The Pawn of the Phoenix (The Memory Collector Series Book 2) (22 page)

His hand trails down my arm, and he laces his fingers with mine. “But I want that woman to be you.”

“Keenan–”

“You promised you wouldn’t interrupt.” He pauses and waits to see if I’ll say anything else. When I don’t, he continues. “I know that might not be a possibility, but I’d rather have you in my life than not at all. I can’t promise it’ll be easy and I’m not exactly sure how it’ll work. All I know is I want you, Moira, in any way I can.”

He squeezes my hand, and his voice is low with vulnerability when he speaks next. “Please, stay.”

“Keenan…” I trail off, not sure of what to say.

Could I stay?

“I love you, Moira.”

“Oh, no,” I breathe, sitting up in one fluid motion. “No, don’t you dare say that.”

I turn around and don’t realize I’m violently shaking my head until Keenan grabs hold of my face between his hands. His expression is a mixture of bemusement and affront. His brows are pulled tight, but his gaze is steady as he watches me with his usual intentness. He thinks I don’t believe him, and I honestly don’t know if I do. No one has ever said those words to me before, and hearing them instills a mixture of emotions inside me. The prominent one is fear, while the others are anger and disbelief.

“It’s true, Moira.”

I grab hold of his hands and push them away, my voice frantic. “No, you don’t! You can’t! We’ve only known each other for two months, Keenan. Besides, I’m a–”

He grabs hold of my face once again, but this time his hold on me is secure. “I don’t care if you make me say it a thousand times, it doesn’t change how I feel.” His gaze slides from my blue eye to my hazel one. “I love you.”

Instead of waiting for me to speak, he grabs me behind the neck and presses his lips against mine. His mouth tastes sweet from the words he said, and I greedily consume the emotion, eternalizing this moment forever in my mind. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer, and I run my fingers through his hair. For some reason, my mind chooses this moment to think about Rachel and Constable Evans. Rachel had said they were in love, and she would have done anything for him. I chose to sacrifice my safety for Keenan today in the Chief’s office, and I would do it again. Does that make me any different from Rachel?

“Fuck,” I breathe, pulling away from him slightly.

The profanity was muttered in a combination of disbelief and dawning realization, as my mind understands what my heart has been trying to say all along. Our breaths mingle, and his gaze pierces through me. I rest my fingers lightly on his cheek, my thumb caressing the curve of his upper lip, and I can no longer deny the extent of my feelings for him, especially after everything he’s said. I might be a fool, and our relationship might be doomed. But, God, do I love him.

I plant a soft kiss on his lips and then look him in the eyes, my heart completely exposed for his taking. “I love you, too.”

A
ccording to Icarus
, there was something satisfying about patience. It was an attribute not many people possessed, and, as a result, their lives were drastically affected by their deficiency. Instead of leisurely strolling through the park, these people rushed past the gardens, their gazes locked either on the ground or the sky above them. They never noticed the intricate flowers budding beneath the sun’s rays, or the careful way in which each section was planned. The idea each plant was specifically chosen never crossed their minds, because they were too preoccupied with moving beyond the garden or gossiping with other members of society. The gardener—the mastermind behind the garden’s creation—was far from their minds and, in fact, was as insignificant as the bee that bounces from blossom to blossom.

If these people would have been in charge of constructing the garden, they would have randomly selected the foliage. They would have chosen purely on colour preferences, but by the end their decisions would have been blindly made. And instead of artfully arranging the different species, they would have hurriedly dug a hole for each and disregarded the plant’s specific requirements. The plants would then soon die, or most would be suffocated by more dominant species. In the end, the garden wouldn’t be a garden at all.

The gardener, on the other hand, possessed patience. He waited. He planned. And he carried out each movement with purpose. In the end, his patience was rewarded with the growth and beauty of each seed he sowed into the earth. Icarus considered himself such a man, possessing endless perseverance. He could sit still for as long as was needed to vigilantly construct the plans necessary for success, and once his strategy was in place, he could wait even more until the time proved beneficial and guaranteed his victory.

