Jem’s eyes are huge.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I state calmly, clearly. I want these four words to sink into his very soul and become a part of him forever.
Silence falls. The hallway probably wasn’t the best place for this conversation but it can’t be helped now. Jem is shock still, staring at me as if I have just upended his world. Good. I hope I have. I’m shaking with fury at everyone who has done this to him, everyone who told him he was to blame for his abuse. How could Harry do this to his brother? His younger brother, who he is supposed to protect and care for?
Poor, poor Jem. He was raped when he was sixteen and banned from society for it. He will never be wed. Never be loved. He will be alone forever. He is a vessel so he can’t settle down with a mundane, he needs a mage to empty him, and I can’t even bear to think about how that need is being dealt with. But from what I know of society, and Jem’s comment at breakfast about his magic being ready for whichever mage wants it, I have a horrid suspicion that he is pimped out whenever he is ripe.
The whole situation is horrendous and heartbreaking. And I’m so furious at Harry, I think I might explode.
Jem silently turns on his heels and flees. I don’t mind at all. I really hope he thinks about what I have said and doesn’t just dismiss my words entirely. I could have been more tactful, but I was just so enraged that I couldn’t hold it in.
I sigh and try to calm down. But it’s not working. Realization of what I have just done is slowly starting to sink in. I wanted to be an unobtrusive husband. I didn’t want to disrupt anything. My plan was to get Harry to forgive me for tricking him into marriage by giving him no cause for concern.
But now I’ve gone and exploded like a firework with my thoughts and opinions. And what is worse is that I’m pretty certain that next time I see Harry, I will not be able to keep my mouth shut.
What on earth am I going to do?
Chapter eleven
Harry
Colbyisinthelibrary, I can sense the beautiful song of his magic. I want to go talk to him, but here I am pacing my sitting room and hiding like a child. It’s ridiculous. I only want to ask him if he would like to have dinner with me in my rooms.
I want to ask my husband to dine with me. I should not be feeling so daunted by this simple thing. But then again, none of my reactions make sense when it comes to Colby. That young man has well and truly gotten under my skin.
I need to check my files again. It’s stupid because I have read them a thousand times. I sigh, maybe one last time will finally reassure me. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. My fingers know the route to his file well. All the information I could find out about him. Everything I had my people dig out.
I scan the pages again. His family are not Revivalist nor part of any active Anti groups. And he is not connected to anyone who is likely to know how much raw power lies here at Stourleat. Colby is no threat at all.
The only dirt that could be found on him, was that he was somehow involved in aiding his cousin Lord Eban du Fray runaway with his bodyguard. I sigh. Gorgeous, flirtatious Eban. I miss seeing him at various functions. Especially since his husband had been very willing to share his vessel. My stomach twists uncomfortably. Now that I have had Colby in my arms, Eban’s reluctance seems obvious. And that makes me think of all the vessels that have been shared with me over the years.
My feet take me over to the drinks cabinet, and I pour a whiskey. Memories of being in Colby’s bed taunt me. He was so eager, sincere.Willing.He wanted me, enjoyed me.
I down the whiskey in one swift move. I know I live in a dark, twisted world. I know I’m not a good person. But Colby’s sweet innocence is shining a light on all my failings and it’s damn uncomfortable.
I quickly scan the rest of the file. His family have hit financial hardship. That’s it. The incident in the maze was as innocuous as that. No grand plan. No devious scheme. It’s refreshing.
And now I have a sweet, innocent and fundamentally good person in my life. He doesn’t belong here. I don’t deserve him, and I certainly don’t want to drag him down into my darkness. Tarnish him with my touch. If I was a good person, I’d leave him alone as much as possible and let him continue to burn brightly.
But I’m not a good person. As much as Colby makes me want to be one. I crave his light. I want to stand blinking before it. Dazzled and uncertain. I yearn for it like a starving man for food. It’s as if I think Colby can save me, lead me back to the light after a lifetime of treading a path of darkness.
With that thought, suddenly I am striding towards the library. I’m being ridiculous. Colby can’t save me. No one can. All that is going to happen is that I’m going to harm him. I wince. I hurt him last time I took him. His pain laced whimpers and his flash of uncertainty had been like daggers shredding my soul. And all I had done was to shove his brace in his mouth so I didn’t have to hear him. I am a monster. I should turn around right now. But I can’t. I’m not strong enough. I’m like a moth to his flame, except he is the one that is going to be destroyed.
My hand pauses on the door of the library. I really hope he smiles at me again. His smiles are wonderful. They make it seem like everything is all right with the world.
I open the door with far more trepidation than is necessary. He hasn’t noticed me, his attention fixed on the computer screen. He is tapping his nose with his finger in the endearing way he does when he thinks. The burnished auburn in his hair is clear in this light. How did I ever think he was plain? Was there something wrong with my eyes? He is breathtakingly stunning.
He looks up, and my heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t smile. He frowns and looks back at the screen.
“I’m not ripe,” he snaps.
It feels like I have been punched in the gut. Hard. I can feel all my tentative hope shattering. This little ember of promise that Colby gave me with his dazzling smiles and his soft noises in bed, is winking out and there is nothing I can do. It’s like trying to hold water in my hand.
“I know,” I say reflexively and it sounds cold and harsh to my own ears. I should have asked what was wrong or why he is upset, but part of me doesn’t want to hear about my own failings.
He looks up at me again and bites down on his bottom lip as if he is trying not to speak. A long, silent moment passes. Then he lets out a big breath.
“How could you let your little brother think his assault was his fault!” he demands angrily, his eyes flashing.
