Seduced by Pain (5 page)

O, then, what graces in my love do dwell, That he hath turn'd a heaven unto a hell!"

—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

A LETHARGY OF
spirit weighed in on me as I meditated in the rose garden and tried to pull out some meaning from the visions Dean had sent me, but the chaos refused to sort itself out. Dark colors and misshapen forms and hallowed out eyes played through my mind on repeat, like a terrifying collage from a nightmare. Is that what Dean dreamed while his mind rested?

My cell phone vibrated and, without thinking, I answered it.

Her voice, soft, unsure, surprised, snaked its way into my heart. How could I speak to her when I still didn't know what to do, what to say?

"Rose, this isn't a good time."

An intake of breath. "It's never a good time, but you can't avoid me forever, unless this is it, we're really over?"

The question mark at the end of her sentence lingered, begging me for a response. She didn't deserve this. I was once again making her the victim in a game neither of us had signed on to play, but I had to focus on my family right now. I didn't have time to sort out my convoluted feelings for her, to figure out how to forgive someone I felt guilty for being angry with in the first place.

But I couldn't betray Dean by being with the woman who had hurt him, either. I'd never forgive myself.

So I did the hardest thing I'd ever done.

I let her go.

"It's over, Rose. I'm sorry, but I never wanted to get serious with anyone, especially not someone who's a part of the attacks on my family. I never planned on staying in town anyways. You'll be better off without me. Please don't call again. Goodbye."

I hung up before she could reply, but not before her sob tore through me like shards of glass.

I'd just lied to the only woman I'd ever loved, and probably would ever love. I'd broken her heart, and destroyed all chance of us being together.

The worst part was that it wouldn't bring back Dean, but at least I didn't feel like a traitor.

Just a scoundrel.

I needed to drown myself in whiskey and women and forget the name Rose once and for all, before the longing for her destroyed me.

Merry and tragical! tedious and brief!
That is, hot ice and wondrous strange snow.

—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Dear Diary,

Hope is a fragile thing, yet strangely enduring. It hides in the crevices of pain, burrowing deep until unseen, for fear that sorrow, in its rage, will devour hope's desperate hold on the heart.

It can live there for years, silent and waiting. Or, it can be slaughtered with a word— mankind's most powerful weapon.

They say that universes are created with words.

And with words, they are destroyed.

Just as mine has been.

A BONE DEEP
chill woke me. Body stiff, phone still clutched in hand, eyes so puffy I could barely open them, I pieced together the afternoon.

Derek had finally spoken to me, only to end things for good. I thought I knew we were over, that I'd been ready for his words, but at his rejection something deep inside of me broke, that place where secret hope lives.

Hours passed, filled with tears and dark dreams, as I drifted between the pain of consciousness and sleep.

Now my body shook, not from sobs, but cold. Darkness gave my normally cheerful living room a sinister edge, turning ordinary objects into the stuff of nightmares. I reached for the lamp by the couch and flicked it on, but nothing happened.

With small steps, using my hands and feet to guide me through the room I'd recently rearranged, I found the light switch. It didn't work either. The power had to be out.

Only then did I hear the banging at the door and realize that nature had unleashed its own pain on humanity.

I stubbed my toe twice by the time I'd made it far enough to yank the door open.

Blake stood on my porch, or what was left of my porch. The snow had built a wall around my cottage, and Blake had used the shovel in his hand to burrow a way through to me.

"You must be freezing. Come in!"

He knocked his boots together to shed excess snow and used the mat for the rest, then followed me in and closed the door behind him, using his flashlight to give us light. "I was about to let myself in and check on you after you didn't answer. Are you okay?"

I reached for the tangled mess of my hair and swiped at my eyes, which I'm sure looked as swollen as lips recently injected with collagen. "Sorry. I was sleeping. I… it's been a hard day."

The cold had settled in my bones, and I shivered. "The weather turned pretty bad. I hope Ocean's okay. Did everyone lose power?"

Blake pulled a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around my shoulders. This time my shiver had nothing to do with the cold. His hand, so warm despite his trek through snow, grazed my neck as he pulled away, and a deep and powerful longing stirred in me.

"Yes," he said, without taking his eyes off of me. "It's out county-wide and not expected to come on anytime soon. I came to make sure you were all right. We should get the fire going before you freeze."

Without waiting for me to reply, he collected wood from our pantry and filled the fireplace, then lit it with a match. "Where are your candles?"

Our hall closet held our emergency supplies. I pulled out the candles, extra bottles of water, and our heavy blankets and carried it all to the living room.

Together, we lit the assortment of red, black and white candles of all sizes and spread them around the house.

I excused myself to use the bathroom. With the power went the water, so I used some of our emergency supplies to brush my teeth and rinse my face, then I changed out of my sweats and t-shirt and into jeans and a red sweater, my thin leather gloves and slippers.

Dancing flames licked at the walls, casting shadows and creating a scene part romantic and part sinister.

Outside, snow fell harder, piling high against the windows, and I wondered how I'd ever get out of my house again.

And how Blake would get out.

A blanket of white trapped us in a dark and quiet world, making it seem as if nothing else existed.

Blake stood in the center of the living room with an air of confidence and expectancy.

I peeked out the front door. All the snow he'd shoveled away had been replaced, blocking any way out.

Even his shovel was buried in white fluff.