Yes, Mr. Hayes was a very patient man.

Yet for the first time in his life, he found himself anxiously pacing before the fireplace in his parlour room. There was one thing—or, more specifically, one person—who had finally managed to grate against his nerves and use up all his patience. This person was stomping all over his garden, moving things around and pulling out flowers from their roots. She was ruining everything, turning all the plans he had worked all his life to formulate into nothingness. He had waited a long time for her, and there was a moment when he was convinced he had her.

Icarus’s face twisted in silent rage, remembering the night when his courier had returned only to relay Moira’s rejection. The words had caused his face to heat with rage and his fists to clench in suppressed violence. But as much as he resented the concubine for her harsh refusal, Mr. Hayes knew it was the detective’s fault. If it weren’t for that man, Moira would be his. He should have listened to Jonathan when he had warned him, and he had underestimated Moira’s feelings. He brought his glass up to his mouth and took a long swallow of the amber liquid, vowing to not make that mistake again.

His butler appeared in the doorway and informed him of Moira’s arrival. Mr. Hayes smoothed his face, his expression shifting from fury to polite friendliness, and he quickly stopped his pacing to stand before the couch. The moment Moira entered the room, Icarus’s lips curved up into an alluring smile.

“Ah, Moira, I’m glad you decided to see me after all.” He gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit.”

Moira’s gaze flickered around the room before finally settling on him. She was uncertain like the first time she had come to his place alone, but the other time she had also been aroused and interested in him. Now, everything had changed. When her different coloured eyes regarded him, they held wariness and discomfort, even if she tried her best to hide her feelings. Icarus saw it all, as if her heart were exposed to him. Yet he didn’t let that deter him from his plan. He was a patient man, but sometimes outside forces required him to act before scheduled.

“I couldn’t exactly refuse.” She approached him and took a seat on the sofa, carefully keeping her distance. “You said it was important and involved Jonathan, but I was to come alone.”

He sat down beside her, resting his glass on the table. “Yes, it’s very important. Forgive me if I don’t feel comfortable conversing with the detective.” His lips curved playfully. “Besides, you’re much more beautiful and pleasing to look at.”

Her discomfort increased, uncertain of how to respond. “Icarus–”

“Relax, Moira.” He leaned against the couch and rested his arm along the back. “I have no intention of being rejected more than once. Unlike some people, I know when I’m not desired.”

“About that–”

He quickly interrupted her. “Shh, there’s no need to explain. I understand completely.”

Her brows pinched together, and her puzzlement clouded the air around them. “You do?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling wider. “Your interests have diverted your attention elsewhere. It’s only natural and to be expected, though I have to admit I thought it wouldn’t happen as soon as it had.”

She considered him for a moment. “That’s very understanding of you.”

“I’m an understanding man.” His gaze lowered to her arm. “How is your wound, by the way? Has it healed yet?”

“Not entirely. It’s still sore, and I’ll have a scar. How did you know?”

“Word travels fast.” He cocked his head to one side, evaluating her emotions. “What exactly happened?”

Her mind immediately closed at his question, and she answered him evasively. “It was an accident and not an interesting story at all. I’d much rather discuss what you mentioned in your letter.”

“Of course, but first we must address something before we continue. And then we can talk about anything you so desire.”

She raised a curious brow at him. “Alright. What is it?”

He sighed heavily and reached for her hand. She immediately moved her arm away, and her suspicion escalated. He quickly hid his annoyance before she could see it in his face and instead gave her a slightly exasperated look. There was a time when she had moaned at his touch, but now she cringed away from him. How quickly things had changed.

“Really, Moira? Is it so wrong for me to want to hold your hand?”

Her eyes clouded over with regret, but she placed her hand back on the sofa in the space between them. “I suppose not.”

