Broken Dove (Fantasyland, #4)

by Kristen Ashley

“There’s only one parallel universe but there are many different dimensions and you don’t want to go to any of those.”

“Why are you—?” He cut me off again with, “I could not save her.” Oh boy. He kept going. “But I can save you.”

Then I started to think on things and I got mad. Sure, one could say I didn’t want to go back to Pol and endure a life with him, walking on eggshells, taking my beatings whenever whatever was in his head would snap and he’d lose it. Then planning my escape and escaping, only to be found, beaten, dragged back and starting the process all over again and doing all this not-very-fun stuff until the day I died. That didn’t work for me. As in really didn’t work. But I’d been transported by a freaking witch to a freaking parallel universe by a man grieving his wife who was my twin. Then he got me, held me in his arms as I slept (and seriously, what was that all about) and for some reason decided he didn’t want me (not that I wanted him, either, for God’s sake). And finally, he threw me to the proverbial wolves.

Here and in my world, hell, anywhere, I knew what she was. I knew. She was a prostitute and she was here for Apollo. She’d also been here before and the activities they’d engaged in, she’d liked (a woman didn’t get wistful for nothing). And they’d done them in this room.

with Maddie, the way she was, the sadness constantly lurking in her eyes, the joy she allowed to show openly coating it, it was impossible not to bond. There was something about her that made a man wish to watch over her. There was something else about her that made a man wish to get to know her, prod under a veneer Achilles was certain she thought was a shield, but didn’t understand it was flimsy. It made a man wish to dig deeper and discover what lay beneath.

Derrik shook his head. “I won’t. You left her alone, forlorn and frightened. She will not be alone, she’ll not be frightened and she’ll never be forlorn. Not with me,”

“Me and the men. Maddie is our Ilsa. We called her madam out of respect and because it was too difficult to call her Ilsa remembering the one before her. Through that, she became Maddie.” This intimacy, this shared history, no matter how recent, struck Apollo in his gut and the poison again started to rise in his throat.

“You speak of my wife so you knew my response before you made your pronouncement,” he declared. “You’ll not take her. She isn’t yours to have. She’s mine.” “She isn’t. She’s Maddie. And she’s free to do what she wishes with whom she wishes it,” Derrik returned. His meaning clear, it was another blow and more poison choked him. “Careful, brother,” Apollo whispered. “I understand you,” Derrik told him, his voice gentling. “I understand what you’re feeling.”

“You can’t not want her and still have her, Lo.” “I can do whatever I gods damn want, Rik,” Apollo returned. “I paid for her to be here. She’s my wife. I’ll see to her and I’ll protect her.”

“It would seem I am much like your father, Madeleine, for no matter how I wish to keep you from harm, you consistently find your way into it by making rash decisions that lead to dire consequences.” After he finished, I stared at him hoping he did not just say that. Or, since he obviously did, that he would immediately take it back. I’d told him all about my father. He knew. He freaking knew. He knew that wasn’t right and he knew how his saying that would make me feel. I stood there, staring at him, and gave it time. Apollo didn’t take it back. “He didn’t wish to keep me from harm,” I whispered and I wanted to kick myself because it sounded uncertain and it bloody wasn’t. Then I pointed out, “When offered the chance, he didn’t even try.” “Or he may have been smart enough to know when he should give up.” Now, he did just say that. He’d said it.

I’d run away from Pol so I wasn’t his literal whipping post. I didn’t need to be with a man who used me as his verbal one.

“You have my vow that I will not speak to you in that manner again, Maddie. No matter what is on my mind, what I’m feeling, how significant the things are that are troubling me. Like my son, I lashed out at someone I loved, hoping they’d take the pain I was inflicting so I could release some of the pain I was feeling. I should be old enough to know better. You know I regret it. What I must know is that you trust it won’t happen again.”

And this, Chris, is the lesson you should take from what’s happened. When you speak, you must be aware of what you say, how it can be taken and who may hear it. But mostly, if you speak at all, you should know what you’re talking about.”