Secrets [5] Echoes: Part One (50 page)

His fist balled up by his side, his jaw so tight it seemed to stretch forward an inch. “You can’t say these things to me, Ara.”

“Why? Because they might change how you feel about me?” I asked, sweeping closer.

He buckled, stepping back like I was a skunk.

“David, I know I did wrong by you. And I know you can never forgive me. But even if you and I are never okay again, I’ll be damned if I’m going to leave you—take your daughter away and have her call someone else
Daddy
.”

He spun away and rested his brow against the door, his chest and shoulders rising and falling with weighted breath.

“David?” I tried touching his back but he flung my arm off so fast I stumbled into the other door.

“You just don't get it,” he said, drawing himself into a tower above me. “I don’t want you here. I don't want
that
here.” He aimed a finger at my belly. “What do I have to do to get you to understand that we’re through? Do I have to
physically
hurt you?”

My wrists and ankles trembled, but I pulled my spine up straight and showed no fear. “Nothing you ever do to me will make me love Jason. I can’t change what I feel.”

“Ara, you’re
fated
to be with him,” he yelled. “You don’t get to decide what you want. None of us do.”

I readjusted my feet so I could stand without leaning against the door, my whole body flooding with confusion. Who told him that? “You’re wrong. I may be fated to Jason, but I can choose what I want and what I
do
. And I still love
you
, David.”

He turned away swiftly, a hand coming up to his jaw.

“I just thought you should know that,” I finished.

“Why?” He faced me again, his eyes ragged with what I assumed was either extreme anger or the losing battle to hold back tears. “Why say this to me? It can never change anything. You cheated on me, Ara. You
fucked
my brother and you enjoyed it. I can’t even look at you now I’ve seen you through his eyes.”

“
Cheating
was a sacrifice, David!” I said coldly. “I knew I'd lose you. But I had to save you. And whether you appreciate that or not doesn't matter, because I would do it all again. I love you. And never ever want you dead.”

“Yeah, well, I wish I could say the same thing.” A sadness filled the space between us then, until he looked at me with deep disgust in his eyes and said, “Did you think I’d care—when you told me you
loved
me? Did you think I’d—?”

“I didn’t think you’d—”

“No, because you never do!” He tapped my temple a few times. “You’re a stupid, impulsive girl, Ara, and you only ever think about yourself.”

The hurt in me wanted to take hold—spill out past my lashes to relieve the heartache, but I held strong in the wake of fear and rejection, and tried to see past his words—look beyond for the core meaning. He was angry, I could tell, but anger stems from fear. I knew this as well as I knew that he wanted me to stop talking, but didn’t want me to stop loving him. “That’s not true, David. And you know it.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” he said, his voice so weak I half expected him to collapse after. He was as tight as an elastic band between two fingers, though, his knuckles white, until he dropped forward a little, placing a hand to the back of an armchair to hold himself up.

“David?” I watched from afar as sweat broke out across his shoulder blades and soaked his shirt, the black Mark showing under the white fabric like a face peeking through a window. “Are you okay?”

“Just get out, Ara.”

“Please, just let me help y—”

“I said get out!”

“Or what?” I countered, insult rising by force of his violent undertone.

He lunged toward me so fast it threw me off balance again, my imminent topple saved only by the tight grip of his hand around my throat. He backed me into the wall and held me there, the breath of a raging bull moving my hair around my face.

I squirmed, rolling my gaze up to meet his steely, cold eyes, willing myself not to cry. But I just didn't want to believe he was capable of treating me this way. I wanted to tell myself it was a spell, but all my heart would see was the monster staring into me, like a dark, empty room, and I just didn't know what to do other than to cry.

He watched me sobbing for a second then let go, running both hands through his hair as he turned away. I didn't need to rub my neck or gasp for air because, truth was, he didn't hold tight enough to even leave a handprint, but my lungs were in shock, making them as stiff as rubber, leaving my trembling lips numb and tingly.

“I need you to leave. Please,” he added calmly, his hands balling up again by his side.

Another version of me was already running down the corridor, but at some point in choosing whether to run or stay, I split in two and the braver me stood her ground, hoping to God that the man who loved her was still alive somewhere in that empty shell. “I will if you do one thing for me.”

“Anything,” he said in a broken whisper, his shoulders hunched.

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

“I don't love you.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Now, mean it.”

His shoulders hunched a little more, his hand going out to find support, coming back to his waist when nothing was there. “Ara. Please. You don't know what you're doing.”

I rolled my lips into a thin line and waited.

The sheath of sweat under his shirt made it stick to his ribs, showing each bony ridge. I knew I’d pushed him too far, and I felt kind of bad now—seeing him suffer so much. But there was some truth underneath all this anger and hatred, and either he was holding back his deeper undying love for me, or he really hated me and was trying very hard not to bludgeon a pregnant woman to death.

His knees buckled suddenly then and he fell to the floor, stumbling to his feet as I swept in and cupped my hands to his wet ribs.

“You’re weak,” I said, trying to carry his weight. “You need blood.”

“I just need you to leave,” he growled, taking me up in his dead cold stare. “You’re an infection, Ara, and it sickens me to be near you.”

I raised my hands and stepped right back when I saw a very clear and very detailed act of violence play out in his mind that couldn't possibly have come from a place of love.

“Guards,” he called, his voice so small and hoarse he had to call again before they entered the room.

“Your Majesty.” Two thin men bowed, searching the space of apparent danger with ragged eyes.

