“I would have you face your fate instead of run from it.”
Fury lashed through him. Saint lunged.
“I do not run,” he snarled close to Fardusk’s impassive face.
He didn’t see the Iniskium chief’s face, however. Instead, all he could envision was the image of Christina’s hurt when she saw him pleasuring the women, Christina suffering from a wound he’d purposely inflicted.
Remorse flooded him, but what other choice had been left to him? He forced himself to take a step back from Fardusk.
“I do not run,” he repeated. “I restrain. I endure. I will even put up with your condemnation tonight because I have no other choice.”
Fardusk remained silent as Saint turned and headed toward the main house, alone.
Chapter Three
The silence stretched. Christina didn’t move as she stared at the waifish young woman who sat in front of her desk. The girl’s forearms rested in her lap, the bandages around her wrists looking starkly white against tanned skin.
“Do you think you’re going to make me talk by staring at me like that, Christina? I ain’t a member of your fan club, and I don’t intimidate easy.” Alison’s thin, pretty face twisted in defiance.
Christina looked mildly surprised. “You, easily intimidated? I’d just as soon call life fair. Come on, Alison, you know I’m not trying to intimidate you. I’m waiting patiently because I think you want to tell me why you cut yourself this afternoon.”
Christina waited. She hadn’t been bluffing. She’d had the ability to read other people’s minds for as long as she could remember. Occasionally she caught entire thoughts, but usually just overall emotional states. The reasons behind those emotional states were less defined—the difference between catching the scent of lilacs on the wind and holding the flower in your hand.
Alison Myers wanted to reach out to Christina. She longed for a sense of security and comfort. Whatever was haunting her, tempting her, was countermanding that desire. And whatever had its hold on her was far more troubling than Alison’s typical demons.
Christina had long ago become familiar with the bitter ambivalence of teenagers and young adults. They longed to be independent, to be in full control of their lives, and yet…the longing to be taken care of and nurtured remained, causing a bitter emotional struggle. Hell, it wasn’t just teenagers who fought the internal battle. All humans vacillated between wanting to be in total control of their destinies and being taken care of by someone they trusted.
For the majority of young adults at Altgeld House, the raw wounds and scars from childhood traumas made the battle a hundred times more potent and painful.
Alison flipped her jet-black dyed hair out of her eyes, her gaze on Christina hungry and suspicious at once. She licked at her lower lip, the silver stud piercing her tongue dragging slowly along damp flesh.
Christina understood the girl was purposefully being provocative. Not surprising. When Alison felt backed into a corner, she automatically reverted to the familiar security of the seductress role. It was how she found her power when she was feeling powerless, a pattern Christina had witnessed in abused children too many times to count.
“I know you want to trust me, Alison, but you’re scared. You’ve only been at Altgeld House for four weeks now. Surely some of the others—Mirella, Eric, Andre—have told you that I can be trusted.” Christina stood and came around her desk, sitting in the chair next to Alison. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what was going through your mind when you picked up that razor and cut yourself.”
Another tense silence ensued. Christina noticed the tears welling in Alison’s extraordinary midnight blue eyes. She reached out with her mind to read the twenty-year-old woman’s primary emotion. Usually kids who cut themselves were either boiling with anger or so miserable they’d gone numb. But those weren’t the primary emotions she sensed emanating from Alison.
“You’re scared shitless,” Christina said softly.
A sob racked the girl’s slender torso. Tears that had been restrained until that moment gushed down her cheeks in a torrent.
“It was a sacrifice. A blood sacrifice. It was a test. I had to show that I give myself willingly—without doubt.”
Christina crinkled her brow in concern. She hadn’t observed any indication of delusional thinking from the girl in her original assessment, nor observed any psychotic thought processes since then. She must have missed something…unless Alison had gotten herself mixed up with some sick Goth who got off on forcing his girlfriends to cut themselves as a sign of loyalty?
Altgeld House wasn’t a lock-down facility. The residents were expected to either be in school, working, or trying to find a job. There was an eleven-thirty p.m. curfew monitored by Marianna Jones, the night supervisor, but Lord knew residents had been known to get into plenty of trouble before the midnight hour struck.
“Who demands a blood sacrifice?”
Alison opened her lips to respond, but a knock sounded on Christina’s office door. She mentally cursed whoever had interrupted at such a crucial moment. She apologized to the fragile young woman and flung open the door.
“Can’t you read?” she demanded, referring to the do not disturb sign she put up when she was in session with a resident. She came up short when she saw Saint standing there, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that highlighted the long taper from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. He wore sunglasses and his hair had the wind-tousled, sexy look she associated with him just getting off his sleek Augusta F4 motorcycle. Fury swelled in her breast.
It’d been two weeks since the charity function. The fact that she’d been able to read Saint’s monumental conflict and pain when he’d halted her amongst the trees only escalated her volatility and confusion. She’d never resented her ability to read others more acutely, but things would have been easier if she could just think of him as a freak and a jerk.
She’d been making plans to move off Whitby’s grounds since the night of the gazebo. But when night came, she grieved for the loss of him…grieved for the loss of what might have been.
What should have been.