Marked by Passion (18 page)

I lifted my head, panting. My hand rested on his chest, right over his mark, and its heat radiated through his clothes to my palm. I licked my lips—I swore I could taste him on me still.

His fierce gaze scorched me. "What happened tonight?"

I sagged against his chest. I fit so well, it felt so perfect, that I withdrew again. "I don't know what happened. It just got out of control."

"Agree to let me teach you, Gabrielle." He placed a warm hand on my neck, holding me so I couldn't pull away. "'You're going to destroy yourself this way."

The emotion in his eyes took my breath away. I blinked as I realized he was more concerned about me than his favor. "Why do you care?" I whispered hoarsely.

His thumb rubbed my jawline. "Why do you think?"

I didn't know what to think. "Why are you here?"

"I told you—"

"No." I took my hand from over his mark and propped myself against the wall so I wasn't supported by him. "Why did you come here to find me? You said there's no such thing as a coincidence. You must have known I was coming into my Guardianship."

"Now isn't the time to discuss this."

"No, but tomorrow's not going to be any different." Crossing my arms, I glared at him. "Tell me."

He was silent for so long I didn't think he was going to say anything. Then he said, "The reason I came to find you doesn't matter any longer."

The pit fell out of my stomach at his reply. I wasn't going to like this—I could tell. But I needed to know. "It matters to me."

"If you don't learn to bend, you're going to break.'"

"Stop giving me cryptic bullshit." I punched his shoulder. "I just want a straight answer from one person. Is that too much to ask for?"

"No, it's not." He sighed, brushing my hair from my face. "I came for your scroll. I came to take it from you."

I
think I just hallucinated." I shook my head to clear it. "What did you say?"

Rhys frowned. "You bloody well heard what I said."

Hands on my hips, I glared at him. "But. I was hoping I heard wrong."

"You didn't." Raking his hair, he turned away. Muttering a curse, he faced me again, his expression resolute. "I came to relieve you of your scroll."

The realization that I'd been manipulated hit me all at once. Instead of being interested in me, it was really the scroll he yearned for. It was more important to him, just like it was more important to Wu.

That hurt.

"You fucking bastard," I hissed.

He reached for my arms. "Gabrielle, don't blow this out of proportion."

"Don't blow this out of proportion?" I barked an incredulous laugh as I jerked away from him. "You just told me that your goal is to take the scroll—"

"Was," he corrected.

"—from me. Which means that the interest, the kisses—
everything
—was a lie." I clenched my hands as anger mixed with the hurt. "I'm not stupid, Rhys. I can see what you were doing. You were playing me."

"I'm not—"

"Stop lying to me," I yelled, banging him with my fists.

He grabbed my wrists. I immediately raised my knee to nail him in the balls, but he anticipated my move and pinned me to the wall, my hands alongside my head and his body flush against mine.

We both breathed heavily. With every breath I took I inhaled his cayenne scent, and the pain twisted my heart just a little more.

"You will listen to me, Gabrielle," he ordered.

Irritation poured from his gaze. And maybe regret, but I told myself I was imagining that. I lifted my chin, mentally throwing daggers at him.

"Yes, I came here intending to relieve you of the scroll. A new Guardian, I knew you'd be too overwhelmed by the duties to be fully aware. I was there once myself, after all." He shook his head. "Quite frankly, I wanted the power. When I ran away from the asylum, I'd vowed—"

"Asylum?"

"A boys' home," he clarified. "An orphanage, to you Yanks."

"Oh." Madame said he had a rough childhood, but a rags-to-riches story? Seemed hard to believe.

He must have sensed my disbelief, because his gaze hardened. It was the flatness of his voice that told me he wasn't faking it. "I grew up in an orphanage in Wales. No one knew who my parents were or where I was from. I turned up on the doorstep one night, no note, no identifying features."

Despite myself, I glanced at the spot over his heart.

He glanced at his mark, too. "At the asylum, they didn't know about the scrolls. Neither did I until I was seventeen and my scroll showed up by messenger. By then I'd already started my illustrious career."

"Acquisitions," I said bitterly.

