Olivia
I could feelthe blood drain from my face, feel the hope trickle from my limbs like sand as Balthazar leered at Roman.Would he torture him if I couldn’t find the journal? Kill him? Both?
I eyed the love of my life as he hung from the ceiling.
Head bowed, eyes closed, he looked broken…halfway to death’s door…utterly wretched…
My heart shattered into a billion pieces as I gazed at him. Losing him would destroy me. Then, something inside me snapped, and I went berserk.
I launched myself at Balthazar, clawing at his eyes, face, and neck. I scratched his lips with my blunt, ragged fingernails. I punched him. I kicked him. I bit him.
He just took it, barely lifting a finger to ward off my blows. Maybe he enjoyed it, thinking it was some kind of “foreplay.”
This enraged me even more as I pictured his and my mother’s perverse activity to get off.
Finally, he threw out his arms and yelled, “Enough!”
The room vibrated, and pieces of clotted spiderwebs fell from the ceiling.
I stumbled backward. “Find the fucking journal, find the fucking journal,” I screamed, still in berserker mode. “Everyone tells me to find the goddamned journal, but no one knows where it is.” My face grew red with fury. “Where should I start?” I yelled, my arms moving like the blades of a windmill in a tempestuous storm. “Here in the Americas? Should I wander throughout Italy, starting in the north where she frolicked with the family sheloved? It could be anywhere if my mother was so active, fucking her way through the world!”
“I guess you’ll have to get creative, won’t you? Because if you don’t find it…” He stalked toward me, seizing my jaw like he’d done a few seconds ago. “I’m going tokillAlexander.”
I shoved his hand away from my face.
Balthazar scowled.
“If you’re so goddamned smart, why can’tyoufind it? Maybe it’s down there with your pets.” I pointed toward the floor, where the cockroaches still made distant clicks and hums. Dead insects crunched beneath my feet as I stormed back and forth. I stooped, scooped up a handful, and flung them at Balthazar’s face.
He put up his hands to shield himself from the flying body parts.
“Why can’t you just put another drop of blood on her dagger, wave your arms and say, ‘Show me the journal?’” Adrenaline surged through my bloodstream.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he growled. “The dagger only shows the significant parts of a time traveler’s life. Writing in her journal was probably insignificant to her. It probably held no more meaning than relieving her bladder. Also, when the time traveler dies, the memories are scattered, and they don’t show the details of everything. If I could see your life from your dagger, I would see specifics because you are alive in the flesh.”
“Well, isn’t that justperfect?” I ground my teeth together as a new wave of betrayal shot through me. No memories of Mom’s joy at birthing me or raising me were shown. Instead, she beat her stomach with fists and rocks when I pushed through the birth canal.
No, it couldn’t bethosememories that gave her joy. She only savored the experience of fucking Balthazar and screwing her boy toys when he was on vacation.
I kicked angrily at a pile of cockroaches, sending wings, shells, and legs flying.
Balthazar laughed, adding to my despair. This situation wasfucked.Balthazar was a sick, twisted, depraved individual who got off on causing human suffering.How could my mother have loved such a despicable character?
But then another thought, more disturbing, flooded my brain. How often had I witnessed Roman coming off the battlefield, his arms and legs covered with the blood of those he had slain? And then we’d make passionate love.
If Tristan had waltzed into the bedroom, stained with blood from the patients in the emergency room where he worked, I probably would have sneered at him in disgust. Then, I’d have ordered him to clean up before touching me. But, with Roman, sometimes there wasn’t time to clean the death from his limbs. We’d had sex freely, joyously, and with abandon. We’d kissed each other everywhere.
Was I as sick as my mother? Or did we both love a man with the strength of the supernatural?
I shuddered at this thought. And then I laughed hysterically. I clutched my belly as the laughter erupted from my throat.
Balthazar stared at me, his brow furrowed.
Roman groaned and lifted his heavy head. “Olivia?” he gasped. “What’s wrong, my beloved?” Then, his head fell back to his chest.
Had I lost my frigging mind?
When I’d managed to calm myself, wiping the tears from my eyes with my filthy hands, I looked at Balthazar and growled. “I refuse to find yourfuckingjournal.”
