead on the floor, or hold something in my hands, and they would shout out words, like a sad game of pre-Hispanic charades. With my knowledge of languages, I picked up the basics quickly.”

“How many languages did you speak?” I asked.

“Sixteen.”

That was a heck of a lot of languages. “I thought you said you were from a small island.”

“Our people were known for our metalwork and pottery. We traded with merchants from as far away as Eastern China. I really spoke closer to twenty languages if you want to include dialects from nearby fishing villages.”

“Impressive.”

“Not really. My father insisted I learn so that I could better serve my brother someday—translation skills, math, reading and writing. And, of course, fighting. Everything was planned around my brother’s needs.”

Except that Mack had said he blew all that off after his parents died. It was why he’d felt too guilty to say no when Draco asked Mack to kill him.

“So you learned Happy’s language,” I said.

“Enough to communicate and learn her name was really Óolal.”

He pronounced it Oh-a-lahl. A beautiful name—sounded like some kind of decadent dessert.

He went on, “And I learned enough to ask them to see her. Instead, I got a visit from Kan, Óolal’s father.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t happy?”

“He wasn’t the sort of man you’d want to cross. And considering my crime, I was shocked that I wasn’t tortured to death, my organs plucked out on an altar to appease the gods for my misdeeds.”

“Just for taking a boat?”

“No. Turned out, they didn’t care about the boat. Kan was their king, and Óolal was considered sacred because of her gifts. She was thought to be the property of the gods. I apparently defiled that gift.”

Oh shit
. Now I was beginning to understand why this story wasn’t going to end in a happy place. No pun intended. “So you took something that wasn’t yours.”

“Kan and I developed a strange but close friendship over the next several months while they waited for the equinox—the day to make sacrifices and atone for one’s sins in their culture. Kan asked questions about the places and people I’d seen while traveling with the Nords. He shared details about his powerful bloodline and his gifts. And every day, I asked to see Óolal but was told it wasn’t time yet.”

My skin began to crawl as I envisioned where this was heading.

“Ironically, I caught some sort of illness. My guess: Malaria from the mosquitos. I didn’t live long enough to find out what would’ve happened on the equinox, but on my deathbed, Kan promised to bury me with the Artifact—that stone I carried—and mark the grave. I hoped someday someone would find it and that the gods would do the rest, making sure the stone made it back to Mia.”

“That was very generous of Kan.”

“I threatened to bring his people bad luck if he didn’t help my spirit rest soundly.”

“Did you ever see Óolal again?” I asked.

Mack didn’t reply immediately, and I felt the air spike with despair. It was really fucking weird.

“I did,” he said, sounding solemn. “She must’ve heard I was dying and gotten free. The last thing I saw was her beautiful face hovering over mine. I told her I loved her, and then it happened.”

“What?”

“It was a whirlwind of screams and fighting and blood and…” He let out a breath. “Her father caught us together and slit her throat two feet from my face, screaming that her disobedience and insults to the gods would bring about suffering for their people.”

Oh god.
I covered my mouth in horror.

He continued, “I was too weak to do anything but watch the blood pour from her neck. But inside, I wailed in agony. At the same time, Kan screamed violently, cursing me for putting him in the situation to have to kill his own daughter. He said, ‘You will forever walk this earth, living my pain.’ Of course, all I could hear were Óolal’s final words burning deep into my soul. I think that’s when I knew that her father’s words weren’t a threat. They were real. And so were hers.”

“What did
she say?” I whispered, not aware that I was once again on the edge of my seat.

“She said, ‘I will find you. Whatever it takes, my soul will not rest until I find you and set you free.’ And then she died.” Mack paused for a long moment, perhaps to gather himself before continuing. Meanwhile, I was horrified. “The final irony was that not soon after, more guards from my island—compelled by some mystical homing skills and Mia’s orders to keep me safe—showed up looking for me. They’d been but a few weeks behind the Nords the entire time, following our trail. Had they arrived sooner, Óolal would’ve probably lived. I truly think the gods wanted to punish me.”

