Midnight Eyes, Brophy, Sarah [love story books to read txt] 📗

ran down his exposed torso, glistening along the ridges of muscles on his abdomen. A dark lock of hair tried to fall over his face, but sweat held it in place at least for a moment, until he impatiently swept it back, then he hefted the axe over his head once more.

He barely noticed the heat of the midday sun beating down on his exposed head, concentrating instead on each muscle as it stretched and shifted to do the repetitive work, relentlessly seeking oblivion in physical labor. Perhaps, if he worked his body till it was exhausted, he could achieve a state of numb bliss.

It wasn’t working, he admitted grimly to himself as he brought the axe down. His mind refused to be silenced, ruthlessly following the well-trod circles of fear and anger, just as it had been doing ever since the arrival of Roger’s first message. With each note Imogen received, the clamoring inside him grew louder.

He watched helplessly while she seemed to fade a little more each time. He couldn’t reach her. No matter what he did or said, the essence of her had somehow slipped through his fingers. She had disappeared into her nightmares where he couldn’t reach her, and it frightened the hell out of him. He had never felt so impotent, so unsure of what to do, and he hated it. He seemed to be sitting idly by while his whole world fell apart silently around him, but there was nothing he could do to stop the decay. That bitter knowledge invoked in him an unholy desire to break things. Lots of very large, human-sized things.

The axe sailed through the air and found its target easily. Lifting the blade quickly he settled a new log on the block and with a fluid movement brought the axe down again, but the violence of metal slicing through wood was nowhere near enough to appease the rage that roiled in him. He had only to think of the hollow, brittle shell that surrounded Imogen, and once more he felt the battle rage fill his every particle.

He ground his teeth as visions of the farce that had been the last month filled his mind like taunting shades. He was slowly sinking in a leaden sea of politeness, damn it. Imogen treated him absentmindedly, as if he was some kind of half-remembered acquaintance. Really, she did it so well that even Robert was sometimes hard-pressed to recall that they were husband and wife, friends and lovers.

Robert deliberately brought the axe down harder, enjoying the pain that shot through his arm as beguiling memories taunted him, memories of what had very nearly been his. Memories of Imogen as she had almost become.

Almost.

Gone was the glorious woman he had watched learning to embrace the world. In her place existed a mere shadow, barely able to sustain enough life to smile. It was an endless torture. Not only did he have to watch her spirit dying before his eyes, but he also had to stand by as each day her body became a little frailer, faded that little bit more.

Sometimes, Robert wasn’t sure which frightened him the most, although he suspected it would be the slow suicide that would be his ultimate enemy. If she willed herself out of existence, he would lose her forever.

She had always been an ethereal being, but now her physical fragility had become a macabre effigy with an eerie appearance of life in death. Her pale skin had taken on a bruised translucency, her eyes dull, lifeless nothings rimmed by gray circles. In bed at night he didn’t dare touch her, frightened that she might just shatter in his arms.

Or, worse still, pull away from him.

To lie next to her and not be able to touch her was a pain beyond pain. He longed with every fiber of his being to pull her close, longed to hold her against his heart again, but her icy withdrawal frustrated all such longings. It left him restless. He prowled around the Keep more like a caged animal than a man. He was beginning to notice the wary glances from his men. They were treating him like he was a wild beast, and a wounded one at that.

He grinned bitterly at the description. It was disturbingly accurate. He felt like a wounded beast deprived of its mate, and that primitive part of him would have liked nothing more than to howl his pain to the endless skies.

He could only hope that his men would understand and could forgive him this display of human weakness.

Of course they understood, he thought with a wry twist of humor. Most of them were feeling something very similar themselves. He had already noticed the worried concern that appeared in their eyes as they too watched Imogen’s transformation into a lifeless mockery of what she had been.

And they had every right to be worried, Robert thought darkly as he moved yet another block into place. Hell, Robert was so filled with fears and torments that he thought he would explode, but at least he could find some small consolation in the fact that he knew who was to blame. His enemy had a name: Roger.

That alone wasn’t enough. Robert had long since stopped trying to intercept the bastard’s messages. Imogen’s cold demand to hear each new note alone stilled his hand. So instead, he was forced to stand aside and wait to find out just how much collateral damage had been inflicted with each one.

The axe whistled through the air and landed with a satisfying crack.

He was seriously considering slaughtering the next of Roger’s toads who dared to darken his doorstep. He was only barely managing to hold off doing just that by the merest thread of sanity. Instinct might demand that he protect the woman he loved, but logically he knew the messengers were not his real enemy.

Sadly, Roger was no fool. He stayed comfortably out of reach, hiding behind the king. The cunning little rodent knew