He saw Divine close her eyes at this news, but continued, “The sister, who was a teenage girl by the way, was rescued, along with a couple of other victims, from the hotel room you whisked your son away from as well as from the room next door to it. And he was going by the name Leonius.”
“You said that earlier,” she muttered unhappily, and then said, “But Damian said he was only there because a couple of the boys got up to some risky business and he had to go get them out of trouble.”
“Risky business?” he interrupted with amazement. “They cut those women up like kindling . . . and he bragged about at least one of his kills to the doctor they took. And,” he added heavily, “one of their victims, a young woman named Dee, told us how Leonius and his boys slaughtered her family. He wasn’t there to get them out of trouble. He was leading them into it.”
Marcus gave her a moment to digest that, and then said, “Everything I’ve said is true, Divine. I wouldn’t lie to you. You’re my life mate . . . and believe me I wish this wasn’t true. Because this does mean you’re rogue and we are going to spend the rest of our lives running and hiding.”
Divine stared at him blankly for a minute, and then suddenly turned and headed for the door.
“Wait! Where are you going?” he called, struggling with the ties on his wrists.
Divine didn’t answer, simply slipped out of the room and let the door close behind her. Cursing, Marcus gave up trying to tug his hands free of the ties at his wrists and began to jerk at them, trying to snap the cloth. Instead, on the fourth pull, he snapped the bed headboard clean off the bed. That was good enough. Marcus tugged the ties off of the snapped wood, and quickly removed the cloth from his wrists as he slid off the bed. He then rushed for the door, but when he hurried out into the hall and looked both ways, it was empty.
Marcus cursed and turned back to the room, intending to dress and go after her, only to find that the door had closed behind him . . . and locked.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, slamming one fist on the wooden panel with fury.
Divine kept expecting Marcus to rush up behind her and stop her as she made her way out to the hotel parking lot where the SUV was parked. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed when that didn’t happen. A little of both, Divine supposed as she slipped into the driver’s seat and started the vehicle. However, it was probably for the best. She knew it was. That didn’t make it any easier. But then there was very little in her life that had seemed to be easy.
While Marcus had wanted to learn more about her from their talk, in the end she’d learned more from him than he had from her. All he’d learned was that she was indeed the rogue he’d been sent to find. She’d learned that her son wasn’t her son, that he was a killer, and that Abaddon had probably been using mind control on her from the get-go to get his way.
Divine really couldn’t believe that she hadn’t picked up on it before this. Now that Marcus had said it, it seemed so obvious. Her fear of her uncle had been so solid and deep with little in the way of doubt . . . and so constant. Abaddon must have been feeding that into her thoughts day in and day out for those first ten years and then reinforcing it every time she’d encountered him.
Of course, the fact that he’d played on her own fears had probably helped. She’d admired and envied those two immortal women who had chosen death over Leonius’s abuse. She’d even wondered if that wasn’t the more honorable choice. They had escaped, after all, if only into death. They needn’t suffer the pain and humiliation he’d visited on her and the others. They were free. Their family honor safe . . . While she had quavered and wept and screamed in pain and terror, begging him not to hurt her, groveling at his feet like a pathetic—
Divine gave her head an angry shake as she started the SUV engine. She might have done all of that for nearly four months, but then she’d become pregnant and life had been more bearable . . . and she had survived. She had lived more than two thousand years since then. She’d met millions of people over the years, some shining stars of brilliance, others individuals in need of a little guidance to find that brilliance.
Divine had spent her life helping others. Surely that made up for any shame her family might have suffered? And surely that made what she’d suffered, if not worthwhile, at least bearable?
Her life had been long, with many quiet joys, moments of satisfaction, or peace. They might have been quiet, hidden moments in comparison to the bright and fiery moments she’d shared with Marcus these last days, but they were moments nonetheless and every single one of them had taken place away from Abaddon. She hadn’t enjoyed even a second of peace or enjoyment in Abaddon’s presence. It was part of the reason she’d finally taken Damian and run from the man, and why she’d spent so little time with her son after learning he’d welcomed the man back into his life.
Now Divine wondered if all of this was her fault. Damian might not be her child by blood, but she had raised him, he was her son. And he had been a sweet child growing up. Always smiling, always eager to please. It was after they’d left Abaddon that Damian had changed, becoming secretive and moody.
At first Divine had thought he just missed the man and would get over it, and then she’d blamed it on puberty. All teenagers were like that, weren’t they?
At twelve he’d started wandering the woods or cities depending on where they lived, taking off for hours at a time despite her haranguing him to stay close to home. At sixteen he’d begun disappearing for days at a time. On returning he’d always been manic with happiness; laughing, chatting a mile a minute, telling her tales of his adventures while away. She’d allowed it at the time because he was considered a man in that time period.
Damian was eighteen when he’d been gone a week rather than the usual day or two. Worried that Lucian—who Abaddon had assured her was still looking for them—had finally found her son, Divine had gone looking for him and found him holed up in an abandoned hut. He’d been outside, laughing and chatting by a fire with, of all people, Abaddon. And Abaddon had been calling him Leo, she recalled now. She’d been so furious to find him with the man she’d kind of let that slip her mind at the time.
Divine had tried to send Abaddon away, but Damian had protested. Abaddon was his friend.
“Abaddon is no friend of ours,” she’d said furiously. “He was Leonius Livius’s lapdog.”
“You mean my father?” Damian had asked.
Divine had simply gaped at him. She had never told him about his father. How could she tell her son that he was a child of rape? That his father was a man she loathed who had tortured and raped her for months before he’d been conceived? She hadn’t told him before that, and couldn’t tell him then. Instead, she had drawn herself up and said, “You are old enough to do what you wish and live where you want now. But I will have nothing to do with this man. Never bring him to my home when you visit.”
She had turned and left then. Damian hadn’t followed. And Divine had simply continued with her life. He had visited often during the first fifty years or so, relatively speaking. It had been only a year after that when Damian had come to her with her first grandson. When she’d asked his name, he’d said the mother hadn’t given him one and didn’t want the boy. She’d offered to raise him, which she suspected he’d counted on at the time.