Forever Rowan (3 page)

She flinched a little at his throttled roar, and he had a split second vision of Karl, the guard who’d removed her from his cell. He didn’t like to see her flinch, not at all, and certainly not away from him. Which made no sense at all since he was still about fifty percent convinced she was the enemy.

“It’s not a big deal,” she murmured, coming to stand by his bed. He reached out to grab her and was brought up fast by the chain attached to the cuff on his wrist. He gestured impatiently, and she perched on the edge of the bed.

“It’s bad enough I can smell the blood, woman.” For some reason having her close helped quell the rage, and finally his head began to clear. “Now tell me what’s happened to you, and then tell me why I’ve an incision behind my balls and an axe in my skull.”

Oh, dear God. What had her father
done
?

“An,” she hesitated, clearing her throat, “incision?”

“Feels like it. Someone definitely was jabbin’ something around down there.” Rowan’s mind raced with the different motives her father might have to mess with the Dragon’s... parts. None of them were good. “Hey,” his rough tone jerked her attention back. “Don’t go changin’ the subject.” Those electric blue eyes caught hers and held. “What’s happened to you?”

There was probably no reason not to tell him. His knowledge, or lack thereof, in this particular area wouldn’t change anything. Still, she hated to tell him, hated the idea of his disbelief, or worse, his pity.

“Suffice it to say, my father doesn’t approve of my being so accommodating of his guests.”

Lightning flashed in his eyes and he abruptly ground his head back into the pillow with a low moan of pain.

“Shit,” she squeaked, automatically leaning over him, bracing one hand on the far side of his hip and laying the other on his forehead, trying to smooth away the deep grooves dug into his brow by the pain. “Calm
down,
Dragon. You need to calm down.”

“You mean to say,” he finally gritted out, “that your sick freak of a father hurt you for giving me fuckin’
water
?” His voice dropped with each word until, by the end, it was a rumbling growl she felt vibrate clear to her core. Rowan blinked a couple of times in surprise. She’d seen the ugly side of sex more times than she wanted to count. Never had anyone or anything caused that little tingle deep in her womb.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, tethering it to the bed by his hip. Not that she was trying to get away. She was too weary, in too much pain, and too fricking confused by her body’s response to him.

“Answer me,” he growled, giving her wrist a little squeeze that should have made her feel threatened, but instead made her feel oddly protected.

“Fine,” she growled back. “Yes. My father set me up to discover you in here. He knew I’d do whatever I could to help you, and that would give him an excuse to have me
punished
.” Anger, embarrassment, and something she thought might be lust roiled in her gut, and Rowan jerked her hand free of his hold. She knew the only reason she managed to get away was because she caught him by surprise, and the knowledge fanned that little spark in her core, pissing her off even more. This was so not the time to discover her libido. And this was
so
not the male to discover it with.

“Show me.” The violence hadn’t left his voice, but it softened, as if he didn’t want to scare her.

“Why?” She didn’t know what disturbed her worse, the idea of baring herself to him, or the revulsion he was sure to feel at the sight of her mutilated back.

“Because you were hurt for helping me. Because if you could stand to take it, I can damn well honor you by witnessing it. Because I want to have the image of it in my head when I kill your fuckin’ father.”

His voice was low and intense and utterly sincere. No one had ever tried to fight for her. No one but Jenna, and Rowan always hid the absolute worst of the abuse from her sister because she knew Jenna couldn’t stand the punishment she’d take if she confronted their father.

“Dragon, what possible good could come from that?” But she knew that if he asked just once more, she would show him. His rage on her behalf was like a balm to her battered heart.

“My name’s not Dragon.” The non sequitur surprised her. She’d expected, wanted, him to insist. “It’s Aidan. Call me by my name.”

“Aidan.” She didn’t recognize her own voice. Hell, she didn’t recognize her own mind.

“Now show me, Rowan. Let me see your sacrifice on my behalf.”

She stood as if in a trance and turned her back to him. Her t-shirt was baggy and old, soft from hundreds of washings. She cringed a little at the feel of the soft cotton brushing over the welts on her back, and quivered when he hissed at the sight of them. She found herself clutching the shirt to her chest, a kind of defense mechanism, too little too late.

