Finding Gabriel (13 page)

A decent man would have pulled away. But Gabriel de Laurent was far from a decent man. Instead, every barricade, every emotional defense and logical fortress, crumbled into ashes. The bridge burned to the ground in a glorious blaze.

No more turning back.

Gabriel lost control and surrendered to his wretched desire. He latched onto either side of her shoulders and flipped her backward, sprawling her body across the mattress. He maneuvered between her thighs in a quick, panther-like movement. Sudden panic flashed across her face.

“Wait – Gabriel … I shouldn’t have come here. I – ”

“You are playing with fire, girl.”

Nausea crashed through him as he gazed down at her alarmed features. He would ruin her forever. Just as he’d destroyed his family.

He ground his hips against her, forcing her to feel his manhood. As he’d expected, her eyes widened and a searing blush swept down her neck. Her breathing grew labored, choked. She squirmed against his body with mounting apprehension and thrashed to break free.

“Enough! Let me go! Gabriel, I – ”

“What do you know of my pain? Hmm?” His icy voice dropped several octaves, reaching a rich and demonic bass. Gooseflesh tightened his skin and prickled beneath his fingertips. His erection strained against his trousers and dug into her soft abdomen. Gabriel surrendered to a soul-deep moan as his swollen manhood jerked in appreciation. He throbbed. Ached. Burned. Never had he felt so aroused … and so conflicted. Hovering above her body, thick strands of hair dangled over his eyes in a black veil. He swept them away in a hasty movement and continued pressing against her tender core. Sopping wet, slick, and ready. She was frightened – but also aroused, hot, and eager. Indeed, the chemise grew wet, bearing a telling slick spot over her groin. A coarse moan spilled from her mouth and echoed through the entire bedchamber.

“How would your husband feel, knowing his wife was in bed with his former commander?”

“What? I … I don’t understand.” An intoxicating blend of hunger and fear burdened her voice.

“You are as conflicted as I am. Frightened yet consumed with desire. Yearning to flee yet burning to be fucked …”

The chemise rode up her thighs with each thrust, exposing her supple flesh to his willpower. Her nipples were clearly visible through the sheer material. Near to bursting, he fought the excruciating desire to nip at her delectable ivory flesh. He peppered sweltering kisses down her throat and kneaded her breasts with both hands. A cry of protest exploded from her lips as his thumbs traced over the stiff peaks. Then he leaned back on his haunches and examined her flushed features. With each movement, her breasts quivered and nipples hardened, begging for his touch – even as she fought to free herself. But there was no escaping. She was imprisoned, trapped within a cage built from sinewy muscle and brawn. Her eyes enlarged as they ran over his mangled skin – and she appeared to see him for the very first time.

Then –

A deafening scream erupted from her throat, infusing Gabriel’s heart with black despair.

He woke with a violent start. Fighting to catch his breath, he ripped off the coverlet and perched on the edge of the mattress. Soaked with perspiration, Jacques’s nightshirt clung to his body like a second skin. Gabriel tore it off with a vile curse and thrust it onto the planks. It lay puddled at his feet – a wet, soggy mess.

Jacques Larochelle … his former comrade … Ariah’s dead husband.

He dug the heels of both palms into his eyelids, willing away the images from his nightmare.

Hope is nothing more than a poison
…
a venom that seeps into your veins, slowly consuming your mind, body, and soul
…

Trembling fingertips slid from his eyes and grazed the linens. Gabriel’s heart clenched as he realized the bandages were soaked through – not with blood, but with tears.

The following afternoon, Ariah stood outside her bedchamber with her back firmly against the wooden panel. She squeezed both eyes shut and receded into her inner sanctuary. Behind her closed eyes, she saw his arched silhouette, heard the rhythmic, soothing melody of his voice … saw the wavering flames lick at the bed sheet.

Those sounds and images would forever be tattooed upon her mind and heart.

