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“Nothing.” He couldn’t tell her. His dreams were dissolving before his eyes—dreams of her, of them, of having a child with her, of being a family—because he couldn’t not do what he could do to save the world, or at least his little corner of it. Edward Everett Hale’s words came back to him in all their stark reality, reminding him of who he was.
For just a moment he raged against his better self. Raged against a conscience that wouldn’t let him do nothing. And by doing nothing, have his heart’s desire. His arms tightened around Angelina, as if by holding her he could hold back the dictates of his conscience through the dictates of his heart.
He couldn’t do it. But he couldn’t tell Angelina, either. Not now. Not when she was still reeling—as he was—from Caterina’s story of the two years she’d been Vishenko’s prisoner. Not when they were both so emotionally ravaged by a reality far worse than they could have imagined. A reality it would always torture them to know.
Angelina was right. The king was right. Vigilante justice—so tempting, so enticing, especially in this case—wasn’t the way to go. They had to take Vishenko down, but legally. Publicly. They had to put him away for life, making sure life meant life.
Which meant Alec had no choice. Despite what she’d been through, despite what she’d survived, despite his protective instincts kicking in and wanting him to take Caterina someplace far away where she’d never have to be afraid again, he had to convince her to testify against Vishenko. Had to somehow get through to Caterina that her evidence and her testimony were crucial to putting Vishenko away so he could never do to anyone else what he’d done to her.
Somehow.
* * *
Cate lay back against the pillows, physically and emotionally exhausted. She’d been running on adrenaline ever since she’d been brought here, and she had no reserves of physical energy left.
But it was the emotional drain that had really done her in. Telling her story—haltingly at first, then gaining momentum when neither Angelina nor Alec seemed to judge her—had brought every detail back. Details she’d hidden away from herself, just as she’d hidden away the evidence she’d stolen from Vishenko when she escaped. Details she’d sworn she’d never remember.
And yet...now she had. The memories her brain had successfully blanked out for years had returned to her as if they’d happened yesterday. And as she recounted them, she relived them. Every single one.
But she hadn’t cried—she’d sworn more than eight years ago she’d never cry again, and she hadn’t. Neither had Angelina. Oddly, it was Alec whose eyes grew damp as her story unfolded, Alec whose throat had worked as if he was fighting emotions he didn’t know how to handle. As if he suffered as he learned the horror she’d lived through. As if he would have taken her pain if he could.
Such a good man. The kind of man she’d dreamed of all those years ago back when she’d still dreamed. But she wasn’t blind. Alec loved Angelina. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice when he said her cousin’s name. And Angelina loved him. Not quite as openly—Angelina had never been demonstrative that way—but it was obvious to someone who knew her as well as Caterina did. The years had fallen away, as if they’d never been apart. While a small part of her was envious of her cousin, most of her rejoiced. Angelina was so good! She always had been. She’d been the older sister Cate had looked up to. Adored. Wanted to emulate. She deserved a man like Alec.
Cate glanced up when Angelina reentered the room, followed by Alec. She didn’t know why it was, but telling Alec her story had been easier than telling Angelina. She’d looked at his face more often than her cousin’s as she’d confessed everything that had happened. Everything she’d done. Maybe because Alec hadn’t known her before, hadn’t loved her before, as her cousin had once loved her and—as impossible as it seemed—loved her still, despite the shame Cate had brought to their family. Despite knowing the truth. All of it.
Angelina crossed the room, leaned over and kissed Cate on the cheek and then gently cradled Cate’s face in her strong hands. In Zakharan, she said softly, “Alec needs to talk to you, dernya. Alone. Is that okay?”
Cate blinked and caught her breath at Angelina’s pet name for her, a nickname from her childhood that meant little treasure. No one had called her that in more than eight years. She’d been no one’s treasure since she’d left Zakhar.
She nodded quickly, agreeing before she could change her mind. Angelina turned to gaze at Alec, and Cate could see the question in her cousin’s eyes—a question that was silently answered by the tall man who somehow had won Angelina’s heart. That meant he had to be a good man. Angelina wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t.
