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“You care for your people. Just because you don’t spend your life in the public eye doesn’t mean you don’t. Just because it isn’t as easy for you doesn’t mean you don’t do just as well as Malik would have.”
“Why exactly do you want to fix me, latifa?” he asked, ignoring her earlier words.
There it was again. Beauty. The entire sentence was dripping with insincerity, and yet she found herself clinging to that one word, turning it over. She’d been called beautiful so many times, mostly by the press. The same press that might turn around and call her ugly the next day if she wore a shade of yellow that didn’t flatter her skin tone. It had never mattered. If the insult could be a lie, so could the compliment.
Her father used it, too. Sincerely, and yet it always seemed to undermine any value she had as a person. It had become an annoyance. A near insult in its own right.
But for some reason, hearing it from Zahir’s lips made something happen inside of her. A warm kind of tingling that spread through her body, pooling low in her stomach.
She blinked and looked up at him, into his flat, black eyes. “I … because I have to. The wedding. We have to show strength.”
Her words were clumsy. And they were wrong. There was so much more to this now, to what she was feeling. But she didn’t know what else to say. Always, she had worked for her country’s betterment. Even her time in the hospitals had been in service of their military men. She didn’t really know how to separate what she wanted from what she was supposed to do.
Except for those light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel moments where she had some vague, exhilarating sense of freedom. Whatever that meant.
Although now, sitting with Zahir, even with the tension and sadness, she felt peace. A kind of peace she never felt.
The car turned, taking the more densely populated route that would lead them into the heart of the city. She sensed Zahir tensing next to her and stretched her hand out so that her fingertips rested against his. She’d said the wrong thing, but the physical touch seemed like the right thing.
And he accepted it.
The road narrowed and became more crowded with vehicle and foot traffic as they neared the market, and everything slowed to a crawl. She could sense Zahir’s anxiety as the people closed in on the car, weaving around them so they could cross the street.
“Look at me,” she said.
He turned his head, his forehead glossed with sweat, his jaw set tight.
“Look at me,” she said again. “I’m here. So are you.”
His hand drifted closer to hers until it engulfed it, his thumb lightly moving over her knuckles. He tightened his hold on her for a moment, then released, then squeezed again. Her chest felt tight, too tight. Watching him fight like he was, she felt like she was seeing strength beyond anything she’d ever witnessed. Because he was battling inner demons that went well beyond what most men would be asked to face. Beyond what anyone should ever be asked to endure.
“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she said softly.
“Just keep doing it,” he said, his teeth gritted. “Because it seems to be working.”
Her throat tightened. She was angry. So angry that he was dealing with this. That someone had done this to him. And she didn’t know what sort of help or hope she could offer.
“What did you do last night?” she asked.
He blew out a breath, his jaw loosening slightly. “Caught an intruder in my bedroom.”
She felt the corners of her mouth tug up into a smile. “Before that.”
“I was riding. My horse. She makes up for what I can’t see. And while there are cars with the technology to help with that … it isn’t the same.”
“No, it couldn’t be. Animals have an intuition that technology can’t possess. I like to ride, too.” She took a breath. Took a chance. “I’d like to go out with you. Riding, I mean.”
He nodded slowly. “In the evening sometime,” he said. “When it isn’t too hot.”
“I’d like that.”
They were through the center of town, through the crowd of people. He relaxed, pulling his hand away and placing it in his lap.
“Are you ready to go back?” she asked, wondering if they’d pushed hard enough for the day.
“I’m fine,” he said.
And she knew that he meant it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ZAHIR stopped in the doorway of the library. Katharine was there, sitting by the fireplace, an orange glow bathing the pages of her book, and her pale skin. The fire wasn’t really necessary, even though the desert did get cooler at night. But he had a feeling Katharine had lit it for ambiance, comfort. She was that kind of person. The kind who enjoyed moments, small, simple things. Like flowers in vases.
When it didn’t irritate him, it amazed him. Made him ache for something he didn’t truly believe he could ever find for himself.
