Sherrilyn Kenyon - Upon the Midnight Clear

But that was before the betrayal that had cut so deep it had destroyed every sensitive nerve in his body. Unlike the firestorm he'd been through, these attacks weren't personal and they weren't directed at him by people he'd once called family. These attacks were all highly laughable.

He flicked the lid off his beer and held it up to the photos of his "family" that he kept on his mantel next to his five Oscars. "Fuck you all very much," he said snidely.

But in the end, he knew the truth. He was the only one who'd been royally screwed. He'd put his trust in all the wrong people and now he was left alone to deal with the devastation they'd foisted on him—because he'd dared to love them more than he'd loved himself.

Life was nothing if not pain and he was the king of it.

Two years ago, he'd lived and died for those assholes on the mantel. Had given freely to them, hand over fist, wanting them to have a better life than the hell he'd known growing up.

And even though he'd given all but his life to them, it hadn't been enough. They'd been deceitful and selfish. Unsatisfied with his extravagant gifts, they'd begun taking, and when he'd dared to question them about their theft, they'd gone after the only thing he'd had left.

His reputation and livelihood.

Yeah, people were sick and he was tired of the Judases around him. His days of being used by others for what they could suck out of him were over.

He wanted nothing more of this world or those who were in it.

His gaze slid to the shotgun that he kept in the corner of his cabin for snakes and bears. Sixteen months ago, he'd loaded that gun, intending to kill himself and end his pain for real. The only thing that had kept him here was the fact that he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing they'd weakened him to that point.

No, he was stronger than that. He'd come into this world alone and alone he would stand and defend himself until the day God above saw fit to take him from it. He'd be damned if some two-bit backwoods trash would get the better of him. He hadn't clawed his way out of poverty and built up his life to where it was, to give it all up because of some backstabbing bastards.

He hadn't started this fight, but he was the one who'd ended it.

"The trust of the innocent is the liar's most useful tool." Aidan flinched as he remembered the quote from his favorite Stephen King novel. They'd certainly proven that to be true. And no one had been more innocent than he in all this. Because of them, his gullibility had been slaughtered on the altar of treachery.

But no more. Now there was nothing left except a man so strong he would never again allow anyone that close to him. He'd banished all trust. Banished all tenderness. He now gave to the world what it had given to him.

Anger, hatred, and venom. And that was why he kept their smiling faces on the mantel. It was to remind him how two-faced everyone was.

Aidan paused as he heard a slight banging. It sounded like someone at his door…

No. It wasn't possible. He was too far out and away from everything. No one ever came up the isolated dirt road that led to his log cabin. Cocking his head, he listened again, but the sound seemed to vanish.

He snorted. "Yeah, great, now I'm hearing things."

Aidan took a step, then heard the banging again.

Maybe something had come loose. He reversed course and headed back toward his great room.

"Hello?"

He cursed at the muffled feminine voice. Damn it. The last thing he wanted on his mountain was a woman. Growling, he snatched open the door to find a white, bundled form on his porch step. "Get off my property."

"P-p-please. I'm freezing and my car broke down. I need to call for help."

"Then use your cell phone." He slammed the door in her face.

"I can't get a signal up here." Her voice was faint and the softness of it cut through him.

Don't you dare feel sorry for her, putz. No one takes pity on you. Give only what you're given. Hatred. Contempt . He glanced to the pictures on his mantel.

"Please. I'm freezing. Please help."

If you don't do something she's going to freeze out there. Her death will be on your hands.

So what! Let her die for being stupid. Sometimes Darwinism was the best way to go…

But no matter how much his anger gnawed at him and his inner voice called him an ass, he couldn't leave her out there to die.

You're a freakin' idiot.

"Ten minutes," he snarled as he snatched open the door. "That's it. Then I want you out of my house."

"Thank you," she said, stepping inside.

Aidan kept his lip curled as he watched her drift toward his fire. She left a trail of snow on his hardwood floors. "Don't mess up the place."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice still distorted by her pink woolen scarf that she had pulled up over her mouth and nose. All he could see of her face was a pair of eyes so pale a shade of blue they practically glowed. "It's really cold outside."

"Like I care," he said under his breath before he moved to get his cell phone from the countertop. He went back to her and held it out. "Make it quick."

She pulled off her white leather gloves to expose dainty hands that were bright pink from the cold. Shivering, she pulled the scarf down.

Aidan couldn't breathe as he saw her face, and a wave of lust bombed his system. Fine boned and patrician, she was beautiful. But more than that, it was the same woman he'd seen in his dream last night who had stopped the rain.

How freakin' weird…

Without a word, she took the phone from his hand and dialed it.

He couldn't move as he watched her. What were the odds of some unknown person coming out of his dreams and showing up at his door needing a phone? Especially the woman whose face had been haunting him all day.

You should play the lottery…

She shut his phone, then held it out to him. "Yours isn't working either."

"Bullshit." He flipped it open, then realized she was right. There was no signal at all. Baffled, he scowled at it. "I was just on it a minute ago."

She shrugged before she returned to his fire. "Looks like we're both out of luck then."

"I'm not out of luck. I live here. You're the one who's screwed, 'cause you're not staying."

She gaped in disbelief. "You would really throw me out of your house in the middle of a blizzard?"

He scoffed. "There's no…" His voice drifted off as he looked outside and realized she was right. It was a total whiteout.

When had that happened?

"Un-friggin'-believable," he snarled. Then again, it was just his luck. His uncle had always told him he was born under an unlucky star. The man had been more right than either of them had ever guessed.

She turned her haunting eyes toward his. "Should I leave?"

Yes . Something in his soul screamed for him to shove her out the door and then lock it tight. It was that part of him that had been battered to the brink of suicide.

But even after all he'd been through, he couldn't bring himself to cause her death. Unlike him, she most likely had someone out there who would actually mourn for her if she were to die. Bully for her.

She gave him a look that rivaled the freezing temperature outside before she pulled her muffler back over her face and started for the door.

"Don't be stupid," he snarled. "You can't go out there."

She raked him with a stern look, then lowered the muffler. "I don't like staying where I'm not wanted."

"So you want me to lie?" He fell into the acting that had won him his Academy Awards. "Oh, baby, please stay with me and don't leave. I need you here. I can't live without you."

Leta arched a brow at his words, which lacked the sarcastic tone she was certain lay beneath them. Little did he know how true they were. He did need her here because she was the only thing standing between him and death.