"In the purest sense back then. I had nothing. I had less than nothing. I was determined that I'd never want for anything ever again. I wanted everything and then some." He smiled without humor. "When I received the scroll, a new world opened to me. I had my first taste of real power. The more I learned, the more fascinated I became. If one scroll was powerful, two had to be exponentially so."

"So you decided to take mine?" I asked hoarsely. "Why not one of the three others?"

"Fate," he said simply. "I found you first."

"'Lucky me." Feeling sick to my stomach, I tried to pull my wrists out of his hold.

"But then I met you. I
touched
you"— he held me firmly in place and pressed closer, his heat wrapping around me—"and what I wanted changed. I want you infinitely more than I've ever wanted anything. Even more than I want the scroll."

"How nice for you." Space—I needed space. I was afraid I'd cave in to the seductive feel of him, just like I did every time.

"It's not nice," he bit out. "It's damn inconvenient. Especially with the way you fight me at every turn."

A lick of energy stole through me, and I struggled in earnest. "Stop trying to influence me with your powers."

"I'll use whatever I have at my disposal to make you see reason," he said fiercely.

"What is reason, Rhys?" I asked just as intently.

"Reason is that we're meant to be together." Passion blazed from his face, a warrior bent on conquest. "I want you, and I know you want me, too."

I shook my head. "You want my powers. Having me means you also have the scroll. You'll have your cake and be able to eat it, too. You'll have the scroll in your greedy hands and be able to use it whenever you want."

His eyes shifted, tipping me off that there was more. I glared at him suspiciously. "What is it?"

He hesitated, but then he said, "I wouldn't have access to your powers just by having your scroll."

My gut told me this was about to get even worse. "Explain."

"Yes, anyone would be able to learn some of the secrets the monks put into the scroll just by reading it, but there's a ward, if you will, that endows the Guardian with the essence of the scroll. That's where the real power lies."

"Which means if you took my scroll you'd have that power."

"No, Gabrielle." His tone was almost apologetic. "The powers don't get passed on until you die."

The bottom fell out of my heart, and I felt the blood drain from my face as comprehension hit me.

He stepped forward. "Gabrielle, listen—"

"I don't need to hear any more." I sounded shrill to my own ears. "You meant to
kill
me."

He held me firm as I struggled to get free. "I told you I came intending to take the scroll."

"Which means my death," I yelled.

"It did," he said quietly. "But it quickly became evident I would sooner be able to rip my own heart out than hurt you."

I gaped at him, not sure what to say. What was there to say? He just admitted he'd come here to kill me. No pretty words could change that.

"Gabrielle, listen to me," he insisted, his voice low. "I told you before. I met you and I realized I'd come for the wrong thing. It's you I want, not your scroll. Just you."

A caustic laugh rose up my throat, but something in his eyes stifled it. In them, I saw what he wanted—what could have been—and sadness willed me. "How can you expect me to believe that after what you've just told me?"

"The truth is in my eyes when I look at you. It's in every touch. You just have to look." His hold on me eased so he cradled me instead of keeping me prisoner. "You have to trust in what you see. In me."

Yeah, that was the problem. I could count on one finger all the people I trusted. And then there was the fact that Rhys had deceived me. How did I know this wasn't part of his grand scheme? "I can't."

"Can't or won't, Gabrielle?" he asked, his voice low and flat.

"What does it matter?" I tried to wiggle away. "Let me go."

Surprisingly, he did. Only even though he stepped away from me, I could still feel the imprint of his body on mine, the heat of him stamped on my skin. I didn't know whether I wanted to hold on to the sensation so I'd always remember it, or go home and shower to wash him out of my life once and for all.

Neither thought comforted me.

"This isn't the end of it, Gabrielle." He stood, hands in his pants pockets, deceptively casual. Like a snake about to strike. "I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself."

I hugged myself. "You can't honestly believe there's anything you can do to change my mind, do you?"

"Yes, in fact, I do, love." Before I could sputter a response, he wrapped his hand around my neck and tilted my head to kiss me.

"Stop."
I put my hand between my mouth and his.