It made him feel like he should turn away from her. To go back to where things were numb.
But he didn’t want to. For the moment, he would take the ache with the pleasure of seeing her. “Come riding with me.”
She looked up at him, a smile spreading over her face. “I’d love to.” She stood from the chair she’d been sitting in and set her book on the side table.
It did strange things to his stomach, to have her say she wanted to do something with him. And she smiled at him. Very few people smiled at him.
But then, Katharine was like very few people.
“Not in that,” he said, looking at the brief sundress she was wearing. It was her standard uniform, and one he wouldn’t complain about, because he could look at her legs all day, but it wasn’t workable riding gear. Even if the thought did make his blood pump faster, hotter than it had in years.
“I’ll change.”
She walked past him and his eyes were drawn down to the shapely curve of her hips as they swayed with each step. Fierce hunger gripped him, lust tightening into his stomach like metal hooks, digging deep, painfully so.
He wanted her with a need that defied logic. A need that defied reality. Katharine had an untouchable beauty, ethereal and earthy at the same time. The kind a man could only dream of tasting once in his life.
The kind he could never touch.
And she was to be his wife. But not his wife in any true sense of the word. A woman still so far out of his reach, she might as well be back in her own country. A woman he had no right to touch.
He’d been crazy to force her to stay in Austrich as part of the arrangement. At the time, he’d been trying to punish her. Now he could see it was only punishing him.
She had offered herself to him once, offered to have a marriage with him on whatever terms he desired. Right now, he desired whatever terms would make stripping her of that little dress and losing himself in her body acceptable.
“Just a second,” she said, slipping into her room and closing the door behind her.
He rested his palm, still raw from the day he’d fallen into the broken vase shards, on the cold, painted wood of the door. It was a poor substitute for the warm, soft flesh of a woman. But it would have to do.
It had been so long since he’d touched a woman’s skin. But he would rather live as a monk for the rest of his life than force a woman into his bed. Not physically, and not through manipulation. He would have a partner who desired him. An impossible desire, perhaps. Pride still lived in him, as much as his injuries would allow. That, and humanity. He would never sink to such a base level. He might be known as a Beast, but he was still a man. No amount of sexual frustration would strip him of that.
He curled his fingers in, making a fist that still rested against the cool surface of the door. He was a man. He would not use her need for marriage, her altruistic intentions to save her country, to get her into bed.
But he was tempted. So much he shook with it. Tempted to disregard what she might want, how she might feel about him, what letting his guard down to that degree might do to both of them, and think of his desire alone.
“Ready.” She opened the door and stepped out in a pair of figure-hugging sand-colored leggings and a structured olive-green jacket. It was like the runway version of a riding outfit. Fitted, sleek and eye-catching.
It was also the antithesis of a solution as far as getting his libido reined in was concerned.
“Come out this way.” He started to head out toward the back of the palace, the exit that was nearest the stables, where the horses were waiting, already tacked up.
He looked down at her hand and was tempted to take it in his. As he had done yesterday. She had been his anchor then. Had kept him from slipping over into that abyss that always came just before his mind was assaulted by violent flashbacks.
He tightened his hand into a fist and denied the impulse, letting her simply follow him.
“I haven’t been out to the stables yet. I didn’t … I wasn’t really sure if it might be off-limits to me.”
“And yet you find my bedroom a nice place to pass time in the evening.”
“Well, I was looking for you. And I … I know I’ve made a mess of some things here, Zahir.”
“The mess was already made, Katharine,” he said, having to force his words through his tightened throat. “Why do you do that?”
“Why do I do what?”
“For a woman with such confidence, you seem to take on more than your share of fault.”
“I just … I want to be useful.”
“Is that all?”
She was silent then, no witty comeback to that response. For the first time, he felt sorry for her. She was doing what she felt was right, what she felt she had to do, and yet, by her own admission, this experience was comparable to being in a darkened tunnel. And she was waiting for the light. That moment when she could be free. Of all this. Of him. Of the disaster that he was.
