From Burning Ashes (Collector Series #4) (31 page)

Amara disappeared into the bathroom.

“Seriously, human, I leave you for five
minutes...” Ryker tried to joke, but his expression looked tense.
His jaw worked back and forth.

“Hey.” My stained fingers slid over his face
and pulled up his chin to look at me. “I’m okay. I’ll live. I’m
probably already healing.”

“Still need to stitch it up. It’s really
deep.”

“Aww…” I giggled. “We’ll have matching
scars.” I pointed to where I had stitched him up months before.

“I think you are in shock.” He pushed the
bottle back to my lips, and I drank more. “Do you have any thread
and needle?”

“In my bag.” I blinked, my lids suddenly
heavy. I took another huge swallow. Ryker grabbed my bag off the
table, tossing out my last pair of clean underwear, and finding the
sewing kit in the side pocket.

My head started to spin. Along with the room.
“I’m not feeling so great.”

Ryker made a noise, coming back to me.

“This is all I could find.” Amara came out
holding a hand towel.

“It took you that long to get
one
?”

“The rest were dirty! You were the one who
put the ‘no room service’ sign up.”

“Go to the front desk and get more.”

“I have blood all over my feet, and I’m only
wearing a T-shirt.”

“Glamour him, Amara.” Ryker’s voice strained.
“Now!” Ryker didn’t even try to hide his impatience.

“Fine.” She stomped past us to the door, then
threw the cloth at Ryker. “Remember, I saved her life, so don’t get
so testy with me. She’s fae now; she’ll survive.” Amara slammed the
door behind her.

He growled, took the scotch from me, and
soaked the towel in it. “This is going to sting.”

“Wow. This really is
déjà vu
.” I
clenched my teeth as the alcohol hit my open wound, like fire that
burned hot and cold at once. He cleaned around the gash. “But this
feels a lot less sexy.”

“What happened?” He continued to clean, his
eyes not meeting mine.

“You were right. Arlo wanted revenge.” I
pushed out the words. Sleep yanked on my arm to follow it. “I was
it.”

“Did he do anything? Did he
hurt
you?”

Ryker meant did he touch me, rape me. I let
my lids drift close and a thin smile turned up my lips. “No. No one
will ever hurt me like that again.”

“No. They won’t.” Ryker’s words soaked over
me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Sleep began to curl around me
protectively.

“I’ve finally forgiven myself.” I felt my
mouth move, a peacefulness slipping over me. “I was just a kid… It
wasn’t my fault… I need to let go. To move on.” As I drifted off,
all the pain I had possessed for so long finally released me.

Gray light appeared through the curtains as I
opened my eyes. I stared at the soft glow, my brain slow and
groggy.

I stretched out my legs, pain tugging at my
stomach and hip. In a flash everything from the previous night came
back in jagged images, and I sat up with a jolt.

Scanning the room, I was aware I was alone.
The faucet dripped a steady rhythmic ticking, like a clock. I
looked down to see I wore Ryker’s extra shirt and my underwear but
nothing else.

For the first time, anxiety filled me not
because I was alone, but the room where I lay was completely
different from where I passed out. The comforter and color scheme
were dark and heavy, and there was no blood, no body, no signs of
struggle at all.

My gaze landed on my bag sitting on the
nightstand across from me. I swung my legs over the edge of the
bed, my feet resting on an ugly patterned brown-and-maroon carpet.
The room was laid out like every cheap motel, but this one still
had the eighties-style design used to disguise the stains and age
of the room. Dark colors swathed the flowery comforters and
curtains. Heavy wood furniture lined the rectangular room, giving
the space a cavelike feel.

I padded over to my bag. Every step strained
the skin over my torso. The mirror above the desk reflected a
sallow version of me. Like I had been drained of blood. Oh right, I
had.

