Reign (Roam Series, Book Six) Page 7

  Obviously humiliated, she turned away from me. I followed the hollow of her back with my eyes, the curves and lines of her body.

  “Stop looking, Rush.” She broke into a near run, and I kept her pace.

  “Did he hurt you?” I demanded, fully sobered and following closely behind her.

  “Did he hurt me?” She laughed, a maniacal laugh that had me wondering if there was some type of witchdoctor with an herb that might work like the psych meds she was on.

  I followed her up the stairs, groaning. “You’re going the wrong way. He’s going to fucking lose it if you keep acting like this-…,”

  “I’m not staying where he can find me,” she made too many quick turns, and I was amazed at her knowledge of the castle. Finally, she moved a tapestry aside, and I raised my eyebrows at a hidden, stone stairwell.

  She tilted her face to mine, clutching the nightgown to her breasts. “I’ll be up here, hiding until morning. I need a sword. Find me one. Please.”

  She began to turn, and I rolled my eyes, chasing after her. We ended up in some high tower, and the cold, drafty air made me cringe. “You can’t sleep up here, it’s too cold, Cam.”

  “You’re just afraid I’ll hang myself from the rafters.”

  I looked up, and sure enough, the wide boards held a long, thick rope securely tied to the length of the wood. “What the fuck- is that a noose?”

  “Of course it is. We’re in hell.” She stared up at the noose, and I listened to her silently. “West is dead,” she fell against the freezing stone, twisting the gown with her fists and sliding down the wall. Her forehead hit her knees, and her shoulders shook. “I can’t ever touch him or kiss him again, or hear his voice… or feel him,” she stopped speaking, unable to go on through her tortured cries.

  I knelt next to her, careful not to touch her. I felt like any minute she would spring to her feet and leap out the window. “Did he touch you?”

  She shook her head, lifting her face to mine. Her lips were swollen, and I automatically reached for them, mesmerized that even in another time and place, life and body, she had been reincarnated with a trait that had carried through centuries.

  “No, he stopped. When I told him he wasn’t the first. I almost felt sorry for him,” she admitted, brushing at her tears. “He was… devastated. Really, really hurt.”

  “Oh, you mean that guy slamming you against the wall downstairs? You know, that one who drowned you in the high school swimming pool-…,”

  “…what if he doesn’t kill me?” She whispered. “What if I’m loving to him? What if I show him the kind of love he feels for me? Maybe I could change what happens. West… can’t help me anymore. He can’t save me, over and over again. There won’t be a prophecy. I’m Troy’s.”

  She rose to her feet.

  I saw the girl before me roll her shoulders back, lift her head proudly, and brush at her tears. I’d watched her rise after her mother died… after West was stuck in 1977… and after Troy destroyed her, night after night, in her bed.

  She stared at me through the moonlight.

  “You’ll never be his.”

  I inched closer, and she held her breath like she always did. She was the girl I’d known all my life, the girl I could never have.

  And it was her turn to be mine.

  “Logan?”

  “I stepped aside for West. I won’t fucking do it for Troy.”

  She drew in a sharp breath. I wrapped her torn gown around my hand, pulling the fabric away until she was completely naked before me. Towering over her, I traced my finger down her neck, and she shivered. Her long, dark hair tumbled over her bare shoulders as her breaths came in staccato gasps. She inhaled sharply as I tightened my hold on her face and locked her in my arms.

  And I fucking took her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Roam

  “Logan,” I tried to resist, but he forced pressure against my cheeks until my mouth opened for him. When he had full access, his tongue plunged inside. His hands knotted in my hair, at the base of my neck, hot, rough. I tasted the alcohol on his breath.

  My body reacted to sensory memory; I did what I’d always done, when he was my boyfriend and I was his girlfriend.

  I turned my head slightly to give him better access to my mouth.

  “I just want to feel,” he said, his voice so low. He yanked me against him, and in the freezing tower, the heat from his massive arms was intoxicating.