“Perhaps,” she said, finding her witty comeback, he assumed, “you see it in me because the same tendency lives in you.”
“I have earned every ounce of my guilt.”
“No,” she said, “you haven’t. The guilt belongs to other men, Zahir. The men who attacked your family. All for what?”
“Money,” he said. “Power.”
“All things you don’t seem to care about. Or even want. I don’t see how you think you have a stake in this.”
“Because I am left. I had to have committed a sin to manage that,” he said.
“Or maybe you were blessed.”
“That’s the last thing I feel, latifa.”
He opened the door to the outside and relished the feel of the cool evening wind on his face. This was when he felt normal. Alive. Otherwise he just felt … nothing, either that or a crippling guilt. Well, he could add lust to the list now. Nothing, guilt and lust. It was a small step, but it was a step.
The horses, one bay and one black, were waiting just outside the barn, tethered to the fence. He walked over to the larger, black mare and stroked her nose. The horses didn’t fear him. “This is Lilah. You can ride her. She’s very gentle.”
“The sentiment is appreciated, but I don’t need gentle.”
That statement made a dark cascade of erotic thoughts spin through his mind, made him pause for a moment as he thought of all the hidden meanings her statement could possess.
“Noted,” he said, jaw clenched tight.
“And who’s your handsome gentleman there?” she asked.
He put his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over his mount. “Nalah doesn’t appreciate being called a he.”
“Sorry. I assumed—” she pulled herself up onto Lilah “—that a big strong man like you would ride a stallion.”
“Oh, no, definitely not. Not a good idea to have two stallions together, you know?”
She laughed, a shocked burst of sound that echoed through the paddock. “Did you just call yourself a stallion?”
He felt a smile teasing the edges of his lips, such a foreign feeling, even more so the small bit of contentment that accompanied it. Such a strange thing to talk to another person like this. To find that barrier of fear and uncertainty absent. Pride grew in him, mingling with the surge of warmth that was trickling through his veins. He had made her smile, after she had looked so sad.
“I did,” he said.
“Mmm … quite the ego.”
“If you can beat me to that last fence post over there, the one just in front of the large rock formation, you might just put a dent in it.”
She grinned at him and urged Lilah on with her feet, not waiting for further word from him. Fine as far as he was concerned. He could watch her shapely backside rise and fall with the motion of the horse, and then pass her at the end, of that he had no doubt. He couldn’t drive safely, couldn’t walk without a limp, but on the back of a horse, things were seamless. Easy.
The sand pounded beneath Nalah’s hooves, a beat that resounded in his body, in his soul. It made him feel complete. Healed in some ways. The sun dipped completely behind one of the few flat mountains that dotted the Hajari skyline and bathed everything in a purple glow.
He could still see Katharine clearly, pale ankles and face visible in the dim lighting. She had such a delicate look to her, and yet nothing could be further from the truth. Delicate, she was not. She was strength personified.
But she wasn’t going to win the race.
He overtook her at the last moment with ease and she let out a short, sharp curse word when she came to a stop just behind him, her hair wild around her face, her breathing labored, cheeks flushed pink.
“Oh, you knew you were going to do that, didn’t you?” she said, gasping and laughing at the same time.
“Of course I did.” He slid off of Nalah, grimacing as pain shot through his thigh when his feet made contact with the hard ground. The sand was thinner here, the terrain a bit rockier, and his muscle noticed the lack of extra cushion.
Katharine dismounted, too, and shook her main of coppery hair out, sending the faint scent of vanilla into the air, into him. It was like a sucker punch straight to his gut.
“Fair enough. If we’d been on my home turf, I would have done the same to you.”
“Speaking of home turf,” he said, ignoring the tightness of desire that was making itself felt at the apex of his thighs, drowning out any muscle pain he’d been experiencing. “I want to show you something.”