I lifted my shirt, my fingers following the
ridges of the basic stitches across my side. Crusted blood still
caked on my skin in places, but the wound looked spotless. Ryker
did a decent job of sewing me back together. The white lines
running from my neck to my breastbone were healing, but I wouldn’t
be surprised if some of the marks, especially on my stomach, would
leave permanent scars. Scars didn’t bother me. They were like a
storyboard of my experiences.

The door to the room swung open, flooding it
with light. My neck snapped to the door, adrenaline powering
through me in a sickening lurch. Then eased the moment I saw him.
Ryker paused, his huge figure filling the doorframe. His white eyes
pinned me in place. His dark shirt and jeans hid the stains, but it
didn’t conceal the stiffness of the dried blood left behind. He had
a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey.” My voice sounded quiet even to me.

He didn’t respond but stepped into the room,
shutting the door.

“Where were you?” I suddenly felt shy. Energy
slipped off the Viking, but I couldn’t make out what emotion lay
behind it.

“Getting more clothes and supplies,” he said
low, matching my volume. He placed the bag down on the bed and
pulled out items of clothing. “We burned everything you had
on.”

“Burned?”

“Along with Arlo.” He kept his eyes off me.
“Making sure he could never come back.”

“What? When did you do this?” I gaped.

“After I sewed you up, Amara and I tossed
Arlo into the dumpster next to the room, set it on fire then the
room. We wanted it to look like a dumpster fire that got out of
control.”

My mouth opened then closed. I was void of
emotion, even with the grotesque images of burning bodies rolling
through my mind. The only thing I possibly felt was relief, and
that scared me. Had I grown numb to such violence? It wasn’t that
Arlo didn’t deserve to die, he did. But I felt I shouldn’t be so
nonchalant about tossing a dead body in a dumpster.

“Where are we?”

“We’re near the stadium in the SoDo area. I
knew if Arlo found us, others could.”

“Sprig and Amara?”

“Amara stayed outside watching the room until
I got back. Then she took off. Needed to get out of here for a
moment. And the furball…” Ryker tugged out a new hoodie from the
bag. A tiny form curled up around his backpack, sound asleep. My
feet instantly carried me over to him, needing to feel his soft fur
between my fingers.

“I let him have four packets of honey, a
doughnut, and two granola bars.”

I groaned mockingly. “You always give him
whatever he wants, and
I’m
the one who has to deal with the
aftermath.”

“Yep. I’m the nice parent. Deal with it.” He
finally looked at me, our gazes connecting.

He watched me for a long time, lines forming
around his eyes like he was in pain.

“What?” I asked breathlessly.

“I wasn’t there.”

Guilt. That was the sensation radiating off
him like cologne. “It’s not your fault.”

His chest rose in indignation.

“Some things happen.” I realized the words
were for me as well as him. “You can’t control everything. You deal
and move on.”

He breathed in and out of his mouth, strong
emotions building under the surface.

“I’m all right.” I took a tentative step
toward him as if approaching a cornered animal. “And if you haven’t
noticed, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.” He curled his hands into
fists.

I reached out, taking a hand in mine,
straightening his fingers.

“But you’re still mad?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“No, you’re mad at yourself. Because once
again you felt you weren’t there for someone you care about and
they got hurt.”

In one night, the ghosts of both our pasts
came back to haunt us. I could only imagine him standing there,
watching the room go up in flames with me limp and bleeding in his
arms.

Ryker stiffened under my touch, his eyes
sliding to the side.

“Do you think my rape was my fault?”

He jerked violently back to look at me with
softness in his eyes. “What? No!”

“Then why do you think what happened to you
is your fault?”

“Those are two completely different things,”
he rumbled.

“The acts are, but we were both victims of
circumstance. We only have control over ourselves, not others. You
couldn’t have prevented it any more than I could. We can spend the
rest of our lives with what-ifs and being afraid of it happening
again, or we can let ourselves off the hook.

