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He takes a deep breath that sounds like a gasp of pain. “I had an older brother. Vincent went into the military as soon as he graduated from high school. I never saw him again. He was officially listed as MIA but it’s been twenty years. He isn’t ever coming home.”
Tears trickle down my cheeks, but I don’t say anything, afraid to hurt him more, but also aching to hear everything he’s willing to share. I want to know him inside and out, as he knows me.
“He was the lucky one,” Charlie continues, his voice distant. “I never knew our father. Until he found us when I was seventeen and killed our mother. She’d been hiding us from him. He almost killed me too. That night I saw what blood did for my father, and I was terrified I’d become a monster just like him.”
My breath stills, my heart thudding so hard and heavy that the heavy drumming almost drowns out his words. His mother killed by his father, right before him. Just the idea of that would give me nightmares.
“I joined the military to try and find Vince. When that failed, I joined the FBI to try and stop people like my father. But I learned that you can’t ever stop people like him. They don’t care about laws, or love, or anything but the kill. It gets to you, after a while. That helpless running against the tide, trying to stop the inevitable.
“It’s in the blood,” he whispers hoarsely. “Can’t wash it out. Can’t change it. Eventually you have to accept it and do the best you can with it. My father killed people and reveled in their blood. When I learned that I was a sexual sadist, I taught myself how to please my partner with pain, and if I was extremely lucky, I’d be rewarded with a little blood for my efforts. That kind of blood lust I could control. I refused to be a monster like him.”
He sharpens his voice. “Don’t cry for me, Ranay. You don’t ever cry for me.”
I wipe my tears away but fresh ones follow. The despair and agony in his voice breaks my heart. “I can’t help it. I know how it feels to try and change. I wanted to cut out the part of me that makes me so weak and vulnerable. I didn’t want to be broken. I hated myself because I couldn’t change. Living like everyone else was killing me. Until you came along.”
“If I teach you anything while we’re together, I want you to live. Really live. Your life, your way. If anyone tries to make you feel bad, fuck ’em. Fuck ’em all. Don’t let anyone break you again. Especially me.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me. Not like that.”
“I hope not.” He says it wistfully, his voice aching with regret and heartache yet to happen. “You mean so much to me.”
“Master—” My voice breaks and I don’t care if it’s stupid to say this before we’ve even known each other a week. “I love you. Only you. No matter what.”
“Ranay,” he breathes out, his voice shaking as badly as mine. “If anything happens to you…”
“You’re the one in danger.” I try to laugh and lighten the emotion choking me. “Be careful.”
“I’m not in danger. But I risk your safety every moment I’m with you.”
I shiver, but it isn’t with fear. The healing bites on my thighs ache with the memory of his sensual danger. “Red.”
“That’s my girl. I need to go soon. Have you had enough pleasure to get you through the night?”
“I’ve had plenty, but what about you?”
He hums and I can almost see his eyes twinkling with humor. “I’ve had dessert listening to you. Now curl up with Sheba and get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night, same time.”
“Promise?”
He hesitates, and I’m glad I challenged him. He always keeps his promises.
“I promise. Sleep tight.”
“Goodnight, Master.”
I bury my face in his pillow and wrap my arms tightly around Sheba. I wish it was him instead, so I could take away his pain. So much darkness and death in his life. How could someone who’s seen such violence and loss be so tender and understanding?
That’s why he has such a dark edge to him. He is dangerous. I believe him, now. But I know the tenderness in his heart too. The way he whisperskittenand kisses my forehead, or makes sure I have enough tasks to get through a miserably long day alone with my history. He’s taking care of me even though he’s gone, better than anyone in my life has ever done.
Sleep eludes me, my thoughts tumbling ever darker and more disturbing. If his father attacked them, killed his mother and nearly killed him…
Did that mean Charlie was forced to kill his own father?
15
After work, I swing by Vanderholt College and park in a guest spot in front of the huge gray box of a building. Decades ago, it used to be a Kmart, but a few years ago they converted into a technical college.
I rub Sheba behind the ears while I build up enough courage to go inside. I don’t have a good track record with college. But that was university, the traditional route of thousands of other nameless freshmen roaming around without a clue. I want to expand my position with Dr. Wentworth so I can handle the animals more rather than manning the receptionist desk. Supposedly Vanderholt offers a vet tech degree. Whether I’ll be able to afford it or not is another question entirely.
