He stood not far from her, dressed for the cold in a thick black parka, and the expression on his face was so hard he may as well have been carved from the granite of the mountains surrounding the lodge. There was no deep green in his gaze now, or sparks of glittering silver. They looked dark as the night outside.
And she was conscious of a tearing grief inside her, for him and what he’d lost, and it was all she could do to shove it aside, but she managed it. This wasn’t about her pain, this was about his.
You should never have forced this from him.
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. She’d known pushing him to tell her his secrets wasn’t fair, that it wouldn’t be a pleasant story, but she’d never dreamed it would be so awful.
Tears prickled behind her eyes, and she had to look away, blinking fiercely. She didn’t know what to say, everything seemed so inadequate, even an apology.
Still, she gave it to him anyway. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said huskily, all the anger and fear that had filled her when he’d told her he knew who she was draining away. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘Of course you didn’t know.’ His voice was even more raspy than it normally was. ‘I didn’t tell you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, uselessly. ‘I only wanted—’
‘She went to sleep and never woke up,’ Ares interrupted as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘That’s what they told me. Smoke inhalation.’ He sounded as icy as the lake outside, as if the terrible facts didn’t touch him. ‘It was years ago. I have moved past it now.’
Her breath shuddered in and out, the pain sitting just behind her ribs an ache she didn’t know what to do with. She blinked her tears back fiercely and forced her gaze back to his, because it was cowardly to look away, to not even be brave enough to witness his pain.
And no matter what he’d said about moving past it, she could still hear that pain. His voice might be cold and his expression hard and set, but she could hear agony in the roughened, frayed timbre of his voice. She could see it in the darkness of his eyes. His physical wounds had healed, leaving him with terrible scars, but this hurt went soul-deep. And it had scarred him inside just as deeply as he’d been scarred on the outside.
She wanted to put her arms around him, comfort him, but he was radiating tension and she knew instinctively he wouldn’t welcome it. So, she pushed her hands into the pockets of her parka, and said, ‘You...shouldn’t blame yourself, Ares.’
‘Should I not?’ Each word sounded as if it had been carved from ice. ‘What I should have done was pay them. But I was too proud. I did not want to look like a coward.’
‘But you weren’t the one with the petrol bombs—’
‘No,’ he said flatly, a muscle flicking in his hard jaw, the light making jagged shadows with his scars. ‘No, we will not talk about this. I want to tell you what I found out about you.’
Her heart ached, fear seeping through her again.
This wasn’t how she’d wanted her final two weeks with him to go. She’d wanted it to be like it had been in England, in his bed, in his arms. Spending time with him, learning how to defend herself, or watching all the movies she’d missed out on. Rambling in the woods. Lying in the huge claw-foot bath that was big enough to accommodate both of them, while his hands roamed lazily over her, relating new things she’d found out or discussing the latest scientific advances, which she’d discovered quite an interest in. She’d loved those days. She’d loved talking to him. He was fiercely intelligent and quick, and sometimes she argued with him purely because she loved doing that too.
She’d been looking forward to seeing him so much that the past three months had felt like they’d dragged. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. She’d even been surprisingly disappointed when her period had arrived, though she wasn’t sure why when she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant.
She’d wanted to discuss that now too, and not think about the wild leap of her heart the moment the helicopter door had opened, and his silver-green eyes had met hers. Or the pure joy that had filled her as he’d pulled her out of the helicopter and carried her over the ice, the frigid wind biting at her nose.
Those things she could examine later, but in this moment, it was the thrill of his presence that she’d wanted. And then he’d told her he’d discovered who she was and all of that had disappeared in a flood of cold shock, followed by an irrational anger.
That she knew her anger was defensive didn’t help, because she also knew what lay underneath it: fear. Now the moment of truth was here, and she’d been a coward. And she’d turned that fear back on him. It wasn’t fair of her. It wasn’t right.
She’d spoiled things.
Her hands clenched tight in the pockets of her parka, and she wanted to apologise for that as well, but that was all about her own insecurities and the time wasn’t right for them now, so she ignored the apologies sitting on her tongue. Ignored the flicker of selfish hurt that he didn’t want to share his grief with her, even though she knew she had no right to it.
Instead, she braced herself and said, ‘Okay. Tell me then.’
‘Your name is Ismena Xenakis and you were born in Athens. Your mother appears to be dead, your father unknown. But you have an older brother. His name is Castor Xenakis. He’s CEO of CX Enterprises, a multi-billion-dollar company dealing in all kinds of different industries. He is married and has one child.’
‘Okay, Izzy. You can look at the kittens,’ he’d said, already turning away to the shop next door. ‘But you have to stay right here while I get the ice creams. Don’t move. I won’t be long...’
The kittens had been so cute, and she’d done as she was told, staying right where Cas had said. But then she’d seen another kitten across the street, so small and lost-looking. Cas had been gone a long time, and she’d got tired of waiting. The kitten had needed someone to look after it, and so she’d crossed the street and...
Her heartbeat thudded hard in her head, her skull aching. There was bile at the back of her throat.
She’d bent to pick up the kitten and someone had grabbed her from behind. She’d been so shocked she hadn’t made a sound. A bag had been put over her head and she’d been bundled under someone’s arm only to be tossed onto something hard. Then a door had slammed shut and she’d felt movement. It had been only then that she’d screamed.
By then it had been too late... It had been far, far too late.