My Maddie (Hades Hangmen 8)

“I knew we were not ready to be parents,” I confessed. I inhaled slowly and deeply in an attempt to dislodge the lump blocking my throat. “I had taken precautions. I had done since we married. But they must not have worked. The doctor told me it can happen, even when I have done everything correctly.” Though buried in such stifling trepidation, I felt the corners of my lips curl into the flicker of a small smile. “Despite it all, despite this being unplanned and too soon, I cannot feel unhappy. I am…” I blinked away the tears that were beginning to spring to my eyes. “I am so happy I feel I cannot contain it.” Mae wiped away a stray tear from my cheek.

“God knew this was your time,” Lilah said, and I met my sister’s eyes as she lay in the bed. “The new pastor at our church said that our babies are once angels in heaven, watching over us, keeping us safe, merely waiting for the right time to be called to us. They arrive when God sees fit to bless our lives.” My heart swelled at the beautiful image those words conjured up.

“Maybe this is your reward for enduring what you have, with Brother Moses. And Flame too—this is his reward for his terrible past,” Phebe added. I nodded, trying to believe it was true. Nevertheless, I was convinced that Flame would not regard our baby to be a blessing.

My sisters must have sensed my hesitation as their encouraging smiles fell into concerned frowns. “Flame will not cope with this. I know it.” I took a deep breath, the kind I believed a warrior must take before facing what they knew would be a tumultuous battle. “I will have to guide him through this. I will have to be strong for the both of us. Somehow, I must make him believe that our baby is a divine gift, not an evil to fear.” I stroked both hands over my slightly curved stomach. “This baby is both of us, the perfect mix of our souls.” I laughed a single quiet laugh. “I love that man with my entire heart. Though I am not sure he will ever accept it to be true. No matter how far we have come, I do not believe he has ever understood the depth of my adoration for him. No, he believes himself unworthy. It is my life’s mission to make Flame understand how cherished he really is. Not only how loved he is by me, but also by his brothers and family.”

I paused, enraptured by a sudden daydream, envisioning Flame holding our tiny baby in his arms. His tattooed, muscular arms gently cradling our child, his black eyes captivated by the living expression of our love. The baby would coo and move in his safe hands, loving its father with all its heart too. The rush of emotion that blanketed my soul was a soothing balm to my fraught and fragile nerves. He would be the perfect father if he just let himself believe it. If he let himself become what he had never had. A man who loved his child with the entirety of his being. A protector. The guardian of the light of our lives.

“I cannot explain it.” Lilah’s soft voice pulled me from that most perfect vision. Mae was placing Talitha in Lilah’s other arm. Our sister held her twins, whom she had fought so hard for, like the precious gifts they were. Lilah stared into their eyes, one at a time, as if she could barely get her fill of such perfection. Finally, she looked up, and her attention was focused on me. “I cannot explain how it feels to finally meet your child, or children, in my case. I cannot explain the overwhelming sensation of happiness and fulfilment. But also the fear so heavy it leaves you breathless. Fear of anyone hurting them.” Lilah’s bottom lip trembled. “I have found a strength I never knew I harbored. I know I would give my life for theirs without question. I know that I would do anything to keep them safe, until the day I die.” Lilah smiled. “My little Grace showed me the way when I thought all hope had been lost. She was my miracle after everything that happened in New Zion. She was God showing me I could be the mother I always dreamed. Azrael and Talitha are an extension of the mother’s love Grace already brought from my damaged soul.” Tears fell down Lilah’s cheeks. “I feel so unbelievably blessed that I cannot even articulate what I mean to say.”

“You nailed it, Li.” Sia sat on the edge of Lilah’s bed. “My nieces and nephew are the best. And you deserve all of this. And despite getting on my last nerve, so does Ky. But don’t tell him. He already has a big enough ego.” Lilah laughed, and Sia winked.

The door to the room opened and Grace ran in. “Mama! I made Zane buy me all the things! And I even got a few snacks for you too.” Sia slid from the bed and Grace jumped into her arms.

“Thank you, baby,” Lilah said, smiling at her daughter.

“Aunt Sia?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I think Zane is real pretty.”

