Dark Fire by Christine Feehan. Dark Series – book 6

In the kitchen, Darius stirred, reluctant for Tempest to endure any more trauma. But he wanted to know, he had to know, and he realized it was important for both women to be able to discuss the traumatic events they had suffered.

“I met a great lady who was working at one of the homeless shelters I landed in. I was seventeen at the time. She let me live at her house. I used to steal cars and soup up the engines just for the fun of it. Ellen made me realize I could put my mechanical skills to better use and make a good living while I was at it. She helped me get my high school equivalency diploma, and after that she got a me good job at a garage with a friend of hers. It was great for a while.”

“But something happened,” Syndil guessed.

Tempest shrugged pragmatically. “Ellen died, and I had nowhere to stay again. As soon as I was without protection, my boss showed his true colors. He caught me off guard. I trusted him; he was Ellen’s friend. I really didn’t expect it of him.” She closed her eyes against the vivid memories crowding in, the way he had slammed her into a wall, knocking the breath out of her, leaving her dazed and completely vulnerable to his attack.

“Did he hurt you?”

“He wasn’t gentle, if that’s what you mean, and I had never… been with anyone. I decided it wasn’t something I ever wanted to try again.” She shrugged, trying not to wince when her ribs protested. “Unlike you, I’ve never had a family. I’m used to being on my own and working things out for myself. I’ve always had to learn everything the hard way. It’s different for you. You had a life, a family. You know what love is.”

“I cannot imagine myself with a man ever again,” Syndil said sadly.

“You have to try, Syndil. You can’t just withdraw from the world, from your family. Some of it has to be up to you. Ellen always told me to play the cards I’m dealt, not wish for another hand. You can’t change what happened to you, but you can see to it that your life isn’t destroyed by it.”

Listening from the kitchen, Darius vowed to himself that the group would play in the city where that garage owner lived sometime soon, and he would pay him a visit. Still, this was the first time he had heard Syndil talk to anyone about what had happened to her, and he felt a sense of great relief. If she could talk to Tempest, perhaps they both would benefit from the experience.

He could feel weariness beating at his little redhead. Her body was sore, and shock was exhausting her. He knew she had jogged much of the distance she had managed to put between them, and she’d had no money for food or lodgings. He didn’t want to interrupt the women, but Tempest was visibly sliding down into the sofa cushions when he glanced at them from the doorway.

Syndil realized it at once. “I will talk to you when you are more rested, Rusti. Thank you for sharing your experiences with me, a virtual stranger. I think you managed to help me more than I did you.” She waved at Darius as she exited the trailer.

Darius glided toward Tempest in his silent, intimidating way. “You are going to bed now, honey. I will not listen to any arguments.”

Tempest was already lying down. “Does anyone else besides me ever get the urge to throw things at you?” She sounded drowsy, not combative.

Darius hunkered down beside her so he was at eye level with her. “I do not think so. If they do, they do not have the audacity to tell me.”

“Well, I think throwing something at you is the only way to go,” Tempest told him. Her eyes were already closing, and her voice was weary and sad despite her heavy words.

Darius stroked the wealth of red-gold hair away from her face, his fingers soothing her scalp. “Do you? Maybe tomorrow might be a better time to try it.”