3. Broken Hearts and Lies

CHAPTER 3

Broken Hearts and Lies

T he old grandfather clock in the living room struck three in the morning as Ryker paced the length of the small one-bedroom bungalow's living room. The unfamiliar floor creaked beneath his feet, and he raked his hand through his hair for what felt like the millionth time that night.

He ground his teeth, trying to extinguish the storm rising within him.

What a fucking disaster.

Of all the things Ryker had expected to be doing less than a month after his wedding, bringing his wife to one of the many safe houses owned by the army wasn't one of them.

At least this home, though small, was equipped with all the necessities: a single bedroom, a three-piece bathroom, and a kitchen. There was a dresser filled with men's and women's clothing and a pantry full of staples.

More important than all that, though, were the wards. Vampires were unable to shadow inside of the magical perimeter.

The house wasn't exactly homey, but after what had happened, that was probably for the best.

Ryker didn't need to play house with the woman who'd planned on killing him .

Navy curtains covered the windows, and the location was isolated. Golden City was an hour away. Close enough that they could travel there if needed but far enough away that no one should bother them.

In freeing Brynleigh from The Pit and bringing her here, Ryker had added another title to his growing list.

Fae, son, brother, Captain, husband, and now… his wife's jailer.

By the Sands, his life was fucked up.

Ryker groaned and rubbed his bleary eyes. He hadn't even tried to sleep. Shutting down his mind, which was running a million miles an hour, would've been an impossible task.

It was Brynleigh.

Ryker couldn't stop thinking about her. He vacillated between rage at her confession and horror at her condition when he'd found her. He kept hearing her say those four words.

I wasn't going to…

Who knew a few words could make him throw away everything he'd worked for?

Stupid. He was so fucking stupid.

He'd berated himself the entire drive here for risking everything, but he was in too deep now. He'd put everything he had into this ridiculous plan, and soon, he'd find out whether it would all blow up in his face.

And yet, he'd do it again.

He was such an idiot. His heart beat for her, even after everything she'd done.

The drive to the woods had been awkward and silent, but it had been a walk in the park compared to what happened when they arrived.

Ryker would never be able to erase the visual of Brynleigh pleading for her life.

How could she ever think he would do something like that? The very thought of hurting her made his blood run as cold as ice from the Northern Region .

Ryker wasn't the murderer in their relationship. He wasn't the one who had harbored a secret plan of revenge. He hadn't hidden an entire part of his life in the Choosing.

No.

She was the one who had lied, deceived, and broken them.

He balled his fists. All he'd done was react.

What a pair they made.

The murderous vampire and the angry fae she'd betrayed.

Ryker didn't usually have problems keeping his cool, but then again, he'd never fallen head over heels in love and planned a life with someone only to be destroyed by them. She had her reasons, but he couldn't even begin to pretend he understood them.

And then, there was his magic.

It was unsettled. Angry. Swirling.

It had taken him an hour to get it to calm down after he'd stormed inside. Then he'd realized just how quiet it had become.

Once Ryker had been certain he wouldn't do anything stupid, he checked on Brynleigh. The moment he'd cracked open the bedroom door, any residual anger he'd felt had vanished.

She was curled in a ball on the bed, naked beneath a thin red quilt that barely covered her. The shower had washed away the blood, but like a child's finger painting gone eerily wrong, bruises covered her entire body.

He'd stared at her, aware that it was probably wrong, but he couldn't seem to stop. He gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from going to her.

Asleep, she looked so peaceful. Innocent, even.

It was all a fucking lie.

Last night, he had been alone in his apartment, and now, he was his murderous wife's jailer.

Ryker had shut the door and walked away. The never-ending sting of betrayal kept him awake.

Nothing good could come of pacing for hours, but he couldn't make himself stop. Not now, when a door was the only thing dividing them .

Instead, Ryker gave up on sleep entirely. Rest was for people whose lives weren't disastrous messes.

He pulled out his phone, sending various messages. He placed orders and set things in motion. When his phone was close to dying, he plugged it in and kept going.

There was a lot to do, after all.

Brynleigh's freedom hadn't been cheap. If she agreed to the plan, they might be here for a while. And if she didn't, he'd have to bring her back to prison.

Ryker didn't think either of them could survive that.

Bang, bang, bang .

The repeated sound of someone's fist slamming against the front door pulled Ryker out of a fitful sleep. He yanked open his eyes and blinked furiously to clear the fog of sleep before glancing at the clock.

It wasn't even ten.

"Damn," he grumbled.

Every part of him ached, protesting each small movement. He felt worse than before.

At some point around dawn, Ryker had collapsed on the lumpy couch that had seen better days in the living room, giving in to his body's need to rest. He'd fallen into nightmares the likes of which he hadn't experienced for many years.

