Shadows of the Past (28 page)

“I
’ll need help dropping her off at Robert’s, but you will not defile her.”

Jarvis sighed, but kept his mouth shut. That was wise on his part. Emily belonged to James, and no one else.

He heard someone upstairs. James whispered, “Make yourself scarce.” He pushed to a stand and stepped into the hall. As he shut the door, he warded it from being opened until he was ready for that scumbag.

James made his way to the door next to the bottom of the stairs that took them further into the basement. He waited only a few minutes before Emily opened the door and reached inside to flip on the light. James caught her wrist and channeled her magic into
himself to fuel his waning energy. Before she could break his hold, he pushed a dark spell into her, forcing her to remember all of her worst memories.

They would eat at her until she finally withered or died, or he found a way to make her compliant. Until then, he had no use for her, but he refused to let anyone else have her either.

* * * *

Tremaine took a seat at the end of the bar and watched Liz flirting back at Clint. She was already slurring, and weaving, and he knew she would use Clint before going home to drink another bottle of Voodoo. If it wasn’t Clint, it would be some other man. At least the werewolf was a safe choice, and might have a chance at helping her heal from all the pain she carried.

Then again, nothing was likely to ease her. Mystra knew he had tried time and time again over the years.

Victoria slid onto the seat next to him with a wicked little smile. “
Trem, love, please tell me you are in need of a little affection?”

His eyes closed and he shook his head. “Not tonight. I need to be around for a friend.”

Her gaze slid over to Liz and back to him. “You know, you should just tell her the truth.”

“I do, every single day.” He sighed, and looked back down at his beer. “Don’t tell me about my feelings. You don’t know the hell she’s been through. You don’t know what she could have if she just went and righted her one wrong. They are both so fucking
stubborn it hurts.”

Victoria leaned in and whispered against his ear. “Trust me,
Trem. That woman loves you. She’s only playing with Clint because he likes it when she ties him up. Did you know she never undresses for him? That she only ever pulls up her skirt?”

“You know, I know you love to watch, but I don’t need to hear about her habits when she’s in another man’s bed,” he growled.

She sat back and looked at him for a long time. “Liz watched us last time you brought me home. She stood there in the shadows diddling herself until she came. I could smell her desire stronger than your own. She stayed and watched until you came. She slipped into her room before you ever noticed, and probably drank an extra bottle because it wasn’t her you were fucking.”

“Fuck, Vic. Just stop. You don’t know the many reasons why I can’t tell her how I feel.”

“You love her. That’s the only thing that matters,” Victoria murmured before she stood and walked out of the bar.

Love
? It was so much more than that. He never wanted Liz to think he felt sorry for her or pitied her. He never had, but she would assume he did.

She never cried. Not once in front of Tremaine, not even when she had all the reasons in the world to fall apart, she put herself back together and pushed on. If she felt even an inkling of what he felt, she would come to him. She didn’t. It wasn’t in their cards.

* * * *

Clint had passed out after the orgasm of his life. Liz had left deep scratches down his chest. His wrists were raw from the silver cuffs he insisted on, and bloody from where he pulled at the restraints. He was a mess.

Liz unlocked the cuffs. Climbed from the bed and shifted her thong back into place and righted her skirt before walking out the door.

She felt hollow. He loved every second, and she hadn’t even gotten off. She managed to walk down the driveway and across the
street. It wouldn’t bother her if a truck came out of nowhere and took her from the well of pain she existed in.

Blinking back tears and memories, she made it inside and into the front closet where she had a hidey hole made from magic that only she could get into. She stashed her Voodoo there. Tremaine was in the habit of getting rid of it if he found it.

She wasn’t always like this, but for about a month every year she fell apart until she could put herself back together again. With a fresh bottle in her hand, she made it up the stairs and locked the door, before stripping off her clothes and burrowing under the covers to drink away the nightmares that were pushing at the edges of her subconscious.

Falling
Into Place should be available sometime in February 2014