CHAPTER NINE

TEDDI

I don’t know how long I sat there in silence with Mack, trying to shake off the anguish of the tragedy that had just played out in my mind. It stuck to my skin, permeated my lungs, and rolled around in my stomach with nauseous waves. I literally felt sickened by it.

But why? I’d seen horror movies, read tragic love stories, and I’d played with donor brains in college. I wasn’t thin skinned. Okay, yes, I wasn’t myself today, all filled up with those annoyingly strange emotions, but this story had somehow worked its way inside me like a rotting splinter, tainting my blood.

“I need to take a breather.” I stood and headed for the door, wondering how far I’d get before I vomited. Once outside, I placed my palms against the wall and leaned in. My head was spinning, and my insides twisted with painful cramps.

I suddenly felt someone breathing on the back of my neck—someone tall from the angle of it. I gasped and turned, finding the entire hallway empty.

“Fuck. What’s wrong with me?” I whispered. Suddenly the room began spinning faster and faster, exploding with colors, the walls dripping with blues and reds and…

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe
. Then the space around me turned dark, and I felt myself falling.

~~~

Two Days Later.

I dreamed of running down that hill again. Same as the last time. Only, now there were storm clouds above, and the freezing rain pelted my shivering body.

It’s not him. It’s not him. Dear God, it looks like him, but it’s not.
All I could think of was getting away, that I’d made some horrible mistake.

I glanced down at my stomach, pressing my hands over a fresh wound, the blood staining the front of my tattered brown dress that looked more like a potato sack. I was going to die, and I knew it. Yet I kept on running. From him. The man with the blue eyes who apparently wasn’t who he’d seemed.

I tripped on a rock and flew face-first down the muddy embankment. So much pain. So much pain. I tried to get to my feet but kept slipping.

“You fucking little bitch,” said a deep, deep voice from behind me, right before I felt the man grabbing my hair and flipping me over.

“No. Please,” I begged for my life.

He stared down at me with disgust and rage, his face covered in blood, those cold blue eyes punching right through my soul.

“You
think
you can take him away from me?” he growled. “You
think
you can rob me of my brother? No one takes what’s mine.” He raised his other hand and sliced through my neck with a gleaming silver sword.

“Fuck!” I sprang up from my bed, drenched in sweat.
Oh Jesus
. My eyes immediately gravitated toward the night-light in my hallway, visible through the open door. Frantic, I ran my hands over my white pajama shirt, feeling for any wounds.

No, no. I’m safe
.
I’m home.
My plain white dresser and nightstand, the framed picture of my parents hanging over the white armchair in the corner where I read, the sliding door that led out to my redwood balcony overlooking the ocean.

I whooshed out a breath and ran my hands over my face, fully realizing that it had just been a dream. Only this time, everything had been so vivid. Every detail, right down to the texture of the gritty cold mud, the sting of wet wind whipping across my cheeks, the feeling of rot in my stomach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck
. I had to get up and try to move around a little. It was now close to midnight, and I’d been in bed for two days, half asleep, half afraid of it. The strange dreams wouldn’t stop.

I swung my shaky legs over the edge of the bed and slowly stood, still feeling woozy. I hobbled down the hall, past the bathroom and into the kitchen. I grabbed the glass I kept on the side of the sink and filled it with cold water from the filtered tap.

I chugged and chugged, knowing I’d probably throw it all up like I had everything else the last few days. Much more of this and I’d have to check myself into the hospital for dehydration.

No. You’re okay, Teddi. It’s just the flu
. I’d survive.

I finished my glass and opened the fridge, eyeballing the loaf of bread.
Crap.
I was so hungry, but my stomach wasn’t up for entertaining visitors. Luckily, I had reserves, meaning I could never be described as thin because that would require me to care deeply about the opinion of others or my mortality. I never worried about any of that.
Is that all going to change?