“How was it more?” He heard his voice, all business, totally foreign.
“Mom finally gave him an ultimatum, and he got sober. Turned into a model husband and dad. But it was too late.” She made a strangled sound of anguish.
Shade stepped close, his entire body shaking as he brushed his lips over every pink mark he’d made in her gorgeous skin. “Why was it too late?”
Please, Runa, talk. I don’t want to have to do it again.
“Because I already hated him,” she moaned. “I was sixteen. I caught him with another woman.”
Shade’s pulse rate shifted into overdrive. They were at the precipice now, and he could feel the guilt and blackness rise up, holding her in its grip but not quite ready to be banished.
“What did you do?”
“Arik begged me to not tell, but I did. I did and I enjoyed the knowledge that I’d be breaking my mother’s heart … oh, God, I enjoyed it!”
The force of her guilt ripped into him. “Did you succeed in breaking up your parents?”
She nodded. “My mom … she killed herself. But it was for nothing, Shade.”
His blood ran cold. “Why?”
Her head dropped forward and her shoulders slumped, and how she remained standing on her feet was beyond his comprehension. “He was dying. And … and he told me that when I saw him with the woman, he was ending things. My mom … oh, God, Shade.”
“What is it?”
Runa sobbed. “She didn’t need to know about the woman. It was over and had been for a while. If I hadn’t told her …”
“Runa, you can’t blame yourself.” The words were lame, probably the same ones she’d heard from her brother over the years, and they hadn’t worked so far.
Only one thing would, and his blood chilled when she asked for it.
“More, Shade. Please, more!”
“I can’t.” And yet, the whip in his hand whispered dark things. The handle burned in his palm as though it was growing roots that sank into his skin and tapped into the most evil part of what made him a demon.
“Hurt me,” she whispered. “Stop holding back. Make me pay.”
His fist clenched around the handle. His bond mark around his neck throbbed, reminding him that a female—his mate—was asking for something. Instinct demanded that he respond even as his mind screamed in protest.
His arm raised. No. No! Sweat poured down his temples with the effort he spent to drop the whip. It clattered to the ground. Clenching his teeth, he endured the agony that came from resisting his nature.
Must. Resist.
But his feet began to move, stiffly, awkwardly, taking him to the wall. He watched in horror as his hand took a flail from its hook, one with braided leather straps that hung like dreadlocks from the handle. At the end of each dread was a tiny, sharp spur made of bone.
“Hurry, Shade.” Runa’s voice was a magnet, pulling him close to her.
Again, his arm raised. His mind screamed and his organs cramped as he brought the flail down as hard as he could.
On his own chest.
Pain tore through him. Sweet, crippling agony.
Runa gasped. “What are you doing? Stop it!”
“I … can’t.” Somehow, the pain lightened his own burden, his own guilt over his failures in his past, and at the same time, he rejoiced in being able to spare Runa. “I will bear this pain for you,” he swore. “If one of us has to bleed, it will be me. It’ll always be me.” There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, he knew that now.
“No,” she cried, reaching for him, but he snapped her wrists into the manacles above her head. “Oh, Shade.” Tears rolled down her face. “I love you. I know it’s not what you want, and I’m sorry. But I can’t help it.”
A wave of warmth flowed out of her like a breeze—the hallmark of freedom. The very air around her felt lighter. She screamed in ecstasy, rocked her h*ps as the mental and physical release took her. This was what the females he brought here were after, the most intense orgasm of their lives, one that would, in a way, last forever. Nothing felt better than a clean soul free of guilt, regret, and hatred.
And yet, he couldn’t drop the flail. Her darkness and guilt had been lifted, but his remained, and he had no idea how to get rid of it.
Chapter 18
Wraith burst out of the Harrowgate into a sweltering jungle. Tracking Shade hadn’t been easy, not until his brother’s agony reached him, savaging Wraith’s mind until finding Shade became as critical as breathing. He’d followed Shade’s trail mostly by instinct and with a sense of urgency.
He wasn’t the only one tracking Shade.
Eidolon had used his Judicia contacts to learn that the Carceris had set their hellhound loose, and no doubt Roag had joined in the hunt as well. Wraith studied the ground, and satisfied that they hadn’t been this way yet, he took off down the lightly worn path leading away from the gate.
The jungle heat embraced Wraith as he shot through the vegetation, his senses tuned to Shade. Ahead. His brother was ahead and he was hurting.
