Jaci Burton - Taken by Sin

This place seemed suitable for a demon. It was dark, it was depressing, and it smelled bad.

Honestly, she didn’t care, as long as wherever she ended up was away from Dalton.

She kept walking, heading deeper into the swamp. Wetness seeped into her shoes, and walking became more difficult as she stalked through the thick mud. She had no flashlight, no idea where she was going. After a while she realized she’d become hopelessly lost, and she didn’t mind. Not this time. Not anymore. She was sick to her stomach. She found a thick fallen trunk and sat on it, figuring she was far enough into the woods now that maybe Dalton wouldn’t find her. And she’d hear him if he came for her. She could run then. She’d have to.

She’d never hurt Dalton. The human part of her, anyway.

The demon? Now that part of her she didn’t know at all. And it was obviously the demon that had taken over while she held that rifle. That was the side of her that Tase could so easily manipulate. But how could she let that happen? Why couldn’t she tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t?

How could she make herself stronger so she could fight it?

What would have happened had Dalton not been able to heal so well?

She knew the answer to that. He’d be dead. And the demon would be in control now. The Isabelle she knew-the only part of herself she really understood-would be gone.

Tears filled her eyes and she used her hands to wipe them away. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. This wasn’t about her. This was about what she was capable of doing, if not now, then eventually.

Dalton shouldn’t have saved her back in Italy. He should have destroyed her like he’d been ordered to do. The Realm of Light was smart about those things. They knew.

She wasn’t worth saving. Good God, there were children back there at the main house. What if she’d succeeded in killing Dalton? Would she have marched up there, laser rifle in hand, and done the same to Georgie, to the men, women, and children up there?

Tase would like that. Destroying the innocent. She’d have been damned for sure. That was what frightened her the most. She knew she could do that. Deep down in the most secret, horrible part of herself that she never wanted to face, but knew existed, she knew that she could kill, that she could take someone’s life without hesitation.

And a part of her would enjoy it.

She clutched her head. “That’s sick. So, so sick. What’s wrong with me?” She tilted her head back and stared up at the low hanging cypress limbs, the mosslike tendrils of fingers reaching out to her. She wished they would take her away, drown her in the swamp.

“Dalton, why did you save me? Why would you do this to me?”

“Because I thought you were worth saving.”

She hadn’t even heard him. In this place filled with heavy roots, sticky muck, mud and water, no one should be able to get to her without her hearing them.

But Dalton had. And she wasn’t at all surprised. She sighed, drew her knees up to her chest and laid her forehead on them.

Defeat settled over her like a heavy weight. She’d tried so hard to put distance between them, and even in that she’d failed. She couldn’t even manage successfully to be noble.

“Go away, Dalton. Leave me alone.”

He was behind her, probably about twenty-five feet or so from the sound of his voice. “The last thing you need right now is to be alone. What the hell were you thinking, coming out this far by yourself? Do you even have a flashlight?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. But I know the area.”

“And I don’t care.”

“Let’s go back.”

“No.” She lifted her head, peered ahead to see if she could figure out where she could run.

“Nowhere.”

“What?”

“There’s no place you can go that I couldn’t find you. Don’t even try it.”

He was so smug about it, too. She’d just bet right now he was smiling, certain he’d won this battle. That a little reassurance and she’d be placated and ready to go back with him. Well, he was wrong. This time he wasn’t going to win. She wasn’t going back to endanger him and the rest of the people he held dear. She planted her feet and launched upright, shooting forward at a dead run. She didn’t even bother to look back because she knew Dalton would be right on her heels. She flew across the water, hoping like hell it would continue to be only ankle deep, because she had no idea how to gauge its depth in this midnight dark bayou. She cleared her mind and focused on pushing one foot in front of the other, keeping her gaze on what was in front of her.

Don’t think. Don’t panic. Don’t feel.

She wasn’t prepared to be tackled and flung forward into the mud and water. She’d thought she was outrunning him-until his arms wrapped around her waist and they both went down.

She came up furious, kicking and scratching, tearing at him with all the fury she’d held inside. She was angry. Angry at her fate, because she couldn’t eliminate this blood of evil inside her, angry at Dalton because he hadn’t killed her when he should have. And angry at herself, because despite it all, she still cared enough to want to live, to want everything fixed, to want to throw her arms around Dalton and beg him to make it all right.

Dalton bore the brunt of Isabelle’s attack, knowing she was striking out mainly in fear. He’d seen that fear today when she thought she’d hurt him. He knew it wasn’t the human Isabelle who had fired that laser. She’d been manipulated. The human Isabelle had hesitated. The demon in her could have easily taken Tase’s suggestion and fired. She didn’t. Tase had to alter the game a bit so Isabelle shot him. Which meant she was fighting the demon inside her, and she was winning. Why couldn’t she see that? Why did she run? He didn’t want her to hurt herself, and she couldn’t hurt him. Not like this. Now it was the human Isabelle attacking him, and he knew she had to let off some steam.

After several minutes of kicking and scratching, she began to wear down. He let her go at him for as long as it took. He knew what this was like-this pain, fear, and confusion, not knowing who or what you were or whether you could control your impulses.

Been there, done that.

He finally turned her around and pulled her back against his chest, crouching down so she could catch her breath. With his free hand he pulled her hair away from her face. She was dragging in air, shallow and fast.

“Slow down, Isabelle.”

“I feel sick,” she said, her voice hoarse as she wheezed in and out.

“You’re breathing too fast. You need to bring it down.” He breathed with her, loud enough so she could hear his rhythm. She sucked in air, then blew it out, taking it down a notch, trying to match him. “That’s it. In and out, slow and easy.”

When he had her calmed, he stood and lifted her out of the mud and carried her to the bank, then sat and placed her on his lap. She laid her head against his chest, her palm there, too. He felt his heart beating against her hand and closed his eyes, just … absorbing her.

What was he going to do with her? How was he going to help her?

“I can’t do this, Dalton.”

He stroked her mud covered hair. “Yeah, you can.”

She pushed back and looked at him. Her face was a ragged mess of tears, caked mud, and agony. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what I did, what I could do.”

“Yes, I do. And you won’t.”

She shook her head. There was a sadness in her eyes he wanted to obliterate, to make her realize she could change who and what she was.

If he could, anyone could. But he couldn’t tell her that. Not yet. Not when she was so raw. She wouldn’t believe him, wouldn’t understand. And he wasn’t ready.