Sia’s eyes widened. “Do not, under any circumstances, let your papa hear you say that!” I laughed at the worried look on Sia’s and Lilah’s faces.

“Why not? Papa said I shouldn’t ever lie to him. Especially about boys.”

“There are some lies that are necessary,” Sia countered, sitting down on her chair with Grace on her lap. “The ones that stop Zane from being skinned alive are essential.”

“What’s this about Zane?” Ky’s voice came from the doorway. AK and Styx following.

“Err, he was good, you know, getting Gracie-girl some snacks,” Sia uttered, tripping over her words. Ky frowned at his sister, shook his head and then focused on his wife.

My sisters moved so Ky could pick up the babies. He lifted Azrael in his arms. Turning to Styx, he said, “Meet the future VP of the Hangmen.” Styx smirked and picked up Charon, who was wriggling in Mae’s arms. As I watched Ky and Styx holding their sons, then Ky giving Lilah Azrael and taking hold of Talitha, all I saw was Flame holding our baby one day. Smiling as freely as Styx and Ky. Flame did not smile much. I prayed we could one day be just like this.

As though my heart sensed him near, my gaze drifted to the open doorway. Flame stood beyond the door; his attention fixed intently on me. “Flame,” I acknowledged and held out my hand. He saw my offered hand, but then firmly shook his head. His gaze darted to the babies, and I saw raw fear in his stare. He stumbled back a few steps but forced himself stand his ground, keeping me firmly in sight. My heart split in two at the sheer panic on his face. His hands were curled into fists at his side, and I could see his brow glistening with stress. My husband did not like hospitals because of what he endured before AK and Viking found him in a psychiatric hospital. But seeing him like this… it destroyed me.

I moved to Lilah’s side. She held both babies once again. “I need to go home,” I insisted quietly, not wanting to disturb the happy conversations around me. Lilah’s gaze drifted over my shoulder to Flame. She nodded softly and I kissed her goodbye. I ran my finger over each of the twins’ cheeks. “I will be back soon, little ones.”

“It will all work out. Trust in this, sister,” Lilah said with conviction. I left the room and approached Flame. His eyes were wide and fearful, the whites too bright against his midnight irises. Holding out my hand, I said, “Shall we go home?” He nodded vigorously, but when I went to hold his hand, he flinched and pulled it back toward his chest, as if my touch were infectious. My pulse kicked into a frantic, panicked beat. Flame stepped back from me—one single but heavy step. In that moment it felt like we were an ocean apart. Even worse, after he had moved, I caught sight of his wrist. My heart shattered when I saw the drying blood staining his tattooed skin. He had been digging his nails into his skin. Only this time, he had managed to pierce the flesh.

Dread washed through me. He was getting worse.

“Flame… baby…” I whispered and slowly approached him, hands at my sides. Flame’s nostrils flared at my proximity. But he did not move away when I reached his taut and fearful frame. My soul began to cry. What could be causing this? Why did he suddenly fear me, the only person he had ever let in? Fear my touch, the touch that calmed his demons? I felt sick. Not with my pregnancy, but with the loss of my husband’s acceptance. It was the most treasured thing we both had—the freedom to touch and love the other without payment or condition. “Shall we go home?” I prayed my voice was not shaking, even though inside I trembled like a leaf shuddering in a

Fall storm. I did not put my hand in his, nor did I attempt to touch him and cause him pain. I needed to get him home, where he felt safe.

Flame turned and walked beside me in silence, into the elevator and then out of the hospital. I hoped that being out of the building would relax him some, but it did not. He kept glancing my way, his dark eyebrows pulled down in worry.

The truck’s engine sounded as loud as cracking thunder as we drove, still without a word, out of downtown Austin and then to the Hangmen compound. The moment we were in the privacy of our home, I turned to face my husband. Holding out my hand, I begged, “Take my hand, baby.”

I watched him. Studied every move he made for answers. As I dangled my hand in the fragile space between us, I saw his eyes flare and his lips grow tight. Flame’s fingers twitched. I knew he wanted me. I could see the longing in his desperate gaze. It broke my heart. Flame’s fears often broke my heart. My husband, part dangerous killer and ultimate protector, part lost and broken soul forever seeking some kind of light. “Please, baby,” I said, this time losing the battle to stop the trembling in my voice. “It is me. Your Maddie. Your wife.”