“Come here,” his voice was soft and full of gravel. Once again, she couldn’t resist. Slowly, grasping her shirt like armor, she moved back to sit on the edge of his cot. “Turn around.” She did, automatically scooting back, closer to his side.

He shifted with a jangle of chains, and something brushed gently over her back. Something soft and warm and damp. She whipped her head around in shock. Aidan had propped himself up on his elbows and was straining to reach her. He was
kissing
her wounds. Feathering his lips and tongue over them in a gentle benediction that stole away the pain better than any drug she’d ever had pumped into her veins.

Shock held her immobile for long seconds before reality set in and she jerked out of his reach, and lurched off the cot. Her ripped flesh protested the sudden movement, and she crushed a groan of pain.

“You can’t do that,” she gasped, turning quickly to pull her shirt back over her head.

“Why not?” He sounded totally reasonable, but when she turned to face him, his eyes were raging.

“Oh, for so many reasons.” She was backing toward the door, suddenly desperate to escape. He saw too much. He made her feel too much.

“Don’t go,” he demanded, clearly well and truly pissed by her retreat.

“I can’t stay,” she countered. It was true. Not only would staying be disastrous to her peace of mind, but Erin had been right when she said Rowan couldn’t tolerate another beating so soon, and staying with Aidan was an engraved invitation for William to break out the floggers. “I’ll come back,” she promised, somehow compelled to reassure him. “As soon as I can.”

He held her eyes for a long, tense moment, then finally nodded reluctantly.

“See that you do, Luv.” He ordered. His tone was barely above a whisper compelling her to return as soon as she could manage it.

That bloody fuckin’ son of a bitch had
whipped
her. His own daughter. And for what? For bringing Aidan a cup of fuckin’ water!

He’d thought he’d known the scope of Stone’s evil. Jenna had tried to show him the error of his ways, but he’d really thought he understood the man. Now Aidan realized he could never understand. He might be a bloody bastard most of the time, but Aidan lacked that fundamental core of corruption that allowed a man to
whip his own fuckin’ daughter.

Maybe if he’d come from a different culture Aidan would have been less horrified. Dragons weren’t particularly prolific, and they treasured their children above all else. Then again, maybe any culture would view Stone’s actions with horror.

And then, there was Aidan’s own reaction to the sight of Rowan’s scars. He’d been filled, not with pity, but with admiration and respect. The woman had balls, and strength, the likes of which he’d never witnessed in a human. He was also flooded with the unfamiliar and uncomfortable need to comfort her. It had been completely natural and instinctive to kiss her wounds, and the instinct stunned him as much as it obviously stunned her.

Ah, but I am well and truly fucked.

Rowan woke slowly, in fits and starts.

“You need to eat something.” Erin had looked determined when she cornered Rowan in the mansion’s small library.

“That’s not something I hear much,” Rowan had responded with a dry smile. It was true. While Erin was always tactful, William and his flunkies felt no need to hide their disdain for her extra pounds.

“Oh, don’t start.” Erin had given her a ferocious, melodramatic scowl and presented her with a steaming cup of hot and sour soup. Rowan’s favorite. Rowan looked at her sister with brows raised in amusement.

She couldn’t move. Not an entirely unfamiliar sensation, really. When her mind was a little clearer Rowan knew she’d be able to list every single time over the last twenty-eight years that she’d awakened tethered to a hospital bed either by physical restraints or by chemical ones.

“I know it’s your favorite,” the younger woman protested with hands raised in mock surrender. Then she sobered. “I don’t want us to fight, Ro. I love you so much, and sometimes I’m so scared I’m going to lose you.” Brilliant blue eyes locked with hers. “I couldn’t bear to lose you, Ro. Not like Mom and Jenna.”

Rowan had given a rough sigh and sat down at the small table positioned under a window.