He smiled, hoping his lips didn’t curve too much or her suspicion would grow. He grabbed her hand, sliding his fingers between hers, and was careful to keep his mind cleared of all intent. However, he allowed himself to indulge in one sentiment. He slowly caressed her hand with his thumb, enjoying the feel of her skin against his and remembering the times when she had moaned beneath him. If only he could go back to that time—back to his bed with her.

Moira was beautiful, and even more so with that mind of hers. She was strong, fiery, and bold—everything he desired in a woman. And she was like a favourite pet he wasn’t yet ready to put down, even if she did continue to bite him. If only she would forget about the detective and come back to him. Jonathan had warned him, insisting the concubine was not to be trusted. He had told Icarus her feelings for the detective were clouding her judgement and that she would never work with them. He had said she had chosen her side, aligning herself with Mr. Edwards and the police instead of her own kind. She was a traitor, a whore, and a useless bitch.

But Jonathan was wrong.

Icarus knew that. He knew Moira was intelligent and her hatred for the Elite ran deep in her bones like any empath—but more so because she was a concubine. She had killed once, and she wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. No, Moira would soon be his again.

His amber eyes looked up at her, and his voice was low and hypnotic. “Some people would say those who love are fools. They either believe there’s no such thing as love, or they think the fallen have doomed themselves to heartbreak. Do you think love is for fools, Moira?”

“I–I don’t know.”

She swallowed noticeably, and her mind filled with thoughts of the detective. Icarus’s jaw clenched, and he forced himself to breathe evenly. After everything, the concubine believed she was in love with Mr. Edwards. She had left him for the detective, and the realization caused him to seethe in silent rage. She was his, not Keenan’s. Yet he saw it in her mind she would do anything to protect the other man, even risk her own life. The Moira he knew would never sacrifice her life for another’s, especially for someone who wasn’t an empath. She was selfish and cruel, another reason he had been drawn to her. She would do anything to survive, just like him, and in that they were very much alike.

But Keenan Edwards was somehow persuading her he was on her side and that he would protect her if anything were to happen. All lies. The detective would throw her back in prison along with every other empath and let her rot beneath the police station.

“I don’t believe it,” he whispered beneath his breath, disgusted. “You think you’re in love with the detective.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, and she tried to free her hand.

He tightened his grip, squeezing her hand in his. “My God, you are a fool if you think you have a future with that man. What do you think is going to happen once the Phoenix is caught? He might keep you—you certainly are pretty enough—but you’ll be his mistress and he’ll be your master. Your body will be his, and he’ll fuck you until he grows tired of you.”

Her anger rushed into him, violent in its intensity, but he continued. “While you’re pining away after him, he’ll find some young, respectable woman of society to marry and they’ll have children. He might continue to use you whenever he desires, but the moment your beauty fades, it won’t be long before he grows bored of you. And then you’ll be nothing to him.”

“That’s none of your business,” she snarled. She tried to yank her hand out of his, but he knew the seed of doubt was already spreading in her mind. “Let go of me!”

His lips curved deviously, and he pulled hard on her arm. She cried out in anguish before her body crashed into his, and he wrapped his free arm possessively around her torso. She immediately struggled against his hold, but he was the physically stronger one of the two. Before she could enter his mind and use persuasion, Icarus shattered her barrier and dived into her mind. Her eyes widened in shock, and she quickly tried to disorient him by moving the staircases. But he knew exactly where to go, weaving through her elaborate landscape to the deeper depths of her mind. It wasn’t long before he found himself standing before a familiar door with his marking etched into the wood’s surface, and his lips curved into a victorious grin.

“I’m sorry I have to do this now, but I need
my
Moira back.”

A key materialized in his hand, and he inserted it into the lock. She continued to resist him and scrambled to enter his mind. But it was too late. He turned the knob and opened the door. She was his, and she would remember. The moment the door was opened, long-forgotten memories flooded out, and he heard Moira screaming in his ear as her body fell limp in his arms.

“You’re mine, Moira.” He caressed her face tenderly and lowered his voice to a whisper. “My little pawn.”