He'd taken off his jacket and stood warming his hands in front of the fire, the hard lean muscles under his black cotton shirt flexing each time he moved, sending shots of heat through my belly. But thoughts of Derek flooded me, smothering that heat with visions of the way he'd looked naked and aroused, the way he'd felt when we kissed, the way
I'd
felt when I was with him. I couldn't move on so quickly, not with Derek's unwilling memory squatting in my mind.

Despite his rejection of me, my feelings for him continued to grow. I didn't blame him for not wanting to be with me. If he'd harmed Ocean or Jasmine, stealing the light from their eyes, I'd find it hard to forgive.

These conflicting emotions warred in me. Lust, desire, a carnal appreciation for the man who stood before me, and love, need, longing for the man I wished was here instead.

Blake caught my eye and held out his hands for me to join him by the fire.

I only took those steps toward him to be warm, not because my body ached to press itself against his.

We stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the flames, as the world drew upon itself a blanket of silence.

"I should get going," he said, after a time, though he made no move to go.

"I can't force you back out there. You can stay the night on the couch if you'd like. Maybe by morning the snowing will have stopped and we can dig our way out. At the very least it won't be dark."

I imagined his long legs and broad shoulders draped over our small couch. "Ocean's room. You can sleep in her bed. You won't fit on the couch."

The air between us quivered with unmet desire and sexual undertone. If only I could free myself from Derek's hook, I could enjoy the unspoken promises held in Blake's eyes.

Instead, I left to get a bottle of wine and glasses. If I was to be trapped in a house with Blake alone all night, I'd need alcohol.

Layers of blankets covered the thick rug in front of the fireplace when I returned with our drinks, and Blake had removed his shoes and sat down on them. "I hope you don't mind. I thought it would be nice to sit closer to the fire. It's going to get pretty cold tonight, and we'll both need to stay warm."

Handing him a glass, I sat next to him and leaned against the base of the couch.

He threw a few blankets over our laps and scooted as close to me as he could get.

I was in the perfect position to lay my head on his shoulder, and it was so tempting, but I didn't want to start something I couldn't finish.

I briefly wondered what, or who, Derek was doing this night.

"Who are you thinking about?"

The warmth of the fire flickered on my face, leaving me too hot and too cold all at once. "Derek."

I waited for Blake's diatribe of hate to spew itself onto me, but he just nodded and took a sip of the wine.

"You're not going to tell me he's a piece of shit that should be locked up like a rabid dog?"

A look of… something… pain, maybe, crossed his face. "No. We all have reasons for doing what we do, and every soldier at war believes his cause is the right and just one. No one likes to think they are the bad guy, Rose, and maybe he's not the bad guy." He turned my face to him. "But you aren't the bad guy, either. I hope you know that."

Tears, more damn tears, threatened to spill out. I didn't think I had any left in me. "I know that you… want things between us, but I have to be honest; I'm in love with Derek. He may not want me—a fact he's made abundantly clear—but I can't give myself to anyone else right now. Doesn't matter anyways, my stupid power makes it impossible for me to be with anybody without killing—"

He pressed his lips against mine, cutting off the rest of my protests, his tongue flicking my lower lip. A low groan rose from my chest as he placed his callused hand on the back of my neck, deepening our kiss.

The first time we'd sort of kissed we'd been young, but I still remembered the way he tasted of garlic, how his lips felt papery, as if I'd tear them off if we kissed too hard.

Now, his lips crushed mine, smooth but powerful, and I longed to feel those lips on other parts of my body. He still had the flavor of wine on his tongue, but also a nuttier undertone unique to him.

If this had been a blind kissing contest, I would have bet everything I had that this was not the same man who had been my first kiss so many years ago.

Even knowing it was Blake, I wondered how one person could change so much, so suddenly. I knew in my gut that had he kissed me like this a week ago I'd have tasted the garlic and felt those paper lips.

But now, his taste was more intoxicating than the wine, and his lips moved with confidence, dipping to my chin and neck with just the right amount of pressure.

I tilted my head, exposing more of my neck to him as I explored his chest and ripped abs. My hands, fully gloved, longed to be free to feel his flesh, but as my temperature rose, I knew that was a bad idea.

As if reading my mind, he pulled away, smiled a sinful smile, and peeled my gloves off.

"No! I can't take them off. It's bad enough we kissed, but if we make more skin contact I could hurt you."

He didn't let my hands go, but held them tightly in his once my gloves had been removed. "Rose, you can't hurt me. You might have noticed a change in me lately?"

That was putting it mildly.

"Something happened the night the coven poured their power into me. It changed a lot of things. I'm protected from magical influence. Rainbow has tested this and nothing harms me, not even you."

He took my hand and placed it under his shirt against his chest. The skin-to-skin contact, the thumping of his heart, the need building in me—all of this combined to make me want to believe him. But too much was at stake.

"How do you know? How can you be sure?"

"Test it. Release your power into me, Rose. You can't hurt me, and I swear I'll never hurt you."

'… like Derek did
.' I heard those last unspoken words, felt them like a punch to the gut.

Could it possibly be true? Could there be a man I sexually desired who couldn't be hurt by me?

This would change everything in my life. The course of my destiny stood at the precipice of this moment. I'd never be able to justify loving anyone but him if he proved to be the only man I could be with.

The thought terrified me and excited me all at once.

The possibility of making love, of feeling his hard body on me, in me, bringing me to climax without fear. The promise of surrender, total and complete.

It stirred up years of fear, doubt and longing in me.