Masked

Chapter 23 HER

I run the brush along Freyja's mane, trying to let the feel of her hair and the sound of the strokes calm me. It's not working. I wasn't careful enough, and now the only chance I have of keeping Drake safe is if Mary stops Gregory. If she can get to him in time, then I can figure out something to tell him, even if it has to be the partial truth.

At least Charles isn't here. I have to fix this before he returns.

The sound of the lock latching into place on the stable door alerts me to someone else's presence in the barn. Startled, I spin around.

"Drake," his name falls from my lips and the brush slips from my fingers, clattering to the ground.

I take in the totality of him as he lingers near the heavy wooden doors, the look on his face determined, yet vulnerable and pained. His face is flushed, his eyes sparkling with what I can only assume is anger. His white tunic is streaked with dirt, his black breaches dusted brown. Mary was too late.

He closes the distance between us and comes to a stop with merely inches separating us. I press my back against Freyja's sturdy side and look up at Drake. His eyes are burning right through me. I look away, setting my gaze at the hem of my navy dress, focusing on the way it grazes against the hay at my feet, while I try to catch my breath.

My heart is beating so intensely that I can hear it drumming in my ears. It's as though it's trying to break free, to jump out of my body and dive into his, returning to where it knows it belongs.

His fingertips brush against my cheek, and my body ignites with need, his touch as familiar as my own name. I close my eyes and focus on the path of his fingers as they move toward my ear and push my hair behind it. His fingers continue to trace down my neck and then to my collarbone, where they linger.

"I've been such a fool," he says quietly, and then his hand drops to his side, taking with it the first warmth I've felt in weeks. "I need you to talk to me, Addalynne. I need you to tell me what Charles is doing to you." The pain in his voice is crushing, but there's harshness to it when he spits out Charles's name. I take a deep breath and raise my head to look at him. Looking down at the ground like a coward will only add to his doubt and suspicion, and I can't afford that.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The tremble in my voice is horribly obvious.

His expression doesn't change. Instead, he reaches forward and gently places his hand on my left side, on top of my cracked ribs. He doesn't apply any pressure, but his touch shows me just how much he knows. I swallow against the lump in my throat and try to think of something to say, but Drake's words come first.

"I've been blind, Addalynne, and I will never forgive myself for it. If I had been more aware, I could have stopped him. I could have kept you safe. But I'm not blind anymore. This morning, I saw the pain you were in, and then Gregory told me . . ." his voice breaks. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I do need your honesty." His words are oxygen, and my body craves them—craves the love that is pouring from them; love that I never thought I would receive from him again. I don't want to lie to him. I want to tell him how much I'm hurting, and let him heal each wound with his touch. I want to convince him that there's nothing to forgive because none of this is his fault. But wanting these things is irrelevant. This isn't about what I want; it's about keeping him alive.

I set my shoulders and look him straight in the eye, trying to appear strong, when internally I'm turning to ash. "I know exactly what Gregory told you and I can assure you he's mistaken. He's not happy about my engagement to Charles, and he's looking for any reason to put an end to it, even if it means creating one."

Drake drags his hands across his face and a humorless chuckle of pure aggravation escapes his lips. When he drops his hands and sets his gaze back on me, there is perceptible a trace of anger in his eyes.