In many ways, she reluctantly admitted, she yearned for Gabriel to be a broken and unreachable man once more. But things had changed.
Gabriel
had changed. Over the past few days, his humanity had resurrected before her very eyes. And now, for the first time, she was viewing him as a complete person. Shattered, to be sure – but inherently complete. And she’d never been good with puzzles. Nursing a sick man back to health was one thing; piecing together the remnants of a broken soul was quite another.

The cheerful, lively sound of her daughter’s laughter echoed in her mind. When was the last time Emmaline had laughed with so much passion? Gabriel certainly had a gift with children, a special way of reaching out and infusing them with life.

Out-of-doors, the sun shone bright and proud and was fringed by a blanket of fluffy clouds. For both Emmaline and Gabriel, it was an excellent day to experience the world outside these morose walls.

Ariah held her breath and knocked at the bedchamber’s door. Only silence. She pressed her ear against the panel and listened for movement within. Was Gabriel awake? She didn’t want to barge in uninvited – but what if he hadn’t risen yet? He still took the laudanum in hefty dosages – something that often left him rather sedated. Wearing a slight frown, she tapped the door with her toe.

More silence.

“Gabriel?”

Mounting concern rose in her chest. What if something happened to him? The thought disturbed her far more than she dared admit.

She wrapped her left hand around the door’s silver knob. The metal felt slick and cool beneath her fingertips. Inhaling a stiff breath, the opposite hand rose to the panel as she prepared for a last attempt –

Ariah nearly toppled onto the floorboards as the knob was yanked from her palm. Gabriel graced the archway, his massive body filling the entire frame. His fingers nimbly worked the golden clasps of his greatcoat. Lowering her eyes, she felt a blush sweep across her cheekbones and travel down her neck.

“Forgive me, madame. I was indecent.” His voice was a sinfully low rumble. It resonated inside her body and shook her to the very core.

“Oh. It … it’s no worry.” She cleared her throat and motioned to his garb. “I’d be happy to wash your clothes this afternoon. I’m sure another bath would do you some good. A shave, too, perhaps.”

Stretching a long, muscular arm, he latched onto the top of the archway and leaned closer. His size was jarring, and every centimeter of his body exuded sheer power and strength. Drinking her in, his gaze roamed her features, studying each line of her face with a haunting intensity.

Ariah blushed again and scooted backward, creating the illusion of safety. She murmured a hushed
oomph
as she bumped against the archway. Gabriel chuckled at her clumsiness, and the sound traversed through every part of her body. She surveyed his impressive stance from top to bottom, her gaze lingering on the wide berth of his torso. Jacques’s trousers fit snugly, encasing those muscular thighs to perfection. He was impossibly tall, the top of his head blotting out the sun from the bedchamber’s corner window. And those rich, haunted eyes … she felt everywhere they dared touch – her cheeks, her nose, her lips. Sweat gathered in the heel of each palm; swallowing deeply, she wiped them on the material of her skirts and mindlessly fidgeted with the wedding ring.

“So,” he drawled, observing her expression with a suspicious look of victory, “you called for me?”

The heavy forelock fell across his eyes at a slanted angle. Ariah tightened her hold on her skirts as she was overcome with the desire to sweep it away. Raw energy sizzled between them. He moved closer still. Heated breaths fanned against her cheek like a lover’s caress, drawing her in, calling her name, beckoning all five of her senses. Fissions of awareness strummed through her body. She swayed from foot to foot as a feeling of claustrophobia descended. She fought to conceal her apprehension – though something warned her such efforts were entirely wasted. “Yes. I – Emmaline and I were wondering if you’d care to join us?”

“Ah. You come with an invitation.” He cocked a dark brow and crossed both arms over his chest. The greatcoat pulled taut as it strained against his muscles. Her thoughts traveled to the numberless scars on his chest … to the chiseled contours of his body – a body that had been made for combat. Over the past few days, he’d seemed to regain quite a bit of bulk, she noticed with another blush. Or perhaps it was they way he held himself up now – confident and battle ready, like a true commander. “Wherever to?”