“My Maddie,” Flame croaked, his face contorted with pain. He shook his head, and before I could comfort him, he brought his hands to the side of his skull and began to hit himself. “Not again. I can’t do this again.”

“Flame!” I jumped forward. Flame rushed out of my way and backed against the kitchen wall until he hit the plaster with a dull thud. “What is happening?” I demanded, fear becoming my leading emotion.

Flame’s muscular neck corded with tension, but with a gentle and lost hopelessness in his voice, said, “I’m hurting you.” He stared at his palms like they were the Antichrist. They were shaking. It destroyed me, eviscerating my heart, which was waiting for his confession, before beating again. Flame looked into my eyes as he began to crumble. “You’re still sick. I can still see it on your face, on your pale lips. You never lie to me. But I know you’re sick. I’m…” I froze as Flame reached out his hand, stopping just a hairsbreadth from my cheek. His gaze shone with unshed tears of agony. “It’s me,” he stated, so quietly I could scarcely hear his deep, broken timbre. “It’s finally happening.” He dropped his hand and ran his fingertips down the pattern of the veins on his wrist. “The flames are growing stronger. They’re getting to you too.” Flame blinked and a tear dropped to his chest, slipping under the collar of his white shirt. “I can’t hurt you. Not my Maddie. I can’t. I won’t …”

My stomach turned, nausea building in my throat. I shook my head since I could not find my voice. “No,” I rasped, realization dawning on me like the sun bursting from behind a gray cloud. “Flame.” I took a few slow steps forward. My husband looked lost, at a loss for what to do. “It is my fault.” The confession slipped easily from my lips. I had kept this from him. All the while, he had believed he was hurting me. He watched me. He always watched me. I loved that he cared for me so profoundly. But seeing me tired and sick … What had I done? He paid too much attention to me to believe there was nothing wrong, even though I told him I was fine.

“I promise I am not sick.” I reached for his hand and clasped mine tightly around it. Flame tried to draw it back, to pull away, but I held on tight. “Your touch does not harm me,” I said sternly. Flame froze in fear. Moving onto my tiptoes, I pressed my free hand to his bearded cheek. “I am not sick, baby.” I brought our hands to my lips and kissed along his tattooed, scarred skin. It bumped at my touch. A quick breath left his slightly parted lips. I watched the inner struggle, the pain I knew plagued him, drain from his body.

“Maddie,” Flame murmured, his voice graveled with emotion. His hand tightened in mine, so gentle in contrast to his large frame. “I can’t hurt you. Not you.” My eyes fluttered to a close when his other hand passed by my cheek and threaded into my long black hair. “Not you. You’re…” My eyes opened and I watched him search for a word to convey his feelings. To express the emotion he always struggled to comprehend. “I love you. I would die if you died.”

“Flame…”

“You keep the flames away. The devil doesn’t touch me when you’re near.”

Moving my head closer, I pressed my lips to his. It had taken us a long time to arrive at this moment. Both wary of affection and touch because of the monsters in our pasts. But, together, we’d chased the monsters back into their caves. We worked tirelessly every day to keep them at bay. And our kisses… every kiss we shared was our collective battle cry that we would not be taken down so easily again. Together we were stronger. Love helped us keep standing.

Flame moaned against my mouth. I could feel his reluctance to let go. I knew the voice inside his head would be telling him he was hurting me, that I would be harmed—the voice of his father, who had plagued him with self-doubt and hatred. So, I kissed Flame harder, running my hands along his broad shoulders until he had no choice but to respond. He pushed both hands into my hair and kissed me back with abandon. The relief was palpable inside me as his fingers moved through my long strands. “I am not hurt,” I whispered against his mouth. Flame moaned louder, a pained and disbelieving sound. “Your touch will never hurt me.” I kissed Flame between my words, never breaking the contact he so desperately feared. “You are not evil, and you will never be anything to me but my husband, whom I love so, so much.”

“Maddie.” Flame dropped his forehead to mine, just breathing in the air we shared as he held me in his tremulous hands. “I can’t lose you.”