Ignoring his body's protests, he flung himself off the couch and landed on his feet. Military training kicked in, and he forced himself to be alert as he approached the door.

Calling magic to the palm of his right hand, he pulled back the curtain covering the square window on the door with his left and peered outside.

One of Ryker's two best friends, Nikhail Galebringer, stood on the porch. The air fae's amber gaze met Ryker's, and Nikhail's crisp black business suit was discordant with their forested surroundings. A blue cooler sat at his feet, and a small box was on top.

Ryker wasn't surprised by Nikhail's formal attire. His friend only had one look: business.

Relieved to see a familiar, friendly face after the hell that had been yesterday, Ryker exhaled and released his hold on his magic. The water disappeared as though it had never been there, and he unlocked the door.

"Morning, Nik," he rasped, his voice rough from sleep.

The air fae's gaze crawled over Ryker's rumpled T-shirt and jeans, and he frowned. "Fuck, man, you look like shit."

Trust Nikhail to always point out the obvious. The man was many things, and subtle was not one of them.

"Thanks for pointing it out." Ryker scrubbed a hand over the scruff on his face and added shaving to the long list of things he should do today. He picked up the items off the porch and invited Nikhail into the small house.

The air fae's gaze flitted around the bungalow. To anyone else, his attention would've come across as simple curiosity, but Ryker knew Nikhail was cataloging every detail and storing them in case he needed them later.

"She's in the bedroom?" Nikhail asked, following Ryker on silent fae feet.

Sometimes, it seemed like Nik's feet didn't even touch the ground, as if he walked on the air itself.

That's what made him so good at his job.

Placing the cooler on the kitchen island, Ryker tucked the box in his back pocket. "Yeah. She's still asleep."

Knowing amber eyes roved over him for a long moment before Nikhail dipped his head.

"I'm sorry, Ryker." Truth. No fae could lie, whether they were water, earth, fire, or air fae. "That this is… that it happened this way."

Nikhail was the only person in Ryker's life who knew the complete, unedited truth of what had occurred on Ryker's wedding night. The rest of the world, including Ryker's family and the other Choosing participants, had been fed a carefully constructed web of half-truths. Not lies but crafted, palpable versions of the events that had taken place.

Some thought Brynleigh had fallen ill after their wedding. True. Others thought the newlyweds were on a trip. Also true, but instead of honeymooning in the Northern Region as they'd planned, Brynleigh had taken a trip to The Pit.

That familiar, angry fire burned through Ryker's veins. Punching the wall probably wouldn't solve any of his problems, but he had the urge to introduce his fist to the drywall, just to see if it helped.

Instead, he clutched the counter.

"Me too."

The words were short and clipped, but what else could he say? That he was sorry he'd been duped? Sorry he was living in his own personal hell, which seemed to be worsening by the day? Sorry his wife had wanted to kill him, and now he was stuck working with her because he'd made a deal to get her out of prison?

The problem was, he wasn't even sorry he'd Chosen her.

Angry, yes. Sorry? No.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

The world did not contain enough words to properly convey how incredibly awful this situation had become.

Thank the gods, Ryker was saved from further exploring his broken, angry, pain-filled heart because the floor creaked in the bedroom. He met Nikhail's eyes, and the pair turned their attention down the hall. The bungalow was compact; besides the solitary bedroom, everything was out in the open.

The sound could only mean one thing. Brynleigh was awake.

Seeming to arrive at the same conclusion, Nikhail raised a brow. "Want me to stay?"

On one hand, Ryker would appreciate that. His friend was an intelligent man, and Ryker could use his help with… everything if he were being honest. But on the other hand, things were already complicated enough.

Besides, Ryker was a trained soldier. He'd been to war across the Rose Ocean. He could carry on a conversation with one weakened vampire on his own.

"No, I've got this."

Nikhail studied him for another long moment, his gaze disturbingly perceptive, before he nodded.

"Alright. I'll leave your suitcases on the porch. I packed everything you asked for."

Late last night, Ryker had texted his friend, asking for help.

This morning, Nikhail swung by the apartment, packed a bag for Ryker, and grabbed Brynleigh's suitcase. Her things had been delivered the night after everything went to hell, and Ryker hadn't had the heart to deal with them yet.

And now…

Well, at least she would have some clothes.

He didn't have the mental energy to think about anything else at the moment.

"Thanks, man."

Nikhail clapped Ryker on the back in a one-armed hug. "Good luck."

Even if the oceans were filled with luck, there wouldn't be enough to help Ryker out of this situation.

But this was his problem and not Nikhail's, so he nodded. "I'll message you."

With that, Nikhail left. The door had just closed, the lock slipping into place, when another creak came from the bedroom.