“Just a casual stroll through the Tuileries Garden, since the weather’s allowing it for once,” she said, her voice an embarrassing squeak. “Poor Emmaline has been cooped up for weeks now.”

Suddenly his features darkened. He adjusted his posture and tucked each hand deep inside his pockets. Thick brows hooked together as he shook his bandaged, downcast face. Resorting to silence, he fidgeted with the signet ring for several moments. “You want me to go to the park? With you and your child?”

“Well, yes. Emmaline insisted that you come along. It’s a lovely day. I thought you might fancy some fresh air.”

Something flickered within the depths of his eyes – a potent mixture of pain and unspeakable memories. “Please, monsieur?” she urged, shuffling closer. Pulling her forward, the heat of his body surrounded her in a snug cocoon. Her nerves danced at their intimate closeness – yet determination outweighed her fear. In her mind’s eye, it was Emmaline’s joy she saw. Everything else faded away until it was nothing more than background noise. “Come with us. Emmaline would adore the company … and so would I.” A smile creased the corner of her lip. She tentatively reached out and laid a hand across his rigid shoulder. He tensed at the contact as if it downright burned. “Life beyond these walls would do you some good.”

Gabriel shook his head as myriad emotions crossed his features. He scrubbed a trembling hand over his face and swept the forelock aside. Ariah’s heart clenched at the pain she encountered in his eyes. He breathed deeply, the lush fan of his lashes lowered to half-mast. Then he eased the door shut and mumbled beneath a choked breath, “Forget it. It wouldn’t be a good idea. Just a mistake.”

•

Gabriel stood hunched in front of the mirror, both hands balancing his body weight on the countertop. The home had fallen deathly quiet a half hour before. And the solitude was comforting. He needed space, time away from all of them … a moment to remember. He tightened his grasp on the vanity until his nails embedded the surface.

How strange this winter had become. Even now, he tasted Ariah’s name in his mind and on his tongue. She was transforming into a sweet, addictive habit – and one he desperately needed to break.

Never forget who you are and what you are capable of.

He’d been blinded before; but he could see it now. This entire situation was far too close to home. So many things about the woman and her child made Gabriel drop his defenses and disregard the horrors of his past. And these last few days, he’d been prattling about like a disillusioned fool in the midst of a dream.

But this was far from a dream.

It was a nightmare. Nothing more than another black shade of his reality. And he needed to be jolted awake.

Gabriel lifted his head and glared at the hulking reflection before him. A feeling of claustrophobia disabled him. It was too much: the bandages, the pain … his wretched desires. He was suffocating. In an urgent movement, he tore off the greatcoat and hastily slung it across the mattress.

Then he glanced at the vanity once more, surveying the three miniatures and their smiling faces. Jacques’s charming features glowed in the afternoon’s brittle light, made imperfect only by the hairline crack in the glass.

Without sparing another thought, Gabriel ripped away his facial bandage. He slammed the linen onto the countertop and examined the marred flesh for the first time.

Mon Dieu.
His breath instantly vacated his lungs. Bile seared the walls of his stomach and rose into his throat. It was far worse than he’d imagined. And he’d prepared for the very worst.

Scabs twisted the left side of his face, distorting it beyond recognition. Fragments of bone speared through the healing skin and heightened the horror of his appearance. Around the wound, his flesh was bruised a vivid purple. He gave an eerie, crooked grin, exposing the swollen gums and crumbled teeth.

Once he’d been an exceptionally handsome man. Now he was unrecognizable. A beast. A grotesque.

He resembled a monster. A thing of nightmares. He cocked his head and scrutinized the right side of his face. The contrast was jarring. Aside from a light, splattered bruising, the features remained rugged, chiseled, and refined.

A piercing war-cry erupted from his throat. Gabriel was barely aware of himself … barely aware of his surroundings. In an unconscious effort, he balled both fists and repeatedly hurled them at his reflection. The glass cracked like thin ice beneath the weight of his assault and shattered with each impact. Blood clouded the broken slates and seeped from his knuckles in fierce streams. Shards tore through his flesh, stabbing him with the force of a thousand knives. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. All five of his senses were suspended and detached …

Now who’s the fool?
The taunt echoed in his mind until he heard nothing else.

