Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

Tempest glanced toward the kitchen to assure herself that Darius could not hear them. “You should get counseling. There are places, Syndil, people who can help you put your life back together again.”

“Is that what you did?”

Tempest swallowed hard, feeling the familiar nausea that arose every time that particular door started to crack open. She shook her head, pressing a hand to her stomach.

“I wasn’t in a position to seek help. I was simply trying to survive.” Once more she glanced toward the kitchen, then lowered her voice still further. “I never really knew either of my parents. My earliest memories are of a dirty room where I ate off the floor and watched grownups put needles in their arms, legs-every vein they could find. I didn’t know which of the adults was my mother or father. Occasionally the authorities would scoop me up and dump me in foster homes, but mainly I lived on the streets. I learned to fight off drug dealers and pimps and every other man that happened by. It was a way of life, all I knew for several years.”

“That is when it happened to you?” Syndil asked, her eyes so filled with pain that Tempest wanted to gather her into her arms. At the same time she wanted to run, to never have to relive that particular time in her life again. She couldn’t bear it, not on the heels of Harry’s attack.

“No, it might have been easier if it had been some sleazy drunk or junkie or even one of the pimps, but it was someone I trusted,” Tempest confessed in a low voice, the words forced out of her by some bond between her and Syndil, a bond forged by a terrible trauma they both shared.

“It was someone I loved and trusted, too,” Syndil admitted softly. “As a result, I do not know how to trust anyone now. I feel as if he killed that part of me. I cannot perform in the band. I loved playing; the music has always been inside me, and now I cannot hear it. I feel dead without it. I cannot stand to be alone with any of the males I grew up with, men I have always loved as my family. I know they worry for me, but I cannot change what has happened.”

Tempest twisted a length of red-gold hair around her finger. “You have to live, Syndil, not simply exist. You can’t let him rob you of your life, your passions.”

“But he did. That is exactly what he did. I loved him like a brother. I would have done anything for him. Yet he was so brutal, and his eyes were so vicious as he hurt me, as if he hated me.” Syndil turned away. “It changed all of us. The men now look at one another with suspicion and distrust. If such a transformation could happen to Savon, perhaps it could happen to one of them, too. Darius has suffered terribly, because, as our leader, he feels responsible. I have tried to tell him he is not, but he has always cared for and protected us. I know that if I could get over this, it would ease his suffering, but I cannot.” She looked at her hands. “The others do not treat me as they once did. Barack especially does not seem to trust me. They watch me all the time now, as if it were my fault.”

“Likely they are watching you protectively, not suspiciously. But you are not responsible for what anyone else is feeling, Syndil. You can overcome this, just as the others will in their own time and in their own way. You won’t forget it-it might haunt your life and even your relationships-but you can be happy again,” Tempest assured her.

“I have never spoken of this to anyone, not even Desari. I am sorry. I came here to help you, but I speak only of myself. I want to scream and weep and crawl into a hole. You are very easy to talk to.”

Tempest shook her head. “You have to find a way to go on.”

“Please tell me what happened to you, how you were able to cope.”