Golden's Rule (5 page)

“You’re in a safe place. I’m Torque.” He let her go and sat back slowly, as if he might frighten her if he moved too fast.

She rubbed her wrist where he’d held her and his silver eyes flickered to it before he went on to say, “I belong to the Immortal Council. I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to drink that. It will—”

She shook her head, and he had the good sense to stop trying.

“Yeah, it will help. Got that, but listen, here’s the deal. I…” She paused when he jerked back—just a little—because clearly, she’d surprised him. He did think her weak. Her face felt like it flamed. She wasn’t weak. She was strong.

Right?

She blinked rapidly. They’d been simply sitting there, staring at each other. She could feel his confusion. Emotions, she could sense them. What was that talent called?

“I’m an empath.”

He stiffened. Did he fear she was sensing his emotions now?

“I should…I can, I think, I can block what I pick up.”

“Yes, you would have been taught that, early on probably. Are you remembering?”

Was she? She tried to remember something, anything of her past but couldn’t place a face or thought to anyone or anything. “No, not remembering exactly…I know things. Odd things, like what the Immortal Council is, what empathy is, that you’re a mage, but I…I can’t remember a single thing about me.” She stopped and rubbed her face with her hands. She wasn’t making sense.

She sat up straighter and pulled the hem of her tattered dress down over her toes. “Uh, look, I don’t know you, my head is getting better, and really, I kinda just need…” What? What did she need? “…to hear how I got here, where here is, you know? Maybe that will help.” Her remember? Suddenly her words and thoughts felt hollow. Nothing would help her. No one could help her. Her memory loss wasn’t like hitting her head and having amnesia for a few weeks. She knew things. She knew lots of things, but not one thing about herself. Nothing. Being a witch? She didn’t sense that about herself. She knew there should be power, flowing bright and wonderful like a warm summer day, just there, ready for her to reach for it. She felt nothing like that near her. She felt cold and empty inside.

She also knew she was safe. But from what? She couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe she simply needed time. She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember anyone, not one face came to her when she tried desperately to force something, someone into focus. Nothing of her childhood. Nothing of
her
at all. She turned her attention back to Torque. He sat forward, simply watching her with a patient expression. The anxious feeling in her gut slowly settled.

“I think maybe I’ll remember with some space, you know? And my head’s a bit better.”

Torque settled back in his chair, crossing both arms over his chest like he’d never seen anyone like her before and he didn’t quite approve. He dipped his silver gaze down her body and whoa, who knew looks could be so hot. He was quick, but he’d definitely checked her out before he once again examined her face again.

She swallowed past a sudden nervousness. What did he see when he looked at her? She didn’t want him seeing a weak, silly girl but she feared that was exactly what he saw. A witch who didn’t sense her powers and used a frying pan to fight a giant.

Well, at least she’d used what she could find. She’d not rolled over and cried like a baby. So what if she hadn’t kicked butt. She could.

Can’t I?

“What are you thinking?”

She looked away from his direct stare and rubbed her forehead. No way was she sharing her thoughts with him. He’d probably laugh. No doubt, he could kick butt, but he looked bigger than Hercules, so duh, yeah, he could kick butt. She didn’t think he thought she could. And for some reason his opinion of her mattered.

“I kinda don’t know who I am. Do you have something for that? Maybe I should be in a hospital—”

He shook his head before she even got the word hospital out.

“I don’t have anything to restore your memory. It will come back in time, if at all. But I can help you figure out who you are.”

Her stomach rolled and pitched at his words.

“You’re a witch. What coven I’m not sure, but we can—” This time he cut off with a curse and reached out for her again. She scooted back until her back hit the wall. “Hey, it’s okay, you just got all pale is all. I thought you were going to be sick.”

She nodded but kept herself pressed to the wall. She was safe with her back to the wall.
Now why did I think that?

“Listen, I’m a mage, so I can sense your ability, maybe even what coven you belong to. I didn’t mean to scare you. Maybe I can do a reading, when you’re better, okay? But you may never remember—I mean—recall your life before.”

