Bedlam (B.A. Morton) by B.A. Morton

Author:B.A. Morton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Taylor Street Publishing
Published: 2013-08-21T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty Three

And now, finally, Joe McNeil is within my grasp, though it brings no pleasure to witness his pain, merely shame that I have stooped so low for my own despicable benefit. He stands before me, head bowed, shoulders slumped, depleted of hope, flayed raw and wounded beyond repair, and in him I see a sad reflection of myself, and I cower at my own propensity for evil. I am indeed a product of Jacob’s warped mind, a disciple worthy of his highest honour, and in my selfish greed I have played directly into his hands. I imagine his mirth at how the game progresses, and I despair at my inability to turn the tables and influence the outcome. It is a fine balance.

I focus now on Joe and concern slithers unbidden into my mind. I wonder if I have made a terrible mistake. His tide of frustration and anger has ebbed through sheer fatigue and hopelessness. His eyes are moist with unshed tears. His heart is broken. I feel the weight of it in my hands. The rhythm is sluggish, without hope there is no reason for it to beat, and I of all creatures should understand this. I have allowed the baring of his soul. Now I must heal him, and when it is done and he is whole again, he will be mine alone, and he will vanquish the beast and all will be well. It has to be.

I reach out and this time he does not avoid my touch. Instead he leans in, seeking comfort, and my fingers skim his brow as he did mine what seems like an eternity ago. His skin is warm, unshaven and rough beneath my caress. I trace the contours of his face, the scars that give title to the chapters of his chequered life, and tease his lips softly with the pad of my thumb. He watches me, powerless, tense and expectant as I in turn inhale and devour his scent.

“No,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Yes.” I smile at his intake of breath, his inner voice that rages beneath the surface, demanding his attention. He is about to betray his love, and he knows it.

I step close and slide my hand to the back of his neck, drawing him down to meet me. My lips brush his tentatively, and I am instantly overwhelmed by the power that ignites as I taste him. My heart pounds, my skin tingles, my ears are filled with the heady thrum as blood pulses throughout my arid frame.

“No,” he murmurs as his lips respond to mine. I swallow his denial and press closer.

He is wavering; his need is great but loyalty holds him tightly. I feel his strength, the tension in his muscles as he holds back. His resistance is ultimately futile, it merely draws me on, and I move closer still until all that is between us is fabric, and all that keeps us apart are his memories of Kit. I must ensure that he has no room left in his mind for her.

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