Wraith broke out of the trees and into a small clearing where a waterfall gushed from the cliff above. He might have taken a moment to admire the sight, but he felt as if someone was squeezing his lungs and heart into a pulp, and it was growing increasingly hard to breathe.
Shade.
Wraith moved carefully around the waterfall, to a section of rocks that seemed to fit together a little too well. He searched the area, looking for openings, because although nothing indicated that this was anything but a tranquil oasis in the middle of a jungle, he could feel Shade, and his brother was close.
This had to be a cave of some sort, but he couldn’t find the entrance. There had to be another way.
He looked up at the river of water streaming over shiny, black boulders. Behind the veil of spray, shadowy recesses hinted at some sort of cavern.
He started climbing. The rocks were slick and rough, but he didn’t give a shit that he was tearing up his hands, his jeans, his really cool Hard Rock Café Bucharest T-shirt. Well, he mostly didn’t give a shit. The T-shirt, given to him by a Romanian half-breed waitress he’d f**ked to get it, held some hot memories.
Fifty feet up and soaked to the bone from spray, he nearly lost his grip and plummeted to the ground, but he caught himself on some sort of thorny vine that hurt like hell. Wincing, he peeled his palm off it and moved in behind the waterfall.
Paydirt, baby.
About ten feet above him, he saw a flat, broad shelf that seemed to extend deep into the rock. Carefully, he climbed to it, and pulled himself up. The challenge was powering past the incredible force of the water without being slammed into the pool or rocks below, but finally, he made it. For a second he lay on his back on the smooth stone, gathering his breath, but Shade’s agony, like icepicks in his chest, urged him to his feet.
He moved deeper into the arched tunnel, which was smooth and clean, definitely not natural. And there was a towel lying over a chunk of stone, as if someone had used the waterfall as a shower. As his vision sharpened to accommodate the darkness, he heard sobs.
Oh, shit.
Wraith careened off the cave walls in a frantic bid to find a way inside, and when he found the opening, he nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush. When he entered a strangely modern kitchen, the weirdness registered, but only for a heartbeat.
The sounds of suffering hijacked all his senses, and the only thing he could think about was getting to his brother.
He scrambled through the kitchen, knocking a salt shaker off the table as he passed. “Shade!” He took a corner a little too fast and slammed his shoulder into a door opening …
And then he froze. Every muscle vapor-locked. His heart skidded to a smoking stop. His lungs turned to cement.
Shade was standing in some sort of torture chamber, holding a flail as Runa struggled to free herself from the cuffs around her wrists. She was sobbing, begging Shade to drop the weapon.
A biting chill of shock went through Wraith, and he swayed. Then, as quickly as it had come, the shock fled, its void filling with hot, searing rage.
Wraith launched at his brother and took him to the ground, pummeling him until he realized Shade wasn’t fighting back.
“What the f**k were you doing?” he screamed, but Shade just stared, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Nausea swirled in Wraith’s stomach. By the looks of the dungeon, Shade had been doing who knew what to who knew how many females. And hurting himself as well? Why?
“Do you kill them?” he whispered. “Shade, do you torture them and kill them?” His breath came in spurts, burning his lungs. The memories of his own torture at the hands of vampires flashed through his brain in sickening, fast-motion frames.
“No,” Shade said, eyes wide. “No, never. Gods, Wraith! How could you think that?” He looked over at Runa. “I have to release her—”
“You aren’t going near her.” Wraith coldcocked Shade hard enough to knock him out.
The sharp tang of blood hung heavy in the air. As a vampire, he found the smell compelling, seductive, even as his nonvamp side was disgusted by how it had been spilled. Trembling in a way he hadn’t done since, well, he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been this f**ked in the head, he went to Runa.
She was still on her feet, her hands clutching the post to hold herself up. How she found the strength to not slide to the ground was a mystery, and he found himself admiring her strength as he undid the manacles and peeled her fingers away from the wood.
“Hey,” he said gently. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Sh … Shade?”
“He can’t hurt you now.”
“He d-didn’t …”
Maybe not yet. Wraith didn’t have the medical training or expertise his brothers had, but he knew shock when he saw it. Runa collapsed in his arms, and he carried her to the bed set into the wall. How nice that Shade was able to sleep in his chamber of horrors.
Christ, had he not known his brother at all? He shook his head, because he did know Shade. Knew how he’d grown up in a loving household with sisters he adored. Knew Shade’s favorite food and drink—fish tacos and Fresca, though not, thank gods, the same meal. Knew that Shade loved movies but generally liked to see them alone because he especially liked sappy romantic comedies.