  I gritted my teeth at my body’s reaction. Images of our past moved through my mind… sitting next to him on the fence in his backyard and pulling leaves from the overhanging branches… the sunset on Lake Erie… the backseat of his Camry…

  West.

  Slapping at his shoulders, I bit his lip. He growled, jerking away.

  “I don’t want you. I want West.”

  He stared at me, his chest heaving, zero space for either of us to breathe without taking in each other’s air.

  Finally, his voice softened, and his hand moved to cup between my thighs. I knew my eyes rolled back in my head before I closed them, and as his fingertip traced up the line of my fold, I failed to smother a pleasured moan.

  “West is gone, Cam. Just close your eyes. Pretend he’s me.”

  I let my limbs get heavy, not thinking about Logan anymore.

  And I did as he said. I closed my eyes.

  His mouth dropped to my neck, teeth grazing my skin. Chills ran over my naked body, and my heart raced with fear, and guilt, and a surreal energy.

  His lips were everywhere, sucking at my breasts, dragging over my throat, and his mouth crushed to mine as he shoved a finger inside of me. Finally. I was on fire by then, grinding against him, turning off my mind and sinking into the inferno he was building with each quick thrust. My knees buckled and gave out as I let go of a cry at his insistent hand.

  Lifting me up and against him, he drew both of my legs around his waist.

  “West,” I cried, eyes clamped shut, my hand working at the leather ties of his pants.

  “Fuck,” he groaned as I took him into my hand, and I exhaled sharply at his size.

  “Oh, my God, Logan,” I managed, wrapping my fingers over his length.

  “I’m coming inside of you,” he promised, his crude words so unlike what I was used to.

  From West.

  “West,” I choked out as my back slammed against the hard stone. His fingers were hard and driving, and I moaned at the building satisfaction, suddenly panicked.

  He cursed, and pushed even deeper. “Stop calling me his name,” he hissed, and I could barely hear him, my ears fuzzy and disconnected from my brain. “I changed my mind. Open your eyes. Open your fucking eyes and look at me.”

  His tone forced my eyelids open, and I gave a strangled breath.

  “I can’t… not with you…,”

  “You’re so wet, you want me, you’ve always wanted me, fucking say it, Roam!”

  His mouth was at my neck again. I clung to him, moaning. “I… oh Logan...,”

  “Just feel,” he pleaded. The blaze of sensations erupted, and as I clenched against his hand, I cried out, my breath hitched in my throat. Unable to find my voice again, I slid down the wall, still riding out the last of the shuddering orgasm he’d given me.

  He caught me, pulling his hand from between my dampened thighs and brushing my hair out of my eyes.

  “Fucking hell, Cam,” he panted, his bulging erection jammed against my stomach. “That was so fucking hot…,” he ground into me, and I stiffened, lifting my teary gaze to his.

  “This is wrong, Logan,” I shook my head, long strands of hair stuck to my lips as I struggled to catch my breath.

  “I want you now, all of you, and I’m not waiting another lifetime,” he slid his hand down my back, over my hip before wrapping my leg around his waist again. At the last moment, he stopped, dropping his forehead to mine, poised just outside my opening. “I won’t… if you don’t want me to,” he managed, and I was mature enough to und
erstand how difficult it was for him to give me an out at that very moment.

  The pain in his voice broke my heart, even as my insides continued to tremble. I moved up and down against him, needing him just as much as he needed me.

  I opened my eyes and saw Logan’s face. My Logan.

  “Please make love to me,” I asked, comforting, reaching for his kiss. “It’ll be okay… it’s going to be okay, Logan… we’ll end him before he can kill us all again.”

  He knew I meant Troy.

  When he thrust inside of me, I wanted it. He whispered that I should breathe, and I did, letting him rock me against the wall. I kept my eyes open, on him, kissing him, saying his name, alternating between Logan and Rush.

  He was unhurried, careful, and I fought the shattering pleasure until the very end. Finally, when I couldn’t hold back another moment, he smothered my cries with his mouth, pouring his grief into me.

