“Fine.” There was a slight twinge in her stomach, a definite ache in her wings, but nothing that was unmanageable. A perk of being undead as well as Wrath’s host, she supposed. No matter the severity of her injuries, death had no hold on her and she healed quickly.
“I cleaned you up, bandaged the worst of your wounds.” Guilt layered his tone, a deeper flush blooming across his cheeks. Those pupils expanded again, staying that way—nope, they snapped back.
She’d never seen eyes do that. “Thank you.” She moved her hand to her hair, grimaced when she encountered tangles. She must look like total crap. “And you? How are you?” Her question trembled with the same intensity as her hand.
“Fine,” he parroted, offering no more than she had.
He straightened, increasing the distance between them, though his hip remained pressed against hers. One of his arms slid forward and stopped beside her rib cage, taking the brunt of his weight.
They stayed like that for a long while, silent, looking at each other, then looking away.
This was…awkward. Really, really awkward. They hadn’t seen each other in so long, and the last time they had, well, things had not ended well. No one but yourself to blame, she thought sadly.
“A lot has happened since we were last together,” he began, then lapsed into silence as if contemplating all that had occurred.
“Yes,” she agreed, though she had spent too much time contemplating it already.
“I know you were given a demon. What I don’t know is how you’re handling him,” he said, staring somewhere far, far beyond her shoulder.
“We have our moments.”
“He shows you the sins of others?”
“Yes.”
“And forces you to punish the wrongdoers?”
“Yes.”
He nodded. “Aeron, the guy who had Wrath before you, used to hate that. He would resist for as long as he could.”
“And then Wrath would overtake him,” she grumbled.
“Yeah.”
“I have the same problem.” Usually she saw the images of a person’s sins while she was awake, and things would progress from there. She would fight the urges and win, or she would fight the urges and fail. She wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that she’d seen Paris’s transgressions while she was asleep.
Another bout of uncomfortable silence ensued. There was so much to say, but she didn’t know where to begin.
“Paris,” she breathed at the same time he sighed and said, “Sienna.”
They stared at each other now, searching, unsure. Annnd once again silence reigned, so heavy she could feel the weight of it pressing her deeper into the mattress. Her heart careened against her chest in a useless attempt at escape. If the damn thing had been hooked to a battery, she would have pulled the plug. Anything for relief from this suspended, anxious sensation, fear of sending Paris fleeing preventing her from saying all the things she’d imagined saying to him.
“You go first,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Very well. She could do this. She could. “I just wondered how you got here and why you…why you came for me.” And he had definitely come for her, and her alone. Why else would he have shouted her name like that? Did he hope to punish her for what she’d once done to him?
His eyes narrowed. “I changed my mind. I’ll go first. Tell me why you came to me, that night in Texas when William saw you at my feet. William being my homely friend.” Through those slitted lids, she saw that his irises had frosted over, the darkness still evident. His expression became granite-hard, ruthless determination cloaking him.
The man who sat before her now was not the one who’d fought the Gargl to reach her; he was not the one who’d taken such care with her wounds. And he had cared for her wounds. She’d been cleaned, bandaged, just as he’d said.
No, the man who sat before her was the one she’d first met in Rome. The one who had kissed her one minute and woken up strapped to a torture table the next. The one who had cursed her with one breath, and praised her with the following.
Whoever he was, she wouldn’t lie to him. She would never lie to him again. “I needed help,” she admitted, “and Wrath knew where you were, how to reach you. He had taken over, and I came to there at your feet.”
“Do you still need help?”
“With Wrath? Yes.”
He nodded, losing that knife edge of ruthlessness. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see you that night.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Anyway,” he said after clearing his throat. “I figured you would have trouble adapting, though you’re doing far better than I did at this stage, so I asked Aeron if he had any tips for you. He said you’ll have an easy time of things if you feed the bastard a little bit every day. Someone lies to you, you lie back. Someone cheats you, you cheat them back. Someone hits you, you hit back.”
How willingly he offered the information. He didn’t make her beg. Didn’t taunt her because he knew and she didn’t. And Aeron hadn’t withheld the information, when he had to hate her for taking his companion—and they had been companions. Wrath had been an extension of him, still missed him to this day. But as grateful as she was for the advice…what a terrible way to live, she thought. “Thank you for that.”