“Get her out of here.” He waved a hand in my direction and staggered heavily into the chair. “Now.”

“David?” I pleaded softly. “What’s happening to you?”

“Just go, Ara. I don't
want
to hurt you.” He crumpled forward, his head in his hands, but when I reached the door and glanced back to add one more thing, he was gone—the curtains blowing lightly before a now-open window.

***

“Mike, I need to talk to you.” I darted over the hardwood floors of the Training Hall, checking the corners for any listening ears. We were alone.

“What’s up?” He steadied the punching bag and yanked his gloves off, tossing them onto the bench behind him.

“It’s David.” I strolled right over to him and folded in half to take a seat beside his sweaty gloves. “There’s something wrong with him.”

“You mean other than being an immortal asshole?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking down at how furiously my hands were still shaking. “He wanted to hurt me just now, Mike. Like, really hurt me.”

Realising this wasn’t a joke or a venting session, he sat down and swept my cheek into his shoulder. “What happened?”

“We talked to my dad.”

Mike tensed a little, letting it all go with a long breath. “And uh … how do you feel?”

I had to smile despite the shaking. “About Dad? Great. But, after we spoke, I accidentally gave David the impression that I—” I looked at my hands again. “I went to talk to him—to finally tell him how I feel and, Mike?” His caramel eyes were on mine before I even turned my head. “I think Drake was right. I think David might be under a spell, and—”

“Drake? Hold on, Ara. When did you talk to Drake?”

“The other day,” I said, my lip trembling. “He called to check on me and the baby.”

The look of horror on Mike’s face spread down his body, as if by seeing only the set of his shoulders I could tell he was a breath away from declaring war. So I told him everything—about what Drake said and what just happened with David, from start to finish.

His thick, dry thumb dragged under my eye and sanded off a tear. “So, you don’t think David’s Marked by Lilith. You think it’s, what? Spell ink?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that
that
man is not my David.” I pointed toward nothing. “I can see him in there, Mike—when I look into his eyes, it’s like there’s two David’s: one that’s hurting really badly—screaming to break free of … of …
something
. And then there’s one that wants to hurt me.”

“Sure that’s not just wishful thinking, Ar?”

“No. I’m not sure. I want to be. But I don’t know anything about magic or witchcraft or
anything
.” I cried into my hands. “I feel
so
stupid.”

“Ar, you’re not stupid, baby. No one around here knows much about magic.” He drew my face away from my palms. “But Drake said you should take David to the forest, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So do that. Talk to him—tell him he’s under a spell.”

“I want to but, a: how do I get him there? And b: what if he doesn't believe me?”

“Then we’ll work together.” He cupped my shoulder. “We’ll both go, maybe take Falcon too—see if we can all talk ’im ’round.”

My face cracked and a smile presented itself. “Really?”

“Aw, baby.” He wiped his thumb down the corner of my mouth, smiling at my smile. “You gotta have known we’d help in any way we could—surely. You didn’t think you had to go this alone, did you?”

I shrugged timidly. “I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”

He sat back, his eyes glassed, and nodded. “Guess I kinda deserve that. I haven’t really been your champion lately, have I?”

“You’re okay, Mike.” I laid my hand to his thigh, noting, with a bit of an internal laugh, how much thicker he was all over now that he was working out so much instead of “spending time” with Emily.

“So.” He cupped my hand firmly. “Let’s meet tomorrow—you, me and Fal, and we’ll come up with a plan. Yeah?”

I turned my hand over and wrapped my fingers around his. “Thanks, Mike.”

***

Everyone, including my dad, sorry,
Lord Eden
, was seated by the time Mike and I arrived late at the Great Hall. Well, all except David. Quiet murmurs flowed around the room about our mysterious new guest, answers coming in brief snippets here and there by those who’d already been informed of the Great Vampirie’s return. And Dad just sat there at the right of the king’s chair, his fingers folded on the table in front of him, watching and probably listening. He sent me a smile as the people stood to greet their queen, sitting back down again once I was. Even Jason graced us for dinner, sitting down in his chair beside me where Morg used to sit. He offered me a smile too, but it was weak. I wanted to ask what he and my dad had spoken about but, really, it was none of my business. If he wanted to tell me, he would. In time.

“When are you leaving?” I asked quietly. Mike heard, though, and he looked up, waiting for Jason’s response.

“Tomorrow.”

“After the festival?”

Jason shook his head softly. “Before.”

“Why so soon?” Mike asked.

Part of me expected Jason to glance down at my dad as though some of this decision had come from him, but he didn’t. He scratched the ditch of his temple and reached for his glass. “It’s time. That’s all.”

“Is everything okay?” I placed my hand over his before it could retreat back into his lap. “You don't seem like you.”

“I’ve learned a lot—” His eyes flicked to dad then. “In the past hour.”

“Does that have anything to do with you leaving so soon—”

“No, Ara. It doesn’t,” he assured me, giving my hand a little pat. “I promise.”

“Then—”

“I’m just soaking everything in.” His head bowed in an assuring nod. “I’ll be fine. More than fine.”

Down the end of the table, Dad leaned right around to watch us, his mouth quirking up on the corners in a soft smile when I made eye contact. I could feel the emotions that had surged between Dad and Jase in the last hour, like a kind of murky heat that lingered on the skin after a hot day. And all I wanted was to hug Jase—tell him … I don’t know.
‘Everything’s okay’
didn't seem necessary, but then, neither did
‘I’m sorry’
or anything else.