“You’re not scaring me.”
Just freaking me out. I might not remember? As in ever?

“If you’d drink the potion, you might ease the pain enough for us to try something.” He shot her a killer grin, not the twist of lips from before, but a real smile. She suddenly felt a bit like a teenager on her first date.
Have I had a first date? Do witches have dates?

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Immediately he stood. His chair scraped back loudly on the wooden floor. “I’ll get you a bucket.”

A bucket? “Nah, that’s okay, sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean literally.” She might puke later, but not in front of him. “It’s just, I don’t, well, feel very witch-like. Shouldn’t there be a sense of things?”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. That explained why he looked so ruffled. He must do that a lot. He didn’t look like a mage. Not that she knew what a mage looked like. She sucked in a breath as images of Death Stalkers winged through her mind followed by something that felt a hell of a lot like a whip burning along her back.

“Death Stalkers. They…they were there.” She was a witch, wasn’t she? She knew mages had a certain aura, a certain power that filled a room with an undercurrent of pressure that a witch could feel, like the vibrations of a tuning fork. She also knew that Death Stalkers hid their power, and themselves, from the world. Death Stalkers. The evil stench of them stung her nose. Their vile thoughts and disgusting rituals swelled up, nearly drowning her in memories she couldn’t make clear enough to understand. This man wasn’t one of them. She could sense it now, the tingle of that tuning fork, the subtle aura of power he had at his disposal. She recognised him because she too had that power at her fingertips.

Didn’t she?

Everything was happening too fast.

Where are my scars?

The thought stalled the breath in her throat. She glanced down at her forearms and frowned, rubbing the pale, unblemished skin briskly with her hands.

“Yes, they were there. You’re remembering the slave market.”

She gazed up at the concern in Torque’s deep voice. He’d sat back down and now watched her closely. He looked like a biker dude. Only thing missing was the leather jacket and Harley. Wait, she could remember Harley-Davidson and not who she was? How fair was that? Mentally she pushed to see something, anything of who she was, what she was. Pain exploded down her body, setting fire to her guts and burning all the way down her back from the inside out.

“Beauty?”

She focused on Torque’s voice like a lifeline. The pain diminished until she could catch her breath. The curtain of black settled in her mind as if a breeze had lifted it and now eased the sickening fabric back into place, guarding her memories of pain. She froze, holding her breath until she knew the past wouldn’t hurt her again.

“What is it? Are you remembering something?”

“No.” She lifted the drink to stall him and sure enough, he settled back down in the chair. She took a tentative sip because he was watching. He was too big for such a small wooden chair. He dwarfed it. But what wouldn’t he? Dressed in rough jeans and a grey button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked like some warrior out of the past shoved into the wrong century.

As she watched him, something passed over his expression, something she couldn’t name. Concern, maybe.
A decision,
she thought.

“We can try and discover who you are. I’m sure someone will be asking about you. Maybe with time your memory will return. These things can be difficult, but surely, someone is seeking your return. A husband—”

“No, there is no one.”

The words spilled from her automatically, but as soon as she said them, she knew she spoke the truth. No one would look for her. Not now. How she knew, she couldn’t have explained, but she did. Just like she knew what Death Stalkers were capable of, just as she knew her magic should flow, she knew no one, certainly not a husband, waited for her. It’d been too long.

She held her breath at the tantalising thought.
It had been too long. Too long for what?
She didn’t dare reach into that curtain for more, but the urge was so strong she fisted her hands. The little titbits of thoughts were going to drive her insane. Maybe she should let Torque—and what kind of name was that?—help her.

Torque’s dark brows drew down in a frown. He looked at her a long time before he nodded. “Maybe not, but we can still try and find out who you are.”

She sensed who she was would be difficult to decipher. She sipped the potion feeling self-conscious at the way Torque watched her. Maybe he was right, maybe he could find out who she was.

The potion tasted like orange juice with pineapple in it. She set the cup down and settled back against the wall. She felt dirty, her bare feet were filthy. Heat hit her face at how grungy she was. Finding out her identity suddenly wasn’t as important as getting clean.

