don’t know what happened to her—they never told me. I just knew she was died and I was left alone, left to be raised by my grandmother and aunts. It wasn’t a happy thing…for any of us. They hated me. I feared them.
To this day, I still have nightmares and the bad ones are lessons in pain, in humiliation, in fear. Up until a couple of years ago, I’d wake to find myself hiding in my bathroom. I was finally over that, but the nightmares still came.
Nightmares where I’d find myself tied to the whipping post again, as the lash tore into my naked back, over and over again.
Sometimes I dreamed about when my grandmother had broken my arm. An aneira warrior never lowers her guard. And I might be a useless waste, a paltry excuse for a warrior, but I had her blood in me and she’d make me stronger if it killed her.
It had almost killed me , more often than I could count.
But it wasn’t one of those times.
I was just…trapped.
Down in the hellish hole where she’d thrown me when I was fifteen. Trapped, huddling against the cold stone wall, scratching at my filthy skin and praying, crying, desperate for it all to end.
I was just trapped.
Cold—
So cold.
I cried and somebody wiped my tears away even as I heard her voice, Fanis, my grandmother.
Such a weakling…crying because you’re cold. If I had any sense, I would have strangled you the moment I saw you .
“Kit.”
I shivered, cringed away from her voice.
“Kit…”
That wasn’t my grandmother’s voice…
“Come on, baby girl…”
Now she was in my head, her voice all but shrieking. He will not stay with you. How can he ? He needs somebody to match his own strength …
I sobbed.
All but dying inside.
A snarl echoed through the air. Loud, intense.
This time, her voice was fainter.
I felt a hand at my wrist. Squeezing. Tight, too tight, until I could feel the bones grinding together.
“Wake up, baby,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”
Damon. It was Damon’s voice.
I clung to it. Flexed my wrist and focused on the heat centered there. He was there. He was there.
And I could damn well wake up.
I am aneira ...
And I damn well wasn’t going to let that evil bitch beat me. Not in a dream.
“Come on, Kit. That’s it…”
I came awake to feel his hands stroking up and down my back. Strong and steady.
Raggedly, I gulped in air, trying to breathe.
“Shit.”
His arms tightened. “Yeah. Tell me about it.” One hand cradled the back of my head. “You wouldn’t wake up, Kit. Thirty minutes. I’ve been trying to wake you up for thirty minutes.”
I pressed my face against his neck and breathed in the scent of him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” He pulled my head back and the sight of the fury in his eyes was like a fire on my skin. “You don’t spend thirty minutes trapped in a nightmare where I can’t help you and then tell me you’re sorry. Damn it, Kit. Of all the things I can kill for you…I can’t kill your past.”
“No.” I leaned in, snuggling against him. I was so damned cold and the heat of him was like heaven. “You can’t do that.”
His hand tangled in my hair, absently kneading at my scalp for a moment while his arm other wrapped around my waist. “I don’t care if I can do it or not…it’s what I want to do.
Closing my eyes, I sighed and just breathed him in.
Yeah. I wished he could, too. I wished we both could. There was no exorcising these ghosts, though. No killing the memories. You can’t kill memories or ghosts like this—all you can do is deal with them.
Long moments passed before the shaking stopped. Eventually, the cold knot of fear inside me eased and I could breathe. I lifted my head enough to glance at the clock and then I dropped my head down on his shoulder with a groan. If I managed to get anymore sleep tonight, it would be a miracle. It was almost four. I guess I ought to be glad I got the four or five hours I’d managed.
Lifting my head, I peered at Damon through my
To this day, I still have nightmares and the bad ones are lessons in pain, in humiliation, in fear. Up until a couple of years ago, I’d wake to find myself hiding in my bathroom. I was finally over that, but the nightmares still came.
Nightmares where I’d find myself tied to the whipping post again, as the lash tore into my naked back, over and over again.
Sometimes I dreamed about when my grandmother had broken my arm. An aneira warrior never lowers her guard. And I might be a useless waste, a paltry excuse for a warrior, but I had her blood in me and she’d make me stronger if it killed her.
It had almost killed me , more often than I could count.
But it wasn’t one of those times.
I was just…trapped.
Down in the hellish hole where she’d thrown me when I was fifteen. Trapped, huddling against the cold stone wall, scratching at my filthy skin and praying, crying, desperate for it all to end.
I was just trapped.
Cold—
So cold.
I cried and somebody wiped my tears away even as I heard her voice, Fanis, my grandmother.
Such a weakling…crying because you’re cold. If I had any sense, I would have strangled you the moment I saw you .
“Kit.”
I shivered, cringed away from her voice.
“Kit…”
That wasn’t my grandmother’s voice…
“Come on, baby girl…”
Now she was in my head, her voice all but shrieking. He will not stay with you. How can he ? He needs somebody to match his own strength …
I sobbed.
All but dying inside.
A snarl echoed through the air. Loud, intense.
This time, her voice was fainter.
I felt a hand at my wrist. Squeezing. Tight, too tight, until I could feel the bones grinding together.
“Wake up, baby,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”
Damon. It was Damon’s voice.
I clung to it. Flexed my wrist and focused on the heat centered there. He was there. He was there.
And I could damn well wake up.
I am aneira ...
And I damn well wasn’t going to let that evil bitch beat me. Not in a dream.
“Come on, Kit. That’s it…”
I came awake to feel his hands stroking up and down my back. Strong and steady.
Raggedly, I gulped in air, trying to breathe.
“Shit.”
His arms tightened. “Yeah. Tell me about it.” One hand cradled the back of my head. “You wouldn’t wake up, Kit. Thirty minutes. I’ve been trying to wake you up for thirty minutes.”
I pressed my face against his neck and breathed in the scent of him. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.” He pulled my head back and the sight of the fury in his eyes was like a fire on my skin. “You don’t spend thirty minutes trapped in a nightmare where I can’t help you and then tell me you’re sorry. Damn it, Kit. Of all the things I can kill for you…I can’t kill your past.”
“No.” I leaned in, snuggling against him. I was so damned cold and the heat of him was like heaven. “You can’t do that.”
His hand tangled in my hair, absently kneading at my scalp for a moment while his arm other wrapped around my waist. “I don’t care if I can do it or not…it’s what I want to do.
Closing my eyes, I sighed and just breathed him in.
Yeah. I wished he could, too. I wished we both could. There was no exorcising these ghosts, though. No killing the memories. You can’t kill memories or ghosts like this—all you can do is deal with them.
Long moments passed before the shaking stopped. Eventually, the cold knot of fear inside me eased and I could breathe. I lifted my head enough to glance at the clock and then I dropped my head down on his shoulder with a groan. If I managed to get anymore sleep tonight, it would be a miracle. It was almost four. I guess I ought to be glad I got the four or five hours I’d managed.
Lifting my head, I peered at Damon through my
Similar Books
