Hidden By Desire: A Gothic Dark Romance (Wild Iris Book 2) by Felicity Brandon

Author:Felicity Brandon [Brandon, Felicity]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-16T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Betrayed

Aidan

Heaving in a breath, I folded over her, my temple resting against the nearest tree as rage surged in my veins. There was nothing in the world but her face, her betrayal, and the pain it had caused. Nothing but my maddening emotions and an uncontrollable thirst for control.

I had to control Iris, her actions, her words, her every move. Nothing else was acceptable.

Time stretched out around me, contracting and accelerating in a whirlwind of disorientated confusion, and all the while my hands remained at her neck, cradling her. I loved her, could she not see that? There was no possibility of a future without her.

It was not until I could focus again that I acknowledged she had stopped moving, had not moved for the longest time. Pulling away from her, I gulped, assessing the rise and fall of her chest. There were none. She was not breathing.

“Iris.”

A strangled sob left my lips as the horrific reality dawned. I had done it again. I had let the unthinkable happen.

“No!”

Collapsing onto her lifeless body, I sobbed, permitting the release. What did it matter now? Whatever happened, I had lost. I had destroyed the one beautiful thing in my life.

I did not know how many hours passed as I mourned, but by the time I looked up, dusk was falling, the sheath of night coming to conceal my wickedness. That was when I decided. She could not stay there, could not remain a nymph of the woods. Scooping her into my arms, I carried what remained of Iris back to the house, each sorry step filled with woe. I had felt this sorrow once before, but the weight of Iris’ passing pressed more heavily on my shoulders. I should have known better, should have done better…

Reaching the house, I found the door still open, although the fire had burned itself out. I laid her on the rug, by the grate—the same place I had left her on many occasions—collapsing in my chair. I could not look at her because to acknowledge her fate meant accepting the truth about myself. I was a killer. Not just once in an exceptional outburst, but twice. My lack of premeditation was meaningless in the face of her fate. I had sought to stop her, not to annihilate, but still she was gone.

At some point, I rose from the chair, finding the dawn had already broken, and knew the task that lie ahead. Stalking past her body, I grabbed the spade that had so happily dug up the vegetables and walked to the rear of the house. There, marked by a single bush, was the place Desiree rested.

I set to work, lining up a plot beside her and digging out the earth. The labor was back breaking, but no more than I warranted. The least my lovers deserved was burial. It was a level of respect I had scarcely shown them in life.

Once my spade had done its work, I climbed into the hole it left until the mud was up to my middle.

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