“Xander?” Her voice was drowned out by another crack of thunder.
She tried to pull out of his hold to see him, but his grip was steel. “Xander. Let me go.” Panic—not for herself, for him—edged into her tone. Her eyes shot open. “Xan—”
“Baby?” He didn’t let go of her, just gave her room to pull back and see his face. His face was the color of milk, his scars the color of blood, and his eyes were an unnameable color that could only be described as tortured. “You’re back.”
“Are you all right?” She raised her hand to his cheek, needing to sooth the angry scars.
At her touch, he turned his face into her palm. “You’re asking if I’m all right?” His voice was thick, and he seemed to struggle to speak at all. “Are you all right?” Keeping one arm around her, he gestured to the side.
She didn’t want to look, but her eyes moved before she could stop them. What they saw, she could never un-see. They stood next to the jaws of an open grave. Gran’s grave. Inside that exquisite box lay Gran’s body.
Right after they’d been taken, she and Gran had fought for each other, fought to keep one another safe and sane, but when Gran’s mind had started going, Isleen had battled alone. Always struggling to protect Gran, to keep her alive for when they were rescued. For when they could start living again. But now, her fight was over. She had failed. Gran was dead. And it was all because of her.
You are the Dragon, a vile beast set upon this earth by the foulest of demons. Your evil will corrupt all. You will slay everyone you love. It is your nature. Queen’s words rose up out of the pit of buried memory and echoed through Isleen’s mind. She’d never believed Queen until now. Until this moment of truth.
She’d watched the man pour that poison into Gran’s mouth. Had watched Gran die. And had done nothing.
Her throat opened, and a wild mix of anguish, grief, and guilt spewed out of her in a sound so primal even the storm around them seemed to diminish under the immensity of her pain. A tornado of bad memories swirled around her, only there wouldn’t be a rainbow-colored Oz after this cyclone. There would be nothing left of her but the bad memories. She wouldn’t survive if she had to remember everything. It was too much. Too much. Too much. She beat the sides of her head with her fists.
“Stop. Right now!” Xander’s voice cut through the anguish at the same time his hands grabbed her wrists and forced them down to her sides. She tried to slam her head against his chest—physical pain being so much easier to deal with than the memories. He yanked her fully against him pinioning her arms at her sides and holding her tight. “I know what you’re trying to do. You need to feel this.”
“I can’t. IcantIcantIcant…” Everything she never wanted to remember was right there in front of her mind’s eye, and this time she couldn’t escape. Grief stole her breath. Regret broke her heart. Guilt shattered her into a thousand tiny shards.
Chapter 15
Reality and its repercussions tore Isleen away from sleep’s sacred oblivion. There was no moment of confusion between drowsing and waking. Nope. It was all right there with one horrifying memory ruling them all.
She lay on the couch where Xander had settled them after they’d gotten back from Gran’s grave. Directly across from her, a wide window opened onto a swath of yard, sloping down into an enchanting thicket of trees where wood fairies and mythical creatures ought to live. Overhead, the sky was an elusive shade of blue more translucent and gossamer than any color created by man. This place was all so magical and majestic and, for her, temporary.
Because she remembered.
Everything.
She remembered every terrifying act done to Gran, done to her. Her body remembered the pain. And her soul echoed with the memory of Gran’s death. The horrifying memory of watching the priest pour the poison into Gran’s mouth and being forced to witness Gran’s life and love and possibility die.
And Isleen had done nothing except watch. She should’ve done something. Should’ve forced her body to intervene. If only she’d tried harder.
When she had first remembered, the agony of her lack of action had been unbearable, but she’d survived. Because of Xander. He hadn’t let her go, and by the simple action of holding her tight, he’d glued all her shattered pieces together. So instead of being broken, she only felt fragile.
Salt crust from yesterday’s torrent of tears gritted in her eyes. She didn’t bother to rub away the grime. She’d cried herself to sleep in the safety of Xander’s arms. He infused her with strength and injected her with courage. She inhaled a lungful of bravery, then held her breath. Nothing in the future could be as bad as what lived in her memory. Small consolation, but still a consolation. She exhaled all cowardice.