Shadow Bound
Page 91
“Kori, it’s me,” I whispered, afraid to move my throat much because there was actual pressure behind the blade. It was a miracle she hadn’t yet broken skin. “It’s Ian. Remember? We’re in my hotel room.”
She blinked, and some of the confusion cleared.
“See the window? Can you see the moonlight? Do you know where you are?”
Kori gasped and let go of my shoulder, then retreated across the bed with the knife still in hand. “I’m sorry. Fuck! I’m so sorry. I could have killed you.”
“It’s okay. We’re both fine.” I probably could have subdued her, but not without making her nightmare worse. “But maybe you could put the knife down?”
She lifted her hand and seemed surprised to see the knife still in it, the serrated edge shining in a thin beam of moonlight. “Shit.” She dropped it onto the marble-topped nightstand, where it bounced and clattered, then went still. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Do you mind if I put the knife away?”
“Get rid of it, please. I don’t even remember bringing it in here.”
“Do you sleep with one at home?” I stepped into my underwear, then rounded the bed toward the nightstand on her side.
“Yeah. Sorry. I guess I should have warned you.”
I took the knife into the front room, and when I got back into bed, she was in the bathroom. A minute later, the toilet flushed, then water ran in the sink. When she came out, she left the door open and the light on, without even seeming to notice. And that’s when I realized she was afraid of the dark. Or at least afraid of sleeping in it—surely a complicated problem for a shadow-walker.
She climbed back into bed next to me, wearing only plain black cotton underwear, and sat with her legs crossed beneath the covers, her hands over her face, visibly trying to collect herself. I reached out, aching to comfort her but hesitant to touch. Finally I laid my hand between her shoulder blades, and when she didn’t flinch, I started to rub her back.
But my hand froze after a couple of inches, when my fingers skimmed over a smooth, thick line of skin. A scar.
An inch later, I found another.
I scooted toward the headboard for a better view of her back, and in the light from the bathroom, I saw more than I wanted to see. I saw it all.
Bruises, still healing two weeks after she was let out. Burn scars, small and round, like the tip of a cigarette. Long thin strips of scar tissue I couldn’t identify. Teeth marks—an entire set of them—in three different places.
I don’t know what I’d expected, but this wasn’t it. She hadn’t been punished. She’d been tortured.
Rage burned so hot in my gut I felt like I was roasting alive. I wanted to kill something. Someone. Everyone who’d had a hand in what happened to her. But I swallowed that rage. I held it inside, because my anger could trigger hers, and justice for Kori couldn’t be had in that moment, in the middle of the night, with her still shaking from the latest bad dream.
But she would have justice. I would make sure of that.
“Do you have a lot of nightmares?”
She shrugged. “Sleep is overrated.”
“You can tell me about it,” I said, and her hands fell away from her face. She shook her head without looking at me. “It’s not going to scare me or make me want you any less.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ian. That’ll make me want me less.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She sounded so alone. So convinced that she had to be.
“I don’t understand, but I want to. If you want to tell me, I want to hear.”
For a long time, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t lie down. She didn’t even move. She just wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the end of the bed, breathing slowly. Deeply. Then she took one more deep breath, and her mouth opened.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Can you tell me who did this?” I rubbed her back again, and I felt kind of guilty for my own ulterior motive in asking that question. I wanted to know who had done it so I could kill him. Even if killing the bastard who had hurt her didn’t make her feel better, it would make me feel better.
“Doesn’t matter who it was. Jake gave the orders. Jake told him he could do whatever he wanted with me, so long as I survived intact. Then he told me not to fight back.”
“What?” My blood ran cold.
“That was my sentence. Before he left the day they locked me up, Jake looked right into my eyes and said, ‘You like to fight, don’t you, Kori? Then let’s let the sentence fit the criminal. Don’t fight back.’” She sucked in a choked breath and swallowed thickly. “Then he just left. I spent nearly every day at his side for the past six years, and he looked at me like I was worth less to him than the lint in his pocket. He just left me there, alone with—”
“With who?” She obviously didn’t want to say the name. She probably didn’t even want to think it. But she was seeing him in her head. I could tell that much. “Who did he tell you not to fight?” The very idea of which horrified me to no end.
“His brother. He told me not to fight Jonah. Six weeks, and I never lifted a fist, because the first time I tried, the resistance pain nearly killed me, and if I’d died, there’d be no one to protect Kenley. That, on top of the rest of it…it was just too much.”