Catching his breath, Gabriel gradually slowed his movements and glanced at the mirror. Three-fourths of the glass had fallen away, leaving an obstructed, incomplete image of himself.

What the hell had he done? Had he finally gone mad? And what would Ariah think when she discovered him in such a state? The thought of upsetting her reeled Gabriel back to his senses.

Drops of blood flowed from his hands and dribbled onto the counter. Near to fainting, he clutched onto the edge of the vanity. He watched the curve of his back expand and deflate with labored breaths. Blood rolled down the vanity’s wooden surface … he felt the burn of Jacques’s eyes … heard the broken melody of his daughter’s voice: “
Papa
…
Papa
…
why did you leave us
…
you promised …”

The walls of his stomach felt scorched. Each breath wheezed in and out of his lungs … his brain throbbed, thrashing against his skull … his skin tightened like a vice and strangled his organs. Then the entire room appeared to rotate and swivel. It spun in nauseating circles … round and round it went, undulating with no rhyme, reason, or coherent logic. He felt lost, detached, and utterly without hope. His vision grew hazy as his mind slowly registered the pain.

“
Papa, help me
…
please, Papa
…
I’m frightened
…”

Several more punches were thrown in frustration, sending crushed glass every which way. His legs folded beneath him and sent his body crashing to the floor. Gushing hands swept back and forth over the broken glass as blood drummed atop its shiny, fragmented surface. The pieces reddened, clouding his reflection into a distorted blur. A thousand tortured Gabriels swam beneath his knees. They were all incomplete, all disfigured, and all drizzled in red.

They were a morbid collection of his shattered soul.

Bile rose into his throat in an agonizing burn. Battling the nausea, he fought to swallow it back … but alas – it was too late. Vomit erupted from his throat, spilling onto his bandages and the glass shards. It mingled with the blood in a macabre swirl of red and brown.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, he rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling. The room continued to spin in dizzying circles. Struggling to anchor himself, his eyes traced the countless stains and hairline cracks that soared overhead, committing each one to memory. Then he saw her floating above him … her angelic features … the soft curve of her red lips … the vast mane of curls that framed her shoulders like a gossamer shawl …

Gabriel closed both eyes in resistance and fought to lock the image out. But her voice whispered to him, as persistent and gentle as ever.
“Don’t worry, monsieur. I am here with you. All shall soon be well
…”

Then the darkness returned, welcoming him with open arms like an old friend.

•

Ariah pressed a hand against her lips and stifled a scream. A storm cloud gathered overhead as the room physically flipped and swiveled.

Mon Dieu.
Surely she would faint. And she’d never been prone to fainting spells. Her pulse reached breakneck speed as a sheen of sweat covered her forehead. She wiped away the perspiration and edged farther into the bedchamber. With a strained breath, she clasped onto the edge of the vanity, lest she collapse and join Gabriel among the broken glass, vomit, and blood. Counting to five, she turned back to his splayed body and regained her composure.

He was lying on his back in the midst of the destruction. One arm was folded across his torso; the opposite was cocked at an awkward angle and positioned alongside his body. An unholy sea of red flowed among the broken shards, streaking Jacques’s garments an unforgiving hue.

Ariah knelt beside his motionless form, flushed with equal parts concern, confusion, and outright rage. How could he do such a thing – and after all they’d endured?

Fine shards of glass protruded from his hands. Illuminated by the sun rays, his palms shimmered from the blood and glass fragments. He’d managed to inflict a sufficient amount of injury upon himself. His chest moved at a steady pace, contending that he still lived. Ariah simultaneously whispered a silent prayer and cursed Gabriel for his stupidity.

Discovering him like this, sprawled across her bedchamber floor, was far worse than finding him beside the Seine. Granted, he wasn’t nearly as injured – but the stakes had been vastly raised. She knew him as a person …
as a man.