This hadn’t been part of the plan, but now that they were here it seemed logical somehow. She would want to see this. She’d been connected to Malik, too. There were so few people in his life that were.
There were so few people in his life, full stop. But it suddenly made sharing this seem vital. If someone else knew, then the memory would have a better chance at living. And maybe it wouldn’t feel quite so heavy on him.
He led Nalah to the post and tethered her to it, more of a precaution than he probably needed to take, but he didn’t chance things with his horses. Katharine followed his lead.
“All right, lead the way.”
“This way.”
Katharine followed Zahir, her heart still pounding, from the exhilaration of the ride, and from the intense adrenaline high that came just from being with him. Zahir was an experience all on his own. Infuriating, fascinating, arousing. She’d never known anyone like him.
Certainly Malik hadn’t been like this. He’d been fun. Easygoing. Truthfully, five years ago Zahir hadn’t even been like that. He’d been more of an enigma, always a bit more serious than his brother, but nothing like the man she’d got to know over the past week.
She followed him to the outcropping of rocks that seemed to have been placed there, everything around it flat and desolate for miles.
There was a small space between the rocks, just big enough for them to pass through.
“What is this?” she asked, looking at the green surroundings. The rocks curved inward and offered partial shade, and water trickled down the side of the natural walls.
“Amal, the Oasis of Hope. This was what drew the first band of my people here to Kadim. Hajar is mostly flat and shelter from the elements is hard to find. They had been walking through the desert for weeks with no reprieve, and they found this outcropping. There was water, shelter.”
“And eventually a palace nearby. And a city,” she finished.
“The city came first. But this has always been a special place to my family. Malik and I used to come here as boys. A place we could play, escape the heat and the indoors.”
She could picture them as they’d been. Boys with no cares. “Things must have seemed simpler then.”
He shrugged. “Yes and no. I always knew. Always knew that Malik had a heavy burden to carry. I was always grateful that it wasn’t me.” He laughed, the sound cold and flat in the enclosed space. “I have wondered …” He looked down, then back at her. “I have wondered if that’s why I’m left. A trick of fate. I was always much more content with my lot. So happy that it was my brother who bore the responsibility of leadership.” He cleared his throat. “I was a military officer. I should have seen the signs. I should have known.”
She touched his forearm. “You should have known what?”
“I should have known what was coming. I’ve seen war. Usually, I … feel things in my gut. That day, there was nothing. I was blindsided. We all were. And I was the only one who had no excuse. It never should have got past me.”
“You couldn’t have known, Zahir.”
“I know,” he said harshly. “I know.” He softened his tone. “But sometimes I still think I should have been able to stop it.”
“No. The only people who could have stopped it are the ones who did it. They could have turned back that day. They didn’t.”
“All for power. Fools. Power is an empty thing.”
“Not if you use it right.”
“And spare few do. Power, the lust of it, is why you’re here and not at home. Why you have to guard Alexander. Because of people who will do anything to get it.”
“So it’s the ones who don’t want it who do best with it. That’s why you’re such a good leader, Zahir.”
“And what about you, Katharine the Great?” She arched her brow at the nickname and he pressed on. “What about you and all the responsibility you take on? Is it your job to fix everyone?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what else to do. Unlike you, I do feel called to rule. And yet I can’t. I never will. I have to … do something. Find a way to … matter. And if I fix things to accomplish it, then okay. I’ll be the one to fix things.”
He looked at her for a long time, his dark eyes assessing her, causing prickles of heat to fire beneath her skin, making her want to close the gap between them, then share her warmth. Because he looked cold, and she wanted so badly to make the cold go away for him.
“You do not need to fix me,” he said, his voice flat.
Suddenly she realized she didn’t know how. She offered him platitudes. They were even true, but they weren’t … enough. She’d been taught to lead with her head, and it wasn’t enough with Zahir. She wanted to put a bandage on it and call it better, when she doubted if that were even possible.