Closing his eyes, Ryker cast out his anger, erected a brick wall around his heart, and slid his steel mask back over his features.

Emotionless, expressionless. He could do this.

The bedroom door opened, and Ryker opened his eyes. His heart, unaware of his resolve to keep his emotions out of this, thudded as he beheld Brynleigh.

She'd shed the prison jumpsuit, exchanging it for a borrowed oversized black sweater that fell to mid-thigh. She'd paired it with leggings that hugged her curves, ending just above her ankles. Golden hair tumbled over one shoulder, and tired lines were etched on her face. Bruises covered her skin, and several open cuts marred the beautiful canvas of her flesh.

Blank, obsidian eyes rose to meet Ryker's, and his heart thudded again.

Damn.

She tugged on the bottom of the sweater and rasped, "Morning."

Gods above, Ryker hated that his body responded to the sound of her voice.

He hated so many things lately. He hated that he was thankful she'd found something to wear, hated that he reacted to her, hated that her rough tone brought back fond memories of their wedding night.

More than all that, he hated that he wanted to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real and not a figment of his imagination.

The hatred was even worse than the anger.

Ryker's fingers twitched, but instead of giving into his body's ridiculous urges, he dropped his gaze to the counter. Gripping the marble with all his strength, he ground his teeth, swallowing the greeting that tried to rise out of him.

She was an asset. That was all.

He would remind himself of that fact a thousand times a day if necessary. In planning on killing him, she had betrayed them. Their sham of a relationship was shattered, and all that remained between them was devastation and lies.

Footsteps whispered on the floor.

Ryker's chest tightened as her scent grew stronger. When he looked up, she stood just outside the kitchen. Pot lights cast a silver glow on her too-frail body.

She looked like he felt inside.

Broken. Shattered. Destroyed .

She wrung her hands in front of her, a dejected look on her face as she stared at the floor.

The confident vampire Ryker had fallen in love with was nowhere to be seen, and for some reason, that bothered him nearly as much as everything else.

Get a fucking grip.

The vampire he'd fallen in love with had been a lie. She'd been a murderer, a rebel sympathizer, an adversary.

What kind of idiot fell in love with and married their enemy?

A flash of watery rage coursed through Ryker's veins as he recalled exactly how stupid he'd been.

His mask cracked, and he snapped, "What?"

Brynleigh flinched, and for a moment, he felt bad for how he'd spoken.

This whole situation was a clusterfuck, and it was making him question everything.

A small voice niggled in the back of his brain that he should hear her out and listen to her reasons for why she acted like this, but he wasn't ready for that. He just needed to get through this. He could think about her reasons later. Maybe. He wasn't sure she even deserved that.

Brynleigh licked her lips, her face growing paler with each passing second. "I… I was wondering…"

She stumbled over her words, and his heart twisted before he realized he was supposed to hate her.

They were opposites in every way, and by the gods, she'd fooled him.

His wife was a killer .

Gritting his teeth, Ryker hardened the walls around his heart and waited for her to continue.

"I need to feed. If you're not going to ki… can you find me some blood?" Black eyes met his, and he was taken aback by the level of despair within them. "Please."

That last word was little more than a whisper as it left her lips, and she stumbled back a step. As if she wasn't sure how he would react. As if she thought he might lash out at her.

Despite the bricks surrounding Ryker's heart, his life-giving organ ached. Gods above, he was being an ass.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Brynleigh." He didn't think he could, even if he wanted to.

Hating her was hard enough. Being angry at her was killing him, too. Hurting her?

It would destroy him.

Releasing the counter, he moved to the cooler. Aware of his size and the fear leeching off the vampire, he slowly lifted the lid.

He pulled out a few bags of blood and slid them across the counter.

"Of course, you can feed. I'm not a monster."

Unlike Victor Orpheus.

Relief flickered through Brynleigh's eyes, and she darted forward.

"Thank you."

Grabbing the bag closest to her, she ripped the top off with her teeth. Like she had in the cell, she downed the crimson liquid within seconds.

She dropped the empty bag on the counter and moved on to the next. She drank that one, too, guzzling it like she'd been moments away from death, and it was a life-giving elixir.

He supposed it was.

Relief shone in her eyes, and soft sighs slipped from her mouth as she drank.

It was too much for Ryker. He couldn't bear to stand there in silence and watch her any longer.

The island between them might as well have been an entire world.

Turning away, he busied himself with the coffee maker. He grabbed a pod and shoved it in the contraption, fiddling with buttons until, finally, caffeine trickled into the mug he placed underneath.

Even after the coffee had finished brewing, Ryker didn't move. He stared at the steam rising above the black liquid and attempted to formulate words. His mind was a jumble, and every time he opened his mouth, no sounds came out.

Once, communication between them had been as easy as breathing. They'd been able to speak for hours about everything and nothing.