“Give it here,” she said, gesturing to the soup. Erin grinned and all but skipped to the table. “If you’re going to make me eat, the least you can do is join me, brat.” Erin’s smile grew even wider as she plopped down in the chair across from Rowan’s and proceeded to twist her legs into an incomprehensible knot. Rowan shook her head. The kid had always been unnaturally flexible.

Well, old William must have been feeling especially affectionate. Not only had her mind finally cleared enough for her to recognize the unmistakable sensation of waking from one of her father’s drug cocktails, but she also recognized the feel of thick leather cuffs buckled around her wrists and ankles.

If she concentrated really hard, she could begin to slit her eyes open. She just wasn’t sure she wanted to. God knew, nothing good ever awaited her in this situation. Still, she figured it would be better to at least know if she was in one of her father’s modified hospital rooms or shackled to her own bed.

“So,” she’d said, taking a cautious spoonful of steaming soup, “tell me something good, brat.” Erin began to chatter away happily about her current favorite book--the latest Jasmine Haynes, Rowan just had to read it--and who she thought would be the next one voted off American Idol. Rowan had smiled indulgently. She remembered vividly how Erin had been as a child. Chattering like a happy little magpie, excited over every little thing and eager to share her enjoyment with the world. Rowan had seen too little of that joie de vivre from her sister in the years since their mother’s death.

The soup was perfect, ordered in from LaiLai, her favorite local restaurant. The heat seeped into her, warming from the inside out. Suddenly Rowan was really, really tired. She hadn’t slept well since her aborted escape attempt, and aside from a long stint of unconsciousness immediately after her beating, she hadn’t slept at all in the forty-eight hours since she’d discovered the Dragon. Aidan.

Erin was still talking, but Rowan was having more and more trouble focusing on what she was saying. Aidan had kissed her wounds. Had born witness to her father’s cruelty. Had honored her. The memory of his lips, the damp heat of his tongue, sent a frisson of electricity through her. She could barely keep her eyes open. It would be so much easier to just let them slide closed and concentrate on Aidan. Those raging sapphire eyes. The hard, sculpted body chained to the bed.

“Shit!” Erin stopped, a look of surprise and then dread crossing her animated face as Rowan sat bolt upright and forced her eyes open. “What was in the soup, brat?” She knew the soup had been drugged, but seeing the guilt in her sister’s eyes made her heart twist.

“Just a protein supplement, I swear,” Erin rushed to assure her. “And Father had Jordan add a painkiller.” Big blue eyes met hers earnestly. “We knew you hadn’t been sleeping, and you need to sleep in order to heal.” Her sister’s words were beginning to blur, to fade into static as the drug took hold. Rowan felt herself sinking into her chair, melting like hot wax. A soft hand stroked her cheek. An anguished voice whispered, “Don’t be mad at me, Rowey. I just want to help you.” Then there was nothing but cold, black silence.

Rowan finally forced her eyes open enough to take in her surroundings. Pea green walls. Stainless steel fixtures. She was in one of her father’s experimentation rooms. Another deeper, more intimate ache had joined the symphony of pain singing out from her back. It shouldn’t surprise her. Not after Aidan had told her someone had been digging around his private parts.

“What have you done, Father?” She knew he was in the room. He was always there when she woke from one of his little experiments. It took more effort than usual to keep her voice flat and emotionless. She was anything but emotionless regarding her father’s pet Dragon.

“Ah,” William moved around from behind her to stand at the foot of her bed. He liked to do that; to stand towering over her, trying to make her feel vulnerable, weak. “Right on schedule. I’d thank you for doing something right, but I know I owe your cooperation to Dr. Baker’s expertise with tranquilizers.” He rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his charcoal silk suit.

“What have you done?” she repeated. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, and she felt dread curdle in her belly.

“You like our oversized lizard,” he said instead of answering. “I’ve never seen you strip willingly for a man before.” Shit, she thought, realizing William had video of Aidan’s tender ministrations to her abused back. “And,” he added, “you let him touch you.”

“If you were watching, Father, then you know I told him to stop and then left. I didn’t
let
him to do anything.” Again the struggle to keep her voice even. If he had even a hint of how upset she was, how badly she needed to know what he was up to, he’d keep her hanging until hell froze over.