Page 33 of Shattered Illusion

Shifting her better in my arms, a whimper slips between her cracked lips as I squeeze her tighter to me. It’s then that I notice her clutching her wrist, black and blue bruises marring her perfect flesh, and blood oozing down her arm. Blood that smells insanely delicious, making my fangs throb. “Bailey.” My voice trembles. “What happened,cor meum? Did you have issues coming through the portal?”

“A-a-axel…” A sob erupts as she throws her arms around my neck, clutching me to her like a lifeline. She cries even harder as I feel her grab her wrist behind my neck, but I hold her to me, hoping to take away whatever has caused her to feel like this.

Getting to my feet is easy with her in my arms, her weight nothing but a mere feather to my strength, and I take her back to the couch she originally sat on the first time in my office. But I don’t dare let her go. I continue to hold her, rubbing what I hope are soothing circles on her back until she’s ready to tell me what’s going on.

Time means nothing as she continues to cry, her words incomprehensible. It takes all of my willpower to forget about potent raspberry merlot scent of her blood as I catch mumblings of asshole, professor, and something that sounds suspiciously like the word mate.

After what feels like an entire lifetime, Bailey’s tears finally subside, and she pulls away, refusing to make eye contact with me and leaving me feeling bereft. But thank the gods, she doesn’t climb off my lap. She just sits back, cradling her wrist against her chest protectively.

“Cor meum.” I cringe as my words cause her to flinch. What the fuck happened to cause that reaction? She wasn’t like this when I dropped her off three days ago. My body vibrates with fury, knowing someone is probably going to die. “Bailey, I reallyneed you to tell me what happened,” I push out through gritted teeth, not worried at all about breaking a fang. They grow back for this very reason.

Tears well in her eyes once again, and she doesn’t stop them from falling as she goes into detail about what transpired in the dining hall on Sunday to the pain she’s been on the receiving end in the past hour. As the words spill from between her trembling lips, my fury doubles. No, it fucking triples.

And the moment she mentions the professor claiming her as his mate—after fucking abusing her—I can’t hold it in anymore. I see fucking red.

Not wanting to hurtcor meummore than she already is, I carefully lift my sweetheart from my lap and make sure she’s comfortable on the black leather couch before crossing the room and finally unleashing my rage. My vision darkens around the edges as my desk cracks and splinters directly down the center. My laptop becomes a victim to the carnage as I pick up the device and hurl it toward the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Bailey’s scream echoes in my ears, clearing some of my hostility as the electronic shatters into a million pieces as it hits the glass, raining bits and pieces all over my once-pristine floor. As the fight flees my body, my gaze finds Bailey’s tear-soaked face, her body trembling as she curls into a ball. Shielding herself from my wrath.

But doesn’tcor meumknow that I’d never hurt her?

Of course she doesn’t, I chastise myself as I fall to my knees before her, my fingers itching to reach out and touch her. But seeing my own blood caking my hands stops me from making contact with my quivering sweetheart.

I lose myself at the sight of it, knowing the destruction I just caused from my lack of control.

Control. Something I’ve always prided myself on having an abundance of, that quickly snapped and wrought destruction thesecond I found out my girl got hurt. This isn’t like me. I’m not this person who leaves carnage in my wake. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was just like my dead soulmate. Maybe that’s why we were paired.

No. I can’t think like that. She murdered and plundered the land. I destroyed my office. There are major differences between what we’ve done.

“Ax-xel.” Her sweet, whimpering voice filters through my mind, pulling me back from my tumultuous thoughts. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly, dropping my hands to my sides. “Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong,cor meum. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m just extremely pissed off about what happened to you. But that can wait. I’ll deal with that later.” Grabbing the handkerchief from my pocket, I deftly wipe my hands, trying to clean off as much as possible so I can touch her.

The soiled rag joins the destruction behind me as I toss it over my shoulder. Now that my hands are semi-clean, I reach out, cupping Bailey’s face in one hand as I tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She melts into my touch as she has every time, even after the horrific display she just witnessed.

“I'll deal with what happened at the academy,cor meum. But what I want to know is why you haven't healed yourself.”

Her perfect brows pinch together, staring back at me like I have two heads. “Heal myself?” she murmurs, her lips twisted. “I don't know how to,” she whispers quietly, shame coloring her beautiful heart-shaped face. “I don't even know if I can.”

“Give me one moment,cor meum.” I feel bereft as I pull away from my sweet girl, but I know exactly who to call.

It takes a solid ten minutes to find my phone under the remaining pieces of my desk, but the moment it's in hand, I dial the one person I know who can heal her.

The line rings twice before an aged, croaky voice answers.

“My, my, Mr. Pennington. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

A smile tilts my lips despite the circumstances. “Olga, I am in need of your healing skills. I'll explain better when you're here. Just please, what you find in my office can't leave here.”

She clucks her tongue, and even over the phone, I know the old crone is rolling her eyes at me. “I know how to be discreet, young vampire. I'll be there in two shakes of a broom stick.” The line goes dead before I can correct her use of the saying or thank her.

“Who’s Olga?” Bailey asks as I pocket my phone, stepping over the rubble to rejoin her on the couch.

As I go to sit down, a pop echoes around my office, a body materializing out of thin air in front of us. Bailey squeals and slides over on the couch, tucking herself behind me, instinctively knowing I’ll protect her. But this is one person she doesn’t need protection from.

“There’s no hiding your prey from me, Mr. Pennington,” the old bat cackles gleefully, clapping her hands. “Did you go a little overboard in feeding? Tsk, tsk. I thought you knew better than that.”

This bitch. It’s times like this that I remember why I haven’t talked to her in years.

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