She looked at him standing there, a warrior, even if he was a warrior scarred by battle. The scars inside were so much worse than the ones that covered his skin. And she had the swirling, helpless sensation of knowing she wouldn’t be enough for him. That she would never be able to reach him.
“It was easier today,” Zahir said, entering the library.
Katharine set her book aside and treated him to one of her easy smiles, a sight he’d become more accustomed to than he should have. More than he’d like to admit.
“I’m glad.”
The drive into town today had been easier. They had been getting progressively so. The touch of Katharine’s hand, her face, they anchored him. Kept him in the present. Ironic since he had attributed the flashbacks to her, to his losing control.
The wedding was another matter. Hundreds of people with their eyes trained on them, the chance for him to either emerge in triumph, or humiliate his people. His family name. It was hard to explain, even to himself, what he thought might happen in that situation. The possibility of lost time, a loss of control, with an audience, was more terrifying and more likely than the chance of another attack.
And that he had control over. At least he was finding he did. That there were touchstones he could reach out to. That Katharine’s voice could keep the gates that held back the memories locked up tight. That there were things other than the exhausting, all-consuming use of his self-will to keep himself from experiencing them in crowded spaces.
“The wedding will be easy,” he said.
“Easy?” She pushed up out of the chair and stood, arms folded. He allowed himself a tour of her curves, welcomed the tightening of lust in his gut. “Weddings are never easy, no matter what the circumstances.”
“I thought you were trying to make me feel better about all this.”
“I’m just trying to get us through,” she said.
“A lofty goal.”
“I think it’s all any engaged couple can hope for.”
“You may have a point there,” he said. “Although my first engagement was brief.”
“Oh … Amarah.”
The venom in her tone amused him. “Amarah wasn’t evil.”
“I can’t imagine her as anything else,” she said. “She should have stayed with you.”
“So you didn’t end up having to deal with me?”
“No. Because she made a promise to you.”
He gritted his teeth, hating to tell the story, yet feeling he had to. So she could understand. “You remember how I was the first time in the market.” She nodded. “I was like that all the time after. Moments of lucidity followed by endless screaming, raging. I was in pain, and the medication I was given to manage either made me sleep or made reality become blurred. I was not the man she knew. I didn’t even look like the man she knew. The skin on my face was so badly burned I wasn’t recognizable. And for a while they thought my mind was gone, too. I thought it was. There was so much grief. So much pain everywhere, inside of me, my skin felt like it was still on fire. And when I started to shut it down, my memories, my emotions, then I could function. Then I could learn to walk, learn to deal with losing the vision in my eye. How could I have asked her to stay? How could I have asked her to live with the Beast?”
“You aren’t … “
“I was. Then especially.” He had never spoken these words to anyone. Never told the whole truth of it. But he wanted her to know.
Her green eyes were filled with pain. Not pity. Nothing so condescending. It was as though she felt what he’d felt. As though she shared in it. “How did you even go on, though? To lose your family … and then her?”
“I had Hajar. And I knew that I had to protect my people. That it was left to me. And as much as I am not a ruler … I had to do what I could. I started with homeland security, moved into hospitals for children who had been victims of attacks. We treat children from all over the world for free. Of course to support that I had to work on new ways of bringing revenue in. It’s kept me going.”
“How can you think you aren’t meant to be a ruler, Zahir? Your people … “
“Are afraid of me.”
“Maybe because you haven’t shown them who you really are.”
She said it with such earnest sweetness, as though she truly believed there was something in him worth valuing, even after his admission of how … dark and empty he was inside. Maybe she just didn’t understand. He’d been told that could be part of the PTSD, too. The absence of emotion. But it didn’t go away. Other things had gotten better, but the blank void inside him remained. And knowing that it might have a medical cause did nothing to make it less acute.
He looked at her, studied the way she looked at him. And he longed to change it. He turned away from her. “So I have been preparing to deal with the crowd. Is there anything else?”
“We … we’ll have to dance. We don’t have to dance, actually. If your leg … “