No Peace for the Damned

his skin was so warm, his muscles so tight. And that scent of musk and metal never faded, even with the blood and sweat on top of it. My breath turned to a subtle pant; my low stomach muscles tightened in a wonderfully uncomfortable way. And as my body responded, that electricity—that frustrating bond between us—grew even more pronounced.
    Unfamiliar emotions stirred inside me—sudden longings much more demanding than the comfort I’d come to expect when he was near. The butterflies that had sprung to life in my stomach spilled south in a rush. I gasped. My eyes closed.
Oh God. Concentrate
.
    Theo’s body had been tense since my first breath on his shoulder. But when I blew the last necessary breath on the side of his abdomen, just above the waistband of his fitted jeans, his muscles clenched in a way that they hadn’t before, shaking him under their pull. I pulled away quickly.
    Theo’s back and arms were drenched in sweat. I crawled down from the table and stood by his side. His eyes were closed, but not clenched like they had been. He seemed…calm now. His head tilted to one side, like he was listening to some soothing music.
    I stood motionless, watching him. Finally, he rolled his eyes open to look at me. They seemed lighter somehow. He didn’t smile, but there was a peace to him that I had never seen.
    “Thank you,” he breathed, his voice deep.
    My entire body lightened at the husky sound of his voice. Behind me the wall clock chimed. One thirty. Exhaustion fell heavy on Theo’s shoulders. I watched him hunch over and drag a weary hand over his face.
    I reached out until my fingers touched the top of his hand. He turned a fraction and stared at my fingers on top of his.
    My hand moved on its own; my fingers curled around his palm and he followed as I somehow led him from the kitchen to my small bedroom. With barely a pause in the doorway, I took him to the bed.
    Moonlight peeked through the curtains and cast a shadowed white glow throughout the room. I pulled back my top sheet and fixed my new quilt with my free hand before gently directing Theo to lie down. He kept his eyes on me but let me help him into the bed. Once lowered to his side, I pulled the soft sheet and quilt over him. I wanted to stay. The pull I felt was so strong, it was physically difficult to step away. But I tried anyway. He didn’t let go. He held on tighter.
    The deep darkness in his eyes had returned, tightening his face. And with it, another emotion I couldn’t name. I stood there for a long minute.
What did he want me to do?
His thoughts were jumbled, his wants as confused as mine. My fingers began to tingle from the strength of his grip. Hesitantly, I moved toward the foot of the bed. I had to stretch my arm to keep our hands together. Crawling on hands and knees, I fumbled over his legs and lay beside him. He closed his eyes and tightened his grip, clutching my hand over his heart.
    After several motionless minutes, his breathing slowed to the rhythmic rumble of sleep. His scent surrounded me. I sighed and let my body curve into his. It felt so good to be wrapped around him, but I couldn’t relax. I let my mind wander as I held him in the darkness.

I hadn’t heard them coming. Father and Uncle Max had been traveling—a brief reprieve for me. I had even watched some TV before drifting off to sleep. Malcolm and Markus had taken advantage, of course, but a quick snap of Malcolm’s forearm had gained me some down time. Markus would never come after me alone
.
    I woke screaming, reaching for my legs. There was only blood. My knees were gone, shattered. Father was back and he stood beside the bed, a sledgehammer resting on his shoulder. My vision blurred from the pain as I struggled to breathe. I couldn’t feel anything below my hips
.
    “Listen to him!” Father shouted at me
.
    I blinked several times, trying to focus. Other men’s thoughts swirled around me. But I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. God, my legs! Father’s hand stung as it slapped across my face
.
    “I said, listen to him!”
    Two guards stood like a wall at Father’s back. Thick and drugged, their minds rarely saw past their orders. But this time there was something real there—fear. Between them was a man. Bloody, beaten, barely conscious
. Welcome to the club
. His hands were restrained behind his back. He sat heavy on his knees, on the brink of passing out. A moan escaped his lips. “Can’t…”
    Father’s boot slammed into the