“Is there a shower I can use?” She tucked her feet under her and scanned the room.

Torque took her cup from the table and stood. “Let me make sure the towels are clean. You can stay here as long as you’d like. This place is deep in the forests of Romania, safely hidden with spells. You’re safe here. This used to be one of my brother’s hunting lodges, but it’s been empty for years.” Something about the way he said that made her pause halfway up from the bed. He made it sound casual, but she sensed an undercurrent of pain in his tone…or in his aura.

Not sure what to say, if anything, about what she sensed from him, she nodded. She’d need to learn to block him. “Thank you, that’s very kind. I don’t want to be a bother…did I not have anything—a purse, a bag—with me?”

Torque shook his head silently.

Her situation hit her like a splash of cold water. She had nothing. No money, no skills, no home, no memory, no one other than the man standing in front of her. He had stilled, watching her with some kind of emotion radiating off him. Anger maybe?

He reached out and his knuckles brushed lightly over her cheekbone. Before she could process the tenderness from a man his size, he dropped his hand and moved to the door.

“You’re not a bother, beauty. Believe me, we’ll solve this mystery. But for now I need you to stay here, is that understood?” He glanced over his shoulder and frowned when he saw the way her back shot straight at his commanding tone. His frown centred on her face, disapproving and firm. “It’s for your own safety.”

She nodded, suddenly feeling awkward and embarrassed. A blush heated her cheeks and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“Sorry.” He rubbed his face and shot her another killer twist of his lips. “I simply meant that for your safety you should stay here. I’ll be here often but—”

“You don’t live here.”

He shook his head, watching her with an odd look on his face. His emotions were so chaotic they were almost impossible for her to read. Should she? It was almost like eavesdropping. Her head felt better but the strain of trying to read him made her tired. It shouldn’t, she knew that somehow. She rubbed the sole of her foot along the top of her other and watched him, unsure again what to do or say.

“No, I don’t live here. I will be around, but I can’t stay.” Again, she thought his words weren’t exactly true. He seemed anxious now, almost in a hurry to leave. No doubt he had more to do than babysit her.

“Okay.” She moved to pass him and he stepped forward at the same time. They collided. Her head barely reached his shoulder, she noticed in a kind of daze. He was all hard muscles against her, and warm, so warm she had to resist the urge to curl up against him. He’d reached out to hold her steady but after only a second he dropped his hand and stepped back as if she’d burnt him. But inside, where she probably shouldn’t look, he was on fire.

She knew it. Felt it. And the sudden rush of relief—that she did have some power after all—hit her with a double whammy of heat. His, and now, hers. His warmth seared her skin, making her ache between her thighs and want things that startled her. Like him, now, naked and in that bed behind her, using that muscled body to drive her to orgasm.

She glanced down, embarrassed by the sudden rush of lust heating her own system. Her gaze stalled at his hips where he had a bulge he’d not had so distinctly before. Not that she’d been looking at the way his jeans swelled over a certain area of his body, but she might have peeked once. Or twice.

After a long, too-long moment of simply standing there, Torque pulled the door open. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and decided if he wouldn’t raise the issue of his reaction to her, she certainly wasn’t going to point it out. She walked out ahead of him before she lost her senses and turned around, stripped him down, and found out just how hot his flames could go.

She stumbled on the wooden floor.
Jeez, what’s wrong with me? Am I some kind of sex witch?
A giggle rose up in her throat but she cut it short. Moments before her head felt like someone split it open and reformed it wrong, now she had the hots for the hunk who thought her weak. If she laughed now, he might just toss her in some loony bin.

Behind her, his heavy footfalls made her feel self-conscious. Did he also think her grungy? Was ‘beauty’ simply a joke because she was so dirty?

Halfway down the glossy, mahogany-lined hallway, he reached around her and opened a door, revealing a bright, inviting bathroom. She waited while he went in, opened a cabinet, pulled down two brown towels, smelt them, then grinned over at her.