“Travis and Cammie were understandably quiet. In shock. Cammie was white faced and strangely tearless the entire time. It was as if she had no clue what was going on. Maybe she hadn’t accepted that our mother was gone. I just remember how quiet and still the house was. How ominous it was. I was scared to even be there because it was a house filled with . . . evil. His presence was everywhere. His stamp was on every piece of furniture, artwork. Nothing of my mother. None of her personal touches. The entire house screamed Walt and his influence. And then . . .”
She shuddered and went silent, remaining so as she visibly grappled with her anger—and grief. When she kept silent, her forehead furrowed, her lips drawn into thin, white lines, he leaned forward, sensing that she needed more than the brief touches he’d offered.
Carefully, gauging her reaction for any signs of protest, he pulled her into his arms. After only a moment’s hesitation, she went readily, burying her face in his chest. He anchored her against him, holding her tightly, his arms wrapped completely around her. He laid his cheek against her silky hair and breathed in her scent.
She felt so soft and warm in his arms and infinitely fragile. But so very precious. He’d give anything in the world to slay her dragons and the demons that haunted her dreams—and her reality.
“Then what, Eve?” he murmured against her hair. He needed to know the rest. And she needed to rid herself of the poison that had festered for so long.
She shuddered again in his arms and tensed, as if trying to hold back the mounting sobs. Had she ever cried? Even once? Or had she been too determined to put up a brave front for Travis and Cammie?
“He called me into his study. It was a room strictly off limits to everyone. My mother. Travis. Cammie. No one but him was ever allowed inside. Except business associates or friends he invited, but my mother had never stepped inside and neither had my brother and sister.
“I remember being so ill at ease. I was devastated by the loss of my mother. I was bitter and angry and convinced I was facing her killer. I worried what would happen to Travis and Cammie. If I would ever be allowed to see them again now that my mother—my only link to them—was gone.
“I hated the feeling that I was at his mercy. I hated . . . him. I’ve never hated anyone. I’ve never felt violence toward another human being, and yet if I’d had a gun in my hand in that moment I would have killed him.”
“Why did he call you into his study?” Donovan prompted softly.
She shuddered in his arms and then went completely still. Dread filled Donovan at her hesitation. He made himself loosen his grip around her because his emotions were in turmoil and his anger and frustration was mounting. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her inadvertently. To mark her beautiful skin. It made him physically ill to even think that his hand had caused a woman pain.
“He wanted . . . He wanted me to . . . Oh God, Donovan, it’s sick.”
Tears soaked into his shirt, the material clinging damply to his skin. He stroked a hand over her hair, murmuring words of comfort close to her ear.
“He wanted me to, for all practical purposes, replace my mother.”
Her voice was so filled with horror that each word was choked out as if it disgusted her to even say them out loud.
Donovan stilled as her statement played over and over in his mind. That could mean a lot of things, but he knew her stepfather’s intent was sick and twisted.
“He t-touched me. In a way he’d never touched me before. In fact, he had always been careful to maintain his distance. I wasn’t treated as family. As one of his children like Travis and Cammie. He was always so impersonal with me. And yet at times I could feel him staring at me and it made me so uncomfortable. I hated when he looked at me because I felt . . . unclean.”