Read Online Jaded by Anya Bast - Free Book Online Page B

her toward him. She screeched. The first sound she’d made in months. The sound was of pure agony and despair. Rage that he’d taken her opportunity to die away from her. She pushed at him, fighting him, blood smearing his face and clothes. But his arms were like steel and she was far too tiny to break free. He pulled her against him and wouldn’t let her go. He grabbed her wrist and forearm and bore down with his huge hands, pressing her wound closed and swearing the whole time.
    “I knew it the moment I realized the knife was in here,” he yelled into her face. “What are you doing to yourself? Why do this? ” he raged on and on at her, holding on to her wound until the bleeding had slowed. Then he lunged for one of the curtain ties, binding it around her wrist and forearm and tying it tight. “I won’t let you! I’ve put too much work into keeping you alive.”
    Sobbing, totally bereft, she looked up from her bandaged arm with a sense of loss and into his face. His eyes were glistening with tears. He blinked and they rolled down his rough cheeks.
    This big, strong man? Crying? For her?
    “Why?” She wasn’t sure what she was asking. Why was he crying for her or why had he bothered to keep her alive? Maybe she was asking both those questions.
    He just looked at her quizzically, as if he couldn’t understand her befuddlement.
    She slumped back against the bed. “You should have let me die in the alley.” Her voice came out rusty, whispering, rasping, and halting from disuse. Her throat hurt from the act of speaking and the words felt strange around her tongue.
    He leaned in toward her, cupping her face in his bloody hands. “No. Don’t ever say that. No .”
    Realization struck her. This man actually cared if she lived. All he’d done for her since the day he’d found her hadn’t been able to sink through the confused, grief-stricken fog of her mind, but now she saw it. This man wanted her well-being more than she did. He wanted her healthy, strong . . . safe.
    “Why?” she whispered again. Bafflement ruled her mind.
    “Because you matter.” He crushed her to him and held on tight.
    All the emotion that had been caught inside her like a dammed river let loose. Deep, racking sobs broke free and rushed forth. Tears streamed down her face. Her body convulsed with deep grief, like sludge dredged up from the depths of her. It was a cathartic experience, clearing her out and emptying her until she sagged with exhaustion and all her tears were gone. Her head hurt and her throat and eyes burned, yet she felt better than she had in a very long time.
    Byron held her through it all.
    Finally she lifted her head, wiped her cheeks and said, “My name is Lilya.”
    That was the threshold. From that moment on, her mind began to heal as well as her body. Slowly, she clawed her way back to a place where she could hate men a little less, thanks to Byron, and love herself a little more.
    Six months passed. She lived in Byron’s home and slowly forged a friendship with him. They played strategia, read books, and ate meals together. After she was fully healed and ready to face life again, they attended concerts together and went for carriage rides. He bought her dresses and took her out to dinner. Thus, slowly, she returned to the world.
    She remained shy with him, as she did with all people, especially men, for a long time. But eventually she regained herself, every inch. She regained her confidence, her self-esteem, and her will to live.
    The next part was something she omitted from the story she told Alek.
    Although she could not say she’d fallen in love with Byron, since love was so far out of her reach as to be impossible, she came to care for him a great deal. When the memory of her ordeal had faded a little and her mind had readjusted itself as healthily as it could, she had wanted Byron to make love to her. She wondered if his touch could erase the taint of what had been done to her somehow. Like his caring