She blinked, and some of the confusion cleared.
“See the window? Can you see the moonlight? Do you know where you are?”
Kori gasped and let go of my shoulder, then retreated across the bed with the knife still in hand. “I’m sorry. Fuck! I’m so sorry. I could have killed you.”
“It’s okay. We’re both fine.” I probably could have subdued her, but not without making her nightmare worse. “But maybe you could put the knife down?”
She lifted her hand and seemed surprised to see the knife still in it, the serrated edge shining in a thin beam of moonlight. “Shit.” She dropped it onto the marble-topped nightstand, where it bounced and clattered, then went still. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. Do you mind if I put the knife away?”
“Get rid of it, please. I don’t even remember bringing it in here.”
“Do you sleep with one at home?” I stepped into my underwear, then rounded the bed toward the nightstand on her side.
“Yeah. Sorry. I guess I should have warned you.”
I took the knife into the front room, and when I got back into bed, she was in the bathroom. A minute later, the toilet flushed, then water ran in the sink. When she came out, she left the door open and the light on, without even seeming to notice. And that’s when I realized she was afraid of the dark. Or at least afraid of sleeping in it—surely a complicated problem for a shadow-walker.
She climbed back into bed next to me, wearing only plain black cotton underwear, and sat with her legs crossed beneath the covers, her hands over her face, visibly trying to collect herself. I reached out, aching to comfort her but hesitant to touch. Finally I laid my hand between her shoulder blades, and when she didn’t flinch, I started to rub her back.
But my hand froze after a couple of inches, when my fingers skimmed over a smooth, thick line of skin. A scar.
An inch later, I found another.
I scooted toward the headboard for a better view of her back, and in the light from the bathroom, I saw more than I wanted to see. I saw it all.
Bruises, still healing two weeks after she was let out. Burn scars, small and round, like the tip of a cigarette. Long thin strips of scar tissue I couldn’t identify. Teeth marks—an entire set of them—in three different places.
I don’t know what I’d expected, but this wasn’t it. She hadn’t been punished. She’d been tortured.
Rage burned so hot in my gut I felt like I was roasting alive. I wanted to kill something. Someone. Everyone who’d had a hand in what happened to her. But I swallowed that rage. I held it inside, because my anger could trigger hers, and justice for Kori couldn’t be had in that moment, in the middle of the night, with her still shaking from the latest bad dream.
But she would have justice. I would make sure of that.
“Do you have a lot of nightmares?”
She shrugged. “Sleep is overrated.”
“You can tell me about it,” I said, and her hands fell away from her face. She shook her head without looking at me. “It’s not going to scare me or make me want you any less.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Ian. That’ll make me want me less.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She sounded so alone. So convinced that she had to be.
“I don’t understand, but I want to. If you want to tell me, I want to hear.”
For a long time, she didn’t say anything. She didn’t lie down. She didn’t even move. She just wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the end of the bed, breathing slowly. Deeply. Then she took one more deep breath, and her mouth opened.
“I don’t know where to start.”
“Can you tell me who did this?” I rubbed her back again, and I felt kind of guilty for my own ulterior motive in asking that question. I wanted to know who had done it so I could kill him. Even if killing the bastard who had hurt her didn’t make her feel better, it would make me feel better.
“Doesn’t matter who it was. Jake gave the orders. Jake told him he could do whatever he wanted with me, so long as I survived intact. Then he told me not to fight back.”
“What?” My blood ran cold.
“That was my sentence. Before he left the day they locked me up, Jake looked right into my eyes and said, ‘You like to fight, don’t you, Kori? Then let’s let the sentence fit the criminal. Don’t fight back.’” She sucked in a choked breath and swallowed thickly. “Then he just left. I spent nearly every day at his side for the past six years, and he looked at me like I was worth less to him than the lint in his pocket. He just left me there, alone with—”
“With who?” She obviously didn’t want to say the name. She probably didn’t even want to think it. But she was seeing him in her head. I could tell that much. “Who did he tell you not to fight?” The very idea of which horrified me to no end.
“His brother. He told me not to fight Jonah. Six weeks, and I never lifted a fist, because the first time I tried, the resistance pain nearly killed me, and if I’d died, there’d be no one to protect Kenley. That, on top of the rest of it…it was just too much.”