“You will not,” I said and took a step back. With a reassuring smile on my lips, I led him into our bedroom. Flame followed. I knew he would always follow me, just as I would forever follow him. Once inside our bedroom, our place of solace, where so many demons had been silenced by our joinings, I closed the door. I wanted to banish the world for a while. Needed just him and me. Flame needed to be brought back to a place of peace, with me.

I needed him too. He calmed the fire in my own blood.

Flame kept his gaze on me as I gently placed my hands on his chest. His muscles twitched beneath my palms, but my husband stood still and allowed me to caress him. His breathing increased in tempo. It would always be this way, I understood that. Being touched would never come easily to him. But with me, it was something he could stand. With me, it was something he could treasure and enjoy. It was something he had learned to crave. As I did him. After years of rape and sadistic abuse, I felt completely safe with this man whom I loved beyond measure.

With careful hands, I rolled off Flame’s cut, hearing it fall to the floor. Running my hands back down his chest, I reached the hem of his shirt and slowly slid it over his torso, his flame tattoos shining in vibrant reds and oranges as he was bared to my eyes. The tattoos reminded Flame of demons and the sin and hellfire he believed ran through his veins. To me they were a vibrant sunset, the colorful antithesis of darkness offering the promise of a new day.

I pulled the shirt over Flame’s head and it joined the cut on the floor. “You are beautiful,” I whispered and pressed a kiss to his chest, on the spot his fragile heart lay beneath. Flame hissed at my touch and his eyes flickered closed, black lashes kissing smooth olive skin. I traced the orange flames with my finger. I smiled, knowing this really was where I belonged. With whom I belonged. “You could never hurt me, baby. You are my salvation, my remedy, my salve. You were a dream fulfilled and a hope granted.”

“Maddie …” Flame’s voice trailed off into silence as his eyes rolled open. Stepping backward, I unzipped my dress and let the loose material fall to the floor. With Flame’s eyes on me, I unclasped my bra, removed my undergarments, and let them drop to the floor. Flame’s chest rose and fell as he watched me. He made me feel beautiful, always beautiful. He made me feel worthy after years of worthlessness and self-hatred.

For a moment, I wondered if he would see the change in my stomach. But Flame rarely looked at my body. He would not notice if it changed. He always looked deeply int

o my eyes.

Flame scarcely met people’s eyes—he found the connection too much to bear. That he could focus on me this way showed the trust we had found in each other.

“Touch me,” I commanded quietly, my voice echoing around the room. “Please, baby. I…” My breathing hitched. “I need you too.”

Flame’s many piercings glimmered in the fading light spearing in through the window. I was not sure he would move, let alone follow me to our bed. But with measured steps forward, he ran the backs of his fingers along my cheek. It was a gossamer touch, a feather gently settling on the surface of a still winter’s lake. Yet I felt it as though I were walking on the surface of the sun. Heaven’s gates themselves adorning me with their light and warmth. And I basked in the love that poured from his touch.

His hands traveled south, down my neck and to my chest. Goosebumps accosted my skin when Flame’s fingertips drifted over my breasts. I shuddered, chills skirting down my spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Meeting his gaze, I felt full of such peace, the sensation akin to floating.

“Come,” I invited and, entwining his fingers with mine, led him to our bed. I sat on the edge of the mattress. Flame stood before me, his affection for me burning like pyres in his eyes. People did not see what I saw when they looked at him. They believed him to be emotionless and cold. But I saw the secrets he withheld, as though they were written on his skin for only me to see. I saw his hopes and his fears, as if I had been made by God to be the interpreter for this man. The holder of the key that unlocked Flame’s troubled soul. Best of all, I read how much he loved me, even though his body language did not overtly express it. The telling glint that shone in his eyes was for me, only me.

Flame snapped the button on his leather pants and slid them down his legs. I lay back on the bed, and my heart fluttered as Flame delicately crawled above me. I never felt as safe as when he was above me, shielding me from the world, keeping us cocooned. Flame kissed me softly, as if he feared I would break if he pushed too far. “I need you,” I whispered and ran my hand through his black hair.