“Rayne, I know this is overwhelming being with us, but we want to help.” Delara moved in closer and leaned up against the wall beside me. “I was asked to stop you from running, but what I’d like is if you’d listen to what I have to say, then decide.”
“I can’t go where they want to send me. I won’t be locked away again.” Never. Another compound. The memories were too fresh. Too real. I couldn’t. I inched back a step away from her. Then another.
Delara nodded. “Kilter tell you?”
I didn’t say anything, not wanting him to get into more trouble than what I’d already heard.
“Rayne, it’s okay. Kilter fought against the idea and our Taldeburu has changed his mind about a rehab center for you.” I had no idea what Taldeburu meant and I was uncertain if she was breaking down the walls around my mind or saw my confusion in my expression, but she explained. “Waleron is our Taldeburu. The leader of the Scars here in North America.”
Kilter kept his promise and convinced them. “Is he okay? I heard shouting. He sounded so angry.”
She hesitated and my heart pounded. Oh, God, please don’t let him be hurt. “He’s fine.”
I closed my eyes, nodding, and inhaled a long, ragged breath.
“We had an idea. What if you live with me? It’s not much, nothing like this place. It’s an apartment downtown above an art gallery.” She reached out, took my hand, and squeezed. I pulled away. “Rayne, you’re best to be around people who know what you’ve been through. Or at least have an idea. You can stay with me and Waleron will organize someone for you to see. You can get help. We want to help and you don’t have any place to go. I promise, we won’t involve you in Scars’ business and you can get a fresh start.”
“What did Kilter say?”
Delara shifted her feet and her shoulders tensed. “Kilter had to leave.” I gasped, heart slamming into my chest. “He’s safe and unharmed, but he won’t be around for a while.”
Kilter left? He just left? Despite the fact that I had been running away, it hurt that he left.
It was better this way. Maybe he’d known that. I had started to feel something for him and that was dangerous.
A vacant emptiness settled inside me—a familiar black void that had become my solitude and my demise. I had nothing left. And she was right. I had no place to go.
I lowered my head and nodded. “Okay,” I said.
DELARA CHANGED GEARS AND sped away from the red light. “Danni’s apartment is above her art gallery. Balen, that’s her other half, bought a house in the Rosedale area, so I’ve been crashing there. It’s small, but has two bedrooms and is in a great part of the city.”
I sat staring out the window, an ache in the pit of my stomach. I knew what it was from—Kilter. He’d become my safety net, a safety net with holes, but still a safety net. And now that was gone.
Delara reached over and put her hand on mine. “It’ll be fine. You’re going to be okay.” She squeezed my hand, and then put it back on the steering wheel. “You’re pretty screwed up.”
My eyes darted to her. I was, but I hadn’t expected her to say that. At least not to my face.
She laughed. “Hey, I’m allowed to say that because I’m completely screwed up.” She stopped the car, shifted into reverse, and parallel parked before turning to me. “What I’m saying is, I get it. I mean, I don’t know what you went through? but I get the hurt. The wanting to be numb and keep everyone behind a wall.”
Before I could say anything, she jumped out, and put coins in a big green box on the sidewalk. It spit out a piece of paper, which she placed in the car windshield.
“Come on. Let’s get you settled in. And you’ll need some clothes. We’ll have to go shopping at some point.”
“I, ah…” Don’t have any money.
“Waleron pays. Scars money. You saw the private jet?” I nodded. “Yeah, well, money isn’t a problem. Being immortal has its perks.”
Relying on others was the last thing I wanted to do, especially if they were Scars, but right now, I had no choice.
Delara weaved through the people on the busy sidewalk and stopped at a glass storefront. I got out of the car and followed, looking up at the sign, ‘Danielle’s’ then in smaller writing, ‘art gallery.’
In the window was a stunning abstract painting of a herd of horses running along the beach. Glistening drops of water glimmered on their coats as the sun peeked through the storm clouds on the right; the magnificent creatures surrounded by an array of purples and reds.
But it was the enormous portrait I saw when I walked in that had me awestruck with its haunting beauty. It hung alone on a half-wall at the back of the gallery. I ambled up to it, stopped a few feet away, and stared at the beautiful man with rainforest-green eyes.