“Last night I forgave myself,” I continued.
“I always felt if I were stronger, if I fought back, if I weren’t
such a bad girl it wouldn’t have happened. But you showed me that
punishing myself only gave him more strength. I was playing the
victim. Now it’s your turn to forgive yourself.”

His body was rigid, but his shoulders slowly
sank, letting the anger leak out. His hand trembled slightly in
mine.

“Let the ghosts go.” I took another step to
him, pressing the back of his hand to my lips. “Let me in.”

A groan erupted from him, his fingers ran
under my jaw, tilting my head back before his lips crashed down on
mine. The kiss was first filled with pain and anger, but soon it
slowed down, deep and exploring.

It detonated something inside me. Love.
Complete and unconditional. I knew I had fallen in love with him,
but now it embedded itself so deep in my soul, I couldn’t breathe.
This was something new to me. It should have felt foreign or scary,
but it didn’t. Not with Ryker.

He grabbed the hem of my shirt, pulling it
gently over my head, leaving me only in my underwear.

“I need to get this blood off me first,” I
mumbled against his mouth, my hands running through the braids on
either side of his head, releasing them from their binds. His hair
fell down, brushing his shoulders.

“How about during?” His mouth never left mine
as we made our way to the bathroom. He shut the door and locked
it.

He leaned past me and turned on the shower. I
undressed him, peeling away his jacket, sticky shirt, and jeans,
which fell to the floor after he kicked off his boots. He broke the
kiss to trail his lips down my chest, paying extra care and
attention to all my healing wounds. His fingers crept between my
skin and my underwear and slipped them slowly down my legs. Every
nerve ending exploded at his touch. I stepped out of them, moving
back into the shower, where warm water made a blissful cascade down
my bruised frame.

He climbed into the tub, sliding the curtain
closed. My heart thumped, watching trails of water descend down his
body. His hands slid up my thighs, curving over my sides. He turned
me around, pressing his chest into my back as he grabbed the motel
shampoo and poured it into his hands. His fingers skated through my
hair, massaging my scalp. Dark red water pooled at our feet until
it ran clear of blood as he worked through my knots. His hands
soothed me as he washed and conditioned my tresses.

Once my hair was clean, his knuckles glided
down my spine, his breath hot on my neck. His teeth skated and
nipped up the curve of my neck.

My breath became rapid. He pulled me closer,
his hands slithering over my stomach, moving lower, parting my
legs. My palm struck the tile wall, keeping me from falling
over.

“I want you,” I whispered, my free hand
running over his hip, pulling his amazing ass closer to me. He was
so hard he felt like marble against my lower back.

“You sure about that? I’ve heard I’m a lot to
handle.” He nipped my ear, positioning himself. His tip hinting at
entering.

I grinned and inhaled. “I think I can manage
it.”

“I have no doubt of that, but do you want to?
Your life is a lot longer now.” His husky voice rippled through
me.

I looked over my shoulder at him. The love I
felt for him seemed almost crippling. “Always, Viking.”

Magic flickered up his tattoo, and he inhaled
sharply. He whipped me around to face him. He cupped my face,
kissing me so deeply and powerfully I could no longer feel the
boundary that separated him from me. He breathed me in, consuming
me.

He lifted me, and I wrapped my legs around
his waist then lowered me gradually down on him; every cell in me
burned. He moved deliberately at first, driving me insane, in a
very good way. Neither of us could get close enough, kiss enough,
touch enough.

He shattered me, my body trembling, brought
me back, and did it over again. And then again.

We’d had sex several times now, but this was
different. I never used or liked the phrase “make love.” It sounded
so cheesy and overly sweet and romantic. I wasn’t those things. I
was the girl who rolled in the dark. Lived off aggression. Enjoyed
it actually. And I liked it in sex too. So did he. With Ryker and
me, violence would always be there, nipping at our heels, under the
surface of our skin, part of who we were. But this time the passion
was healing. Instead of wanting to break or combust, we let the
fire take us, consume us, and burn hotter.