  He pressed his face into my neck, and I could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was emotional.

  I knew everything about this man. I’d kissed him, he’d kissed me, and we’d danced, and held each other, and played, and laughed, and yet now… I knew him, in a way I should never have. I’d spent years imagining Logan Rush inside of me… until the day I met West.

  He caught me as I dropped my feet to ground.

  We settled onto the floor, and I lay cocooned in his arms. He kissed my hair and tangled long strands between his fingers, something I’d seen him do with Violet’s blonde curls many, many times.

  I shivered, not from the cold, but from the remorse that hollowed my heart.

  I recalled the emotions from long ago, after the first time I’d ever made love to West in the cottage. I’d betrayed Logan.

  And now, I’ve betrayed West.

  “You didn’t fight me.” He hushed, still breathing heavily. “I think that turned me on more than anything. You feel so good.”

  “Don’t think,” I whispered, not sure if I was talking to him or myself.

  “I’m sorry that I don’t… love you… like I love her.”

  “Don’t be sorry for that,” I managed, though the tiniest part of me was stupidly jealous, jealous of West’s beautiful, blue-eyed daughter, and the hold she had over Logan’s heart.

  He took my hand in his, running his finger from the tip of my thumb to my wrist. “I hate the way her skin felt. After she died. It was different. Not just the temperature… the surface of her skin. Her hand.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of my eye, dropping to his chest.

  “Be happy you can remember West… warm… and alive. Because I hate that every time I think of my wife, I think of her cold and dead.”

  I nodded against his skin, and he brushed away my tears.

  “He was good. He was good to you, so fucking devoted to you, and loved you the way that made you seem more alive, Cam. I’m grateful for that. But mostly I’m grateful that he failed and let you die in all those other lives. Because of Violet.”

  “Please don’t,” I fought a losing battle with my damned hysterical tears.

  “I’ll take care of you, here, Roam. I promise you. I’m going to take over his army and sit on that throne, with you at my side. If we’re stuck in hell, we’ll rule this shit together.”

  I threaded my fingers through his, and he pulled me closer.

  Somehow, I slept. When the early morning light broke through the windows, we both woke and stood. I couldn’t find the right words, and neither could he. We felt wrong, we felt right, but mostly we just simply allowed ourselves to feel. Even though it wasn’t love, it was definitely friendship, and I refused to regret what we’d done.

  He drew me to him for a slow kiss, a kiss meant to promise and numb my mind.

  “You’re beautiful.” He murmured, and I sighed, lifting my face to his. “But I miss the other you. The… adult… you.”

  I cringed. “If you use the word cougar, I will push you out the window.”

  He smirked, tucking my naked hips into his. “Mmn. An older woman.”

  “You are older than me, Logan Rush, don’t ever forget that.”

  “Hey, I stopped at twenty-seven.”

  “Your mind stopped at fifteen.”

  He grinned, deepening his kiss.

  I fell into the world I’d had nightmares about since the day I met West. Logan ordered me to treat Troy with care. I was to make sure that he was happily distracted so that Prince Leo could continue whatever plot he’d concocted to overtake the entire army.

  That night, when I waited in the canopy bed for the king, I cried for my husband.

  Troy eased himself to my side, and I turned to face him, taking a calming breath.

  “Troy… I am sorry that I am not what my father promised. There was a man who… forced me… against my will. He hurt me, again and again, and I almost took my own life.”

  The rage that darkened his expression nearly made me scream. I’d seen him react this way before… or I would, in the future, countless times. “By God, Mina, you should have told me this last night! I will see this man tortured and racked! His name,” he demanded. I hated that I was so slight in this life, and felt like a child in his arms.

  “He was executed. By my own sword. I have blood on my hands.”

  Your blood.

  “You are justified.” He kissed me, soothingly, and I endured. I held his injured cheek. The deep, bloody gashes from my fingernails had wounded his handsome features. “I am sorry for my behavior. Please, forgive me, my Mina, my love. Forgive me.”