“Welcome,” he said stiffly. Then, “Do you still think I’m evil and in need of snuffing out?”
“No! You’re not evil.” That she had ever placed the man in the same category as the demon… She was so very ashamed. How foolish she’d been. How gullible. “I’m sorry that I ever thought you were.”
The visual perusal he next gave her peeled away her clothing, leaving her bare, trembling. “And I should believe you?”
He would never trust her, but then, why should he? “Being paired with Wrath, well, my eyes were opened. I saw the truth for the first time. The things I did…the things I’m urged to do…you’ve been dealing with that for thousands of years, and still you fight. Doubt me all you want, but I vow to you now.” To stop herself from reaching out to him, she fisted her hands at her sides. “I will never hurt you again.”
In his hooded eyes she saw flecks of anger, a blaze of arousal. Then, nothing.
He looked away from her, gaze landing on the room’s only window. There was a crack in the thick, black curtains, a single ray of moonlight slipping inside. Then he offered a shrug of one strong shoulder. “You asked why I came for you.”
Disappointment rocked her. A response to her vow would have been nice. But then, she didn’t deserve it. “Yes.”
“I— Damn it. I couldn’t let you suffer.”
He couldn’t…let her…suffer…oh… Here was a mercy she was no longer capable of offering to others, so she knew how precious it was. Tears sprang to her eyes and tracked down her cheeks, a trickle at first, then a flood. Until her body was heaving with the same force as the women in that dream hallway. Until she couldn’t see the bedroom or Paris.
What happened to growing a pair of lady balls? Breaking down now, in front of him, was humiliating, but she couldn’t stop.
Her shame exploded, little pieces tossed into every corner of her body, saturating her. All her life, she’d only ever been able to rely on herself. Her mom’s alcoholism, which had started right after Skye’s abduction, had eaten away at any love the woman had felt for Sienna. Her dad had eventually taken off and started another family, forgetting the little girl he’d left behind.
Then in college, she’d begun dating Hugh. He’d listened to her stories about her past, offered sympathy and aid. He’d told her about himself, and his belief in the supernatural. When she expressed doubt, he promised to show her—and he had. She’d been scared yet thrilled at the same time, because then she’d had someone to blame for every single one of her troubles.
How freeing that had been. How marvelous to realize that her mother wasn’t at fault. Her father wasn’t at fault. She wasn’t at fault. How soothing to think her parents would have loved her still if not for the evil the Lords had brought into the world. So, yeah, she’d jumped headfirst into the good-versus-evil game.
And yet, the Hunters had gunned her down to get to Paris.
Paris, who hadn’t wanted her to suffer.
Her sobs emerged so powerfully, she was soon hiccupping, eyes and nose running freely, and that sent her embarrassment to a new level. Stalwart arms wrapped around her, careful not to brush against her fragile wings, lifting her, drawing her into a hot, muscled chest. His heartbeat hammered as swiftly as hers.
And wouldn’t you know, that made her cry even harder.
“Calm down,” he commanded, clearly uncomfortable. And wow. You would think a man who’d been with as many women as Paris had would know how to finesse one who was nearing hysteria, but no. He patted her back a little too roughly, then glared down at her when she failed to obey him.
How could he not want her to suffer? How could she ever have judged him so harshly?
“Sienna. Stop this.”
“Can’t…help…it. Did such…terrible things to…you. And you…you’re here. And you’re being so nice.”
A pause, as if he couldn’t quite digest her words. Then, very gently, he said, “But I did terrible things to you, too. Didn’t I?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SIENNA TOLD HERSELF TO SHUT UP, to lock down tight, but the words poured out of her of their own accord. “You were going to have sex with me and walk away. Not the most chivalrous behavior, but that hardly justifies being drugged, tortured and nearly killed. I tricked you, let them hurt you. And then I raped you. I think I raped you.” She choked, but still the words kept coming. “I’m sorry, Paris. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not good enough. Nothing I say will ever be good enough, but—”
“Sienna.”
