Mirror of My Soul, Joey Hill [ereader iphone .txt] 📗

She closed her eyes. “No.” She ducked her head away as he bent down over her,

tried to turn her face. “I can’t look at you. I can’t.”

But his fingers insisted, so at length she did. Tilting her chin up, she saw his beautiful eyes full of something far too perfect for her to see. Then she saw more. Two slashes on his face that were open and seeping blood, the skin around them an angry red. The second one had left a cut across his eyelid and the bridge of his nose. His jaw was swelling, where she well could have broken it with the tawser.

Her fingers were on it before she could stop herself. “Oh God, Tyler. I’m—”

He laid his lips over hers, taking her words, her hitching breath into himself. When he raised his head, she had nothing, he had it all.

“I’ll endure anything for you, angel. Anything.” He curved that broad back over her, wrapped his arms around her body. Instead of fighting the touch, the intensity, her body recognized it as a safe harbor. Her fingers latched on to his forearm and her nails dug in, cutting as if she were holding on to a cliff edge.

The sobs rolled over her, taking her, her cries of distress that were much too strangled to be called crying. Tyler thought she sounded as if she was being torn apart from the inside.

6

Mirror of My Soul

He’d made it onto the right path at last. But instead of triumph, at her anguish he could only feel the same pain, the pain of a man who loved her desperately, who only wanted to make her feel better, make every nightmare go away.

Her body was shaking as if she had a fever. Another woman’s face would be wet

with tears but it was as if she didn’t know how to cry like that, any more than she’d known how to let herself go, to allow herself physical fulfillment. Her skin was ice cold.

As he comprehended the significance of that, the door beeped, opened.

“Everything under control in here?” It was Mac, his eyes assessing the situation as a cop and a friend. At the moment Tyler was grateful for a person with both to offer. Dan was a quiet shadow at his back, having disengaged the locks for Mac.

“I think she’s in a bit of shock. Can you bring me my jacket there?” He nodded toward the corner in the shadows where they’d hung it.

“Her cloak’s here too.”

“Bring them both over but she needs the jacket first.”

Mac nodded to Dan, exchanged a quiet word, closed the door. He brought the

jacket and cape, came over and crouched. Marguerite pressed her head against Tyler’s arm, shutting them out. Mac’s eyes noted her nails dug deep into Tyler’s arm.

“Here, angel.” Tyler tenderly pried her loose, slid her hand into the sleeve.

It had been like this a long, long time ago. Marguerite remembered this haze of nothing, where she had thought nothing would ever make sense again. Then there was the social worker reaching through that haze to find her, with the touch of a hand, a doll and a tea set. She resisted his movement of her but he was a lot stronger and simply made her limbs do as he wished, enveloping her in his jacket, his scent. She immediately rewrapped herself around his leg and arm as soon as he was done.

Tyler winced as her nails clamped down into the same spot but he simply stroked her hair, held her close. “She’ll be all right in a bit,” he said quietly. “Where’s Violet?”

Mac reached out, laid a hand on Marguerite’s quivering back. Grazed his fingers over her forehead, gauging her temperature.

“She’s too pissed off. I talked her into letting me come check on you.”

“We’re fine,” Tyler said.

“Yeah, you look it.” A corner of Mac’s mouth twitched. “You’re going to need some medical attention.”

“I’ve had worse beatings in my life.”

“Just wait until Violet gets done with you.” Mac stood. “You owe me one. She’s going to make my life hell for the next few days for keeping her out of here when she let loose on you.”

“Did you sit on her or use a headlock?”

“You laugh now but Mistresses can be meaner than hell when crossed.” His gaze

lingered on the ugly swellings on Tyler’s face. “I expect you know that.”

7

Joey W. Hill

He retreated, closing the door, leaving them alone.

“Angel, let me take you home, put you to bed.”

“I can drive myself.”

He smiled against her hair but his heart tightened at the rough quality of her voice.

“No, you won’t. It’s not a request. I’m taking care of you tonight. That’s the end of it.”

She raised her head and her grip on his arm eased at last. She looked as if

everything had been drained away, leaving her skin drawn taut, those blue eyes dominating her face. “And who will take care of you?”

“Well, if you want to rub aloe all over my body, I guess I won’t object.” As he stroked her hair away from her cheek she sat very still under his touch, staring at him.

“Tyler, you know I can’t do this. You need to hear me for once. There’s a reason I choose to be the way I am. The alternative is…” Her fingers reached up abruptly, touching his jaw. “This is the alternative for me.”

“No, it’s not. There’s another path. You know it. You accepted it, even if only for a few minutes. That’s what scared you so much.” He lifted her chin, brought his mouth close to hers as her lips trembled open.

“Say it to me, Marguerite. Say the word that’s in your heart, the reason you’re on your knees now.”

She ducked her head but he caught her chin. Taking her hand, he placed it on the side of his face.

“Your mouth may not be able to say it but every other part of you is.”

He knew he