Chapter twenty-two
Chapter 22
He exhaled sharply, hands curling into fists. "But she was with him on and off. She loved him but he didn’t love her back. So, when he cheated... she needed to have her revenge. He would have his affairs, and she would have hers. She would lose it, and he would just carry on like she didn’t exist."
His beautiful mouth twisted at a memory. "Behind closed doors, he was violent. With her. With me. My mother self-medicated. My childhood..." his throat worked "...was hell. He hated me more because by five, I'd take whatever beating he handed me without blinking. I once heard him call me Damien from the Omen. I didn't understand what he meant until I was a teenager."
His gaze flickered, distant. "During one of their on-again episodes, my mother got pregnant. She never stopped drinking or using. When Angel was born... something wasn't right. She had special needs, so they kept her hidden. My parents were ashamed of her." A sad, fleeting smile touched his face. "But not me. She was so sweet. Always hugging me . I found her annoying sometimes, but she was mine, my sister. She stuck to me. She was neglected by everyone else, but not by me… I was supposed to protect her."
Rune did not like where this was going. She didn't realize she was crying. Dorian was so cut off, it almost sounded like he was reading the business news. But it was also like watching a train wreck.
He paused, his voice turning softer with a memory. "When she was seven, she got sick. It wasn't like the times before; this time it wasreally bad. Aplastic anemia, just like your brother."
He glanced at Rune, then away. "I was twelve. They said they couldn't find a donor for her. Or maybe they didn't try hard enough. My father was home then. He'd beaten me... broke my arm that time. Angel hated seeing that. She'd cry when he hurt me, but by then I was used to it. How I wish I had kept my mouth shut that one time."
He swallowed hard. "I was in the hospital. My mother had to stay with me. Angel got into her stash. Pills, powders, I don't even know. She thought it was sweets. She loved Smarties." His voice cracked into a low rasp.
"She was dead when they found her."
Silence pressed heavy between them. Dorian's jaw worked before he got it under control. "My parents covered it up. I don't know how, but they did... But I knew... I always knew. So, I put myself on the donor list. They couldn't refuse me; I had put things in place, so they couldn't. That's how I ended up donating. And when my father fell into the pool drunk and drowned... I didn't blink, just watched. He had it coming." His tone turned chilling, detached. "I enjoyed the show."
His stare was fixed on something in the distance as he gazed through the window. "Neither my mother nor my... father deserved to live. They didn't deserve children. And I..." he let out a bitter laugh "...I was their son, at least my mother's. The rest of my gene pool is unknown. If there was a bloodline that didn't deserve to continue, it was mine. So, when I was twenty-three, I had a vasectomy."
Rune sat silent, her hands clenched in her lap. Her face was wet with tears. His words pressed into her, reshaping everything she thought she knew of him. She didn't want her heart to soften. Not after everything he had done to her. But still, she couldn’t help herself.
He looked at her, his voice stripped bare. "I didn't want to inherit their bloody legacy. That's why I started Angel Consultants. Rune, I'm so sorry. About everything. And... about the vasectomy. I went to the doctor. It needs to be redone. I shouldn't have said the baby wasn't mine. I am sorry for being an arse to you for so long when you had done nothing to deserve it. But most of all, for hurting you, for not trusting you. When Crispin went crazy when Aria went missing, I thought...I mean... I just remembered how my mum used to be, and I never wanted that...to be that person, so out of control."
It took Rune a while to compose herself as she chewed on his revelations. When she looked up, her face gave nothing away. "Thank you for telling me. It...it explains a lot. But you don't need to worry. I won’t be coming after you for child support. I can take care of the baby. And I don't plan on a DNA test, so ..."
"I don't want that... I know the baby is mine."
Silence stretched between them, both of them caught in what had been revealed. Dorian looked wrung out by the telling, not really in control, and Rune, shaken by a new insight into the man she'd once loved.
At last, Dorian's voice came, softer. "Where is your brother?"
Rune rose and crossed to the window, staring out at the horses grazing in the mist. "The treatment seemed to work for a while. We were so relieved." Her voice broke, thin and trembling. "But then he developed what the doctors called graft-versus-host disease. We brought him home for Christmas. He wanted to be with us."
A tear slid down her cheek. "He died Christmas morning."
The silence that followed was not empty, but heavy with grief and regrets, his, hers, and the ghosts of those they'd both lost. Her breathhitched. For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then she drew herself up, closing off. "I’m fine. I have work to do."
Rune brushed another tear from her cheek quickly, as though ashamed to let him see it. "I have work to do," she repeated, voice more steady now. She turned toward the door. But before she could take a step, Dorian rose suddenly, closing the distance in two strides. His hand caught her wrist, gentle but firm, and he pulled her in against him. She startled, stiffening, her breath catching.
"Don't..." she whispered, her voice breaking on the word.
"Let me," he said quietly, almost pleading. His arms tightened around her, his face buried briefly in her hair.
"Just for a second."
Rune froze, every instinct warring, but she didn't pull away.
His arms came around her, warm and unyielding, the hard line of muscle pulling her against him. She felt the clench of his abdomen as though he were holding himself together by sheer force, every tendon strung tight.
Her senses betrayed her. The faint, store-bought sweetness of rose shampoo lingered on his skin, but beneath it was his scent. The one she remembered, the one she was utterly addicted to. Clean and sharp and utterly Dorian. It pulled at her in ways she hated, ways she had sworn she'd buried. For a moment, she let her eyes fall shut, surrendering to it, the rare, almost impossible moment of vulnerability from him. Just his arms, the heat of his body, and the memory of what it felt like to lose herself there.
And then the reality pressed in again. She drew in a shaky breath, her voice low against his chest as she pushed against his chest in rejection. "Don't..."
"Let me," he said quietly, almost pleading. His arms tightened around her, his face buried briefly in her hair.
