what little of Aurelia she chose to let him see and hear and feel. He didnât understand the silence or the shakiness or the places where his mind just stopped. He didnât know the edges of his own thoughts or the subtle flavor of hers.
All he knew was that she was screaming.
âStop the car!â
Sheâd asked him quietly once already, several terrifying seconds after heâd confessed to what his Three had done the night before.
Fuck. What theyâd done the night before.
The familiar haze of guilt rose over him, and at the borders of his vision, he saw that same wavering face amidst the static. Those same doleful eyes.
A rough shove against his shoulder pushed the electrical hum aside, pushed his arm back into his space and away from the sanctum of her skin. Sheâd already pulled away from him the instant heâd hinted at what theyâd done to her files, but this was even worse. The steering wheel jerked beneath his hand as he whipped his head around, hurt and ungrounded all at the same time. He glared at Aurelia as he forced the car back into the right lane. âWhat do you think youâreââ
She sat there, spine wedged against the door, safety belt unfastened. Her arms were braced in front of her. And there was a weapon in her hands.
âI told you to stop the car.â
At that, his instincts finally kicked in. âAbsolutely not.â
She had no intention of using the gun. He knew that, could feel it through their link and in the tenor of the fear and anger she was pushing into the air. She just needed control over this situation. Control over herself and over him and what was happening between them.
But he couldnât give it to her. The protective instincts driving him told him to keep the car moving, to get them closer to safety and as far from his Three as possible. He had to keep her safe.
And he had to know what she was thinking.
He pointed his gaze straight ahead as he floored the accelerator, pretending to pay her no attention even though every fiber of his being was bent toward her. With his mind, he probed the exposed edges of hers, and in his peripheral vision, he studied her stance.
Everything in the space between them was colored by a rage so hot, a betrayal too fresh to be tamed, and he cursed himself. Heâd sworn heâd never let anyone hurt her, and here heâd gone and done it himself.
The instant Curse and Charm had IDâed the blood on the gloves heâd disposed ofâthe instant theyâd spoken her name into his mindâheâd known he was fucked, but things had been moving too fast then, too. Heâd gone straight into crisis mode, all his energy focused on keeping his Three from doing the terrible things they planned to. The terrible things they planned to make him do.
But heâd known. Right then, heâd known she wouldnât be able to forgive him for who heâd been before she met him. Before sheâd given him his first breath of air that was his own.
Still, he tried to explain. Tried to make himself redeemable in her eyes. Pushing images into her mind, he swore, âI didnât know. All we had was an address, and it wasnât until this morning, when Curse and Charm figured out who you wereââ
Cold metal pressed against his temple. She didnât want explanations. Not right now.
âStop. This. Car.â
Her need warred with his own. This time, hers won. She needed stillness. Space. He pressed his foot to the brake.
The car had barely come to a stop at the side of the road before she was flinging the door open and hurling herself out of it. He followed her in her mind, watching the unguarded images of trees and brush giving way beneath her. God, she was hurting so badly and in so many ways.
He couldnât let her get far, but he had the presence of mind and the advantage of speed. Heâd be able to catch up to her. He took the extra few seconds to drive the
David Weber, Jane Lindskold