He clasped me tight to his chest, as if he was worried I'd slipped away. "I can feel your heart pounding in rhythm to mine, Gabrielle. You want me, even if you won't admit it. A heart doesn't lie."

"Neither should someone who wants a relationship." I shrugged out of his embrace. "I'm not some object to acquire or steal, Rhys. And, frankly, even if I got over this, I'm not sure I could ever be more important to you than the scroll."

Silence stretched taut between us. He looked like he wanted to say something, but then he flashed a bitter smile and turned to leave, his footsteps echoing down the dark alley.

I slumped there, a fist pressed to my traitorous heart. What the hell was I going to do now?

I
went home early and did what I was born to do: I painted.

Since I'd taken all my best supplies to Madame's house, I had to rummage through a box of old stuff to find a couple adequate brushes and paints that weren't too dry. Setting up a fresh canvas, I stripped out of my clothes into a sweatshirt and sat down at the easel.

Rhys must have somehow siphoned off some of the excess energy inside my body, because
tu ch’i
was remarkably dormant. So dormant that when I picked up a size four bright and the palette, I felt like I could actually work.

Staring at the canvas, I knew what the next painting in my
Enter the Light
series was supposed to be—I'd planned out all the canvases in detail months ago. Only I couldn't bring myself to start it. What I'd envisioned felt pale and easy. Without turmoil. No hint of struggle, as if starting a new life was a piece of cake.

Instead, I dabbed the brush in the paint and cut the whiteness with a wild, dark swipe.

An image took shape—a man cloaked in darkness. Strong, powerful features. Shadowed. A hand reaching out—giving or taking, it was uncertain.

Selecting another brush, I painted. No thought. I let my emotions drive my hand. I poured all the fury and pain—the longing—onto the canvas.

By morning light, I was mostly done with it. I dropped my brush and flexed my hands. I glanced at the photo Paul had given me, clipped to the edge of my easel. Holding my fingers out, I compared them to Mom's hand. Maybe Paul was right.

Exhausted, I shuffled out of my studio. As I passed through the kitchen I stopped in front of the fridge, struck by the sudden urge to read more of the scroll.

"No." It was my thought, but at the same time it wasn't. The more I was home, the closer I was in proximity to the scroll, the more it infringed on my consciousness. I couldn't explain it. It wasn't exactly placing thoughts in my head—it felt more like it picked out the thoughts I normally kept buried and magnified them.

Wu's face materialized right out of the refrigerator door. "What are you doing?"

"Jeez."
I jumped back, my hands poised to defend. "Stop that."

"If you were more present, you wouldn't startle." He scowled. "And how many times do I have to tell you to set your weight, Gabrielle?"

"Can't deal with this." Shaking my head, I forced one foot in front of the other, over and over until I stood by the futon.

"Since you're awake for once, we should work on a few things." He drifted until he wavered at my side. "Your fighting skills are woefully rusty."

Stripping out of my clothes required too much energy, so I just dropped and pulled the covers over my head.

"Gabrielle?"

I ignored his muffled voice, closed my eyes, and let consciousness fade.

My cell phone rang incessantly, all morning long, until I finally turned it off.

Unfortunately, my sleep had been so disrupted that when I got out of bed in the afternoon I felt like I hadn't slept at all. The bright side: no sign of Wu. The downside: my headache was back.

A shower didn't perk me up, and neither did eating the few stale M&M's I found in a kitchen drawer. Groggy, I rooted around my bed for the cell phone so I could check my voice mail.

Carrie and Paul had called a few times each, both concerned about how I was. Madame left a message asking me about the paintings. I made a face, deleted it, and played the next one.

"Gabrielle, I—" Rhys's husky voice stalled.

My entire body went on alert.

There was silence. A curse. Then with a frustrated exhale he said, "I can't be sorry for my original motives, not when they led me to you," and he hung up.

I snapped my phone closed and dropped my head in my hands. My chest ached with longing. I wanted to believe him—I wanted that
so badly.
But how could I? I'd known him for days—how could I even be thinking of trusting him? He was a man who'd obviously do anything to get what he wanted.