Not anymore.

Anger tied his tongue, and he couldn't think of anything to say. He wrapped his hands around the mug. The coffee was hot and just on this side of being too much, but he let the slight pain ground him.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at his drink.

Eventually, she whispered, "I wasn't going to do it, you know."

Those words again.

That storm in his veins became a barely contained tempest.

Ryker's spine stiffened, and he drew a sharp breath through his nostrils. Clinging to the mug as though it were a life raft in the midst of a storm, he slowly turned around.

She dragged her eyes up to his. They shone a little brighter than before, and her cuts were already healing. The bruises were more muted, and that fucking stupid side of him was relieved to see that she was looking better than when she'd walked in.

"I couldn't do it." She worried her bottom lip. "I wasn't going to kill you. Not in the end. I decided not to. River told me what happened, and I… I knew I couldn't."

Slowly, Ryker placed the mug on the counter and flattened his palms on the cold surface.

She stared at him expectantly as if he knew what to say to move them forward from this. As if her words didn't spark fury within him. As if he wasn't reeling inside from her admission yesterday.

The problem was he had no fucking idea what to do with any of this.

People usually went to him for help solving their problems, but most people's problems didn't involve a murderous wife .

Ryker's heart thundered, and he barely stifled a groan. There were no rules for this, no training that could have ever prepared him for this situation.

Gods-damn it all.

"But you planned to do it." His fingers curled against the marble, and anger leaked into his tone. "You entered the Choosing so you could kill me."

That, at least, he could understand from a soldier's perspective. She hadn't known him then, and she'd had her reasons. But even after they'd met and he'd fallen in love with her, she still intended to kill him.

Her intent was as sharp as any dagger she could've plunged into his heart.

"I—"

"Just admit that you tricked me," he snarled. "Even after I proposed, you were planning on killing me."

Not a question. He'd heard her confession.

Her eyes shuttered, and pain flashed across her countenance.

"Yes," she admitted.

Hearing her tell Victor everything had been painful enough, but this felt worse. Deeper. More fucking personal.

His nostrils flared, and he shook his head.

This entire situation was so fucked up.

"Thank you for not dancing around your answer," Ryker said, his voice as hard as the marble beneath his fingers. "It seems you can tell the truth… sometimes."

But not when it mattered. Not when it came to them.

Her gaze dropped, and she traced a line down one of the empty bags. "I didn't… Not everything was a lie, Ryker."

Hearing her speak his name used to bring him joy, but now it just caused twin cords of hurt and anger to twist through him.

"But you did lie." The words came out harsh and cold, like the ice he wished he could freeze in place around his broken heart.

Silver lined her eyes as she opened and closed her mouth.

The lack of denial was admission enough .

"I don't want to do this right now." He picked up his coffee, his movements so jerky that the liquid splashed over the side. He wiped the mess with a rag before throwing it in the sink. "Are you still hungry?"

A long moment passed before she said, "No, I'm fine."

"Okay."

"Thank you for the blood. You didn't… have to do that. You didn't have to do any of this." She fiddled with her sleeve. "You could've… but you didn't. So, thank you."

Ryker didn't want her gratitude. He didn't want to be her jailer. He didn't want to be risking his job for this ridiculous plan.

By the gods, he didn't want any of this.

He wanted a wife that he could love, a life partner, the woman he'd Chosen. For a few days, he'd had that, and it had been fucking good.

Now, it was gone. Destroyed. They were reduced to this. Whatever it was.

Grunting, Ryker strode past Brynleigh, making sure not to touch her. He couldn't deal with that right now.

The living room wasn't exactly filled with furniture. Other than the couch where he'd slept, there were two uncomfortable-looking armchairs and a circular blue rug that had seen better days.

Choosing an inevitable sore back rather than dealing with the awkwardness of sitting beside Brynleigh, Ryker settled into the armchair on the right. Keeping his feet flat on the ground, he pulled the small black box out of his back pocket as she approached him.

She sat in the other armchair, her hair covering her face as she stared at the floor.

Awkwardness settled over them both, and minutes dragged on in terrible silence.

Every beat of Ryker's heart was too loud, and every breath was too disruptive. The ring on his left hand was the heaviest of weights. He wasn't sure why he still wore it, but it felt like it was dragging him into the ground .

Maybe he should have asked Nikhail to stay. Maybe he should've let his anger out. Maybe he never should've made the deal.

Eventually, the silence grew unbearable. Ryker put his now-lukewarm coffee on the small table between them and lifted his gaze.

"You must be wondering why you're no longer in the Pit."

That got her attention.

Her head snapped up, and her eyes sharpened. "I suppose I have you to thank for that?"

"You do." He twisted his wedding ring. "But your freedom comes at a price."