  I was tired of forgiving. I spent my life forgiving.

  As Troy moved over me, he positioned himself between my thighs. My body reacted mindlessly, soulless, wholly anesthetized. He was tender, slow, and I realized again that this man was not the monster who deserved my hatred.

  I had no reason to punish him… yet.

  I raised my hips and echoed his movements, his words, imagining that he was making love to the young girl in the green face paint, the girl that was just a muted recollection of another life.

  Time passed. Weeks passed.

  Another month made my belly rounder, but I was not sick this time. I would meet Logan in the tower and stay with him for hours, reminiscing and planning, holding hands, and sleeping.

  And sometimes, making love again.

  One cold night, Logan’s mouth moved over my back as I lay curled on my side, tucked against him. His head dipped between my thighs, parting me, bringing to pleasured tears even as I arched my back and stared at the swaying noose in the rafters.

  We both knew that what was happening between us was born of grief, and we’d never love each other the way we loved our spouses. It was good to be with Logan, familiar. He explained how he’d gained the loyalty of most of the knights, and even some political leaders.

  “I’m close to convincing them that Troy isn’t fit for the throne.”

  “Please be careful, Logan, he needs to trust you…,”

  “Really?” He grinned into my neck, his tongue brushing over my skin. “I’ve got his wife’s tit in my hand. How am I doing?”

  I squirmed as his thumb brushed over my nipple, pushing him away from me and reaching for my robe. “I’m not his wife.”

  Somber, he registered my words, turning on his back to stare up at the ceiling.

  I was given another sword, and practiced until I was winded and drenched with sweat. Troy would come and watch me, admiring, applauding, but suddenly one day refused to allow me to fence anymore.

  When I asked him why, he gave me a knowing smile, tucking his arms around me and resting his hand over my middle.

  I was kind to Troy, and he showered me with jewels, with gowns, and with adolescent affection. Many times I expected him to arrive at my bedside and tie me up, taking me in any of the terrible ways he had before, but he never did. He was always tender, unchanging, and rarely said more than “my love” when he was through.

  On the night that marked five months
since I’d last seen West, Troy’s hand spread over my naked stomach. “A child.”

  “Yes,” I admitted, though it’d been obvious for some time now. He’d never asked, but I assumed that he knew.

  “The future king.”

  “I would like to see my mother,” I turned to his face on the pillow, covering his hand with mine. “I would like for her to see me, and know that I am happy.”

  “I will arrange for her travels. She must come to you, as you are in a fragile state. Anything, my love, anything you ask of me,” he vowed, covering my lips with his. “My life changed when I met you. You are my world, Mina, my existence. I love you,” he rested his face in the curve of my neck, and I ran my fingers through his thick, dark hair, turning toward the window.

  I loved the sea.

  I cherished the waves as they crashed on the shore, and so I stared through that window, holding him tighter to my chest. His dark, ebony hair stood out against my pale skin, and I tried to remember that he wasn’t evil, not yet. Finding my voice, I traced the line of his jaw, thinking of West, and the ocean.

  “I love you. You are calming. You bring me peace.”

  “My God, Mina,” he groaned, covering my body with his. A small part of me did feel something for him, this young version of the man I loathed. The human, sensitive part of me longed to comfort him and change the outcome of the future, to save him from a lifetime of murder and rape and carnage that would surely send him into the deepest caverns of hell.

  That sliver of humanity was overpowered by the frightening demon I would eventually become in his castle. I had sliced up dozens of men, watching their blood and thick patches of skin smack on the ground as I mutilated them with the blade of the Kenauri-Rak.

  I let my mind wander to the morning that I found the straight razor and contemplated suicide. The night before, I’d paced in the unfamiliar castle we’d journeyed to, waiting for Troy to come back. I knew what would happen when he returned; I knew how he’d strip me naked, push me to the bed, and force me to do all of the unspeakable acts that still gave me panic attacks. He’d stopped hitting me after the first night, and yet the memory of his bizarre fetishes still sickened me.