“Moira was my therapist. She helped me to be able to talk about it and, after a long while, to be able to heal and move on.” She shrugged. “Pretty stupid, a big, tough rebel leader needing a shrink, right?”
“You’re not that big,” he said lightly. “More like a pocket-sized rebel leader.”
She elbowed him, but she did smile a little, which was what he’d intended.
“No matter how tough you are, nobody survives pain, or torture, or violation without needing some help to get through it, mi amara. Even Conlan would not have survived the aftermath of captivity without support from your sister.” He was amazed that he’d kept his voice so steady. No wound he’d ever suffered in battle had pierced him deeper than the agony of being unable to undo her past.
“And you. Riley told me how you helped Conlan get through that and cope with everything that happened when she and he met. You’re kind of a hero, aren’t you?”
“I prefer rock star,” he said loftily, wondering a little wildly when the gods had given him the ability to banter while the walls he’d built so carefully around his heart over the centuries, stone by stone, shattered into rubble inside him.
It was almost a miracle. She was the miracle.
Quinn stared down at her clasped hands and drew in a shallow, fractured breath. “It was a terrible plan,” she began, her voice so quiet he could hardly hear her.
“A terrible plan. Since then, I’ve come up with a hundred ways—a thousand ways—we could have done better, but we thought it was a great idea. We’d sneak into his lair, stake him as he slept, and save our little corner of the world. He was a ruthless, murdering animal, and somebody needed to take him down.”
“And somebody was you,” he said, hating it. Understanding it.
“Somebody was me,” she agreed. “Except, he didn’t stake so easily. We didn’t know, back then, the full extent of the powers of the old ones. We didn’t realize they could wake up and suck a human into their minds during the daylight hours.”
He clenched his jaw against the questions burning in his throat for release, giving her time to tell him the story in her own way.
“He caught us, and he killed everyone else with me. He . . . he took a liking to me. Thought I was the girlfriend of one of the shifters or something. Didn’t realize I was one of the fighters. So he decided that he’d keep the whore for himself. Spoils of battle,” she said, bitterness dripping like acid from each word.
“I’m glad you killed him,” he said fiercely; the only comment he’d allow himself.
“I didn’t.” She lifted her face to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t—not for a while. For far too long. I had no opportunity and no weapons. He was way too strong for me. Instead, I came up with horrible plan, part B: I pretended to like him. I thought if I could get him to trust me, I could find out more about his plots and conspiracies, and . . . and . . .”
She broke down and started to take deep, calming breaths. “Breathing exercises. Moira taught me to use them, you know? For a while, they were all I had to fight back the nightmares.”
Alaric tried to take her hand, but she flinched away.
“No. Let me tell it all, first. You see, he didn’t rape me. I let him . . . I let him. I became his toy. I pretended to like it. I became the whore he thought I was, just to survive. Just to find a way to kill him.” Tears streamed down her face, unchecked, and he wondered if she even noticed them.
He swung around and dropped to his knees in front of her; not touching her, not crowding her, but facing her so he could tell her the most important truth he knew.
“No. Never that. Never a toy, never a whore. What you were—and are—is a survivor. You survived, under impossible, unbearable circumstances. You survived, and you made sure that he did not. Your strength humbles me, mi amara. I am in awe of your courage.”
Slowly, tentatively, she reached for him and touched his face with one delicate hand. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I have never meant anything more in my life,” he said, leaning into her touch. “You are a survivor, and you have protected so many because you had the courage to endure the unendurable.”
A ghost of a smile traced her lips. “Moira said the same thing. Maybe you’re not so hopeless at this counseling thing, after all. I’ll have to tell Myrken.”
“He will be elated,” he said dryly.
She laughed a little, and he knew he’d never heard any sound so sweet.
“Will you hold me now?”
“Always,” he said, and he gently pulled her into his embrace, as careful as if he touched the most fragile of cherished treasures; realizing even as the thought crossed his mind that, in fact, he did.
“I’ve, ah, recovered a great deal since then,” she whispered. “Moira helped, and Jack helped, but mostly just the passage of time and throwing myself into my work helped me to heal. I’m not . . . I’m not fragile anymore.”
He stilled. “Quinn, what are you saying to me?”
She blushed a hot pink all the way to the tips of her delicate ears. “I’m saying that I’m not afraid to be intimate. I—well. I had a sort of casual, sort of not casual encounter . . . well. Enough of that. I’m not afraid of physical closeness, Alaric. I just never found anyone worth trying to have it with, before now.”
“I am honored that you would trust me with this gift,” he said, humbled yet again by her bravery. Wondering if his own could match hers.
She suddenly laughed. “It’s a lot of pressure, isn’t it? All those years of celibacy, and now you have to throw in my background trauma. I’m surprised you’re not flying out of that window.”
He knew, by the sincerity of her laughter, that she’d told him the truth. She’d overcome her past and was ready to move forward. Now it fell to him to deserve her. He had to tell the truth and let her see his flaws. Chief among them, at the moment, was a searing jealousy.
“If we are to have honesty between us, I must admit that I would kill him, too, this casual encounter, if I could,” he said, a wave of fierce possessiveness surging through him. “You should know that if you ever give yourself to me, there will be no more casual or not casual encounters in your life, ever. You will be mine, utterly and completely, as I will be yours.”
She blinked. “You know, these days, people have amicable breakups all the time.”
He narrowed his eyes. “No. Not for us. I will keep you forever. Everything in Atlantean culture dictates free will, Quinn. Even the soul-meld does not take away choice, but I must be entirely candid with you. I know my own nature, and I will never, ever let you go if you say yes to me. You must factor that into any decision.”
She grinned. “So, no casual sex, is that what you’re saying?”
He laughed then and kissed her thoroughly, not stopping until she was breathless. “And yes, I will always want to kill anyone who ever even thinks about harming you. That, too, is in my nature.”
She laughed a little, but her eyes were shining with unshed tears. “You can’t protect me from my past, Alaric, but I confess I love you for wanting to.”
He stilled, every inch of his body turning motionless. She’d said she loved him.
She loved him.
She loved him.
“Say it again,” he demanded.
She tilted her head. “Say what?”
“No. No, you do not get to say those words to me and pretend you don’t remember saying them.” He stood up, still holding her, and tossed her on the bed, then pounced and landed just above her, careful not to press her down or make her feel trapped.