My Maddie (Hades Hangmen #8) - Tillie Cole Page 0,88

in his blood illuminating our path.

Chapter Eleven

Maddie

A few days later…

I smoothed down Flame’s newly repaired cut. AK had taken his torn and sullied cut from the woods and had the Hangmen seamstress fix it. It was clean and free of blood—from both his skin and his captor’s blood. I had dressed and cleaned Flame’s wounds. They were healing fast. Now Flame was awake, there was no way he would allow Rider to touch him. Rider had checked in on Flame via my phone, but it had just been Flame and me the past few days. It was what Flame needed—silence, time alone with his thoughts, and the need to feel safe.

I kissed his chest when his cut was in place. Flame jerked back at my caress. A small hiss left his lips as my lips made contact with his skin. He took hold of my hand with urgency, and my heart fell. The past few days had not been what I had expected. I assumed I would have had to war with Flame over why he should not cut his skin—that I would have had to stop him hurting himself, to rid him of the flames. But it had not happened. On the contrary, it had been the complete opposite. Flame had been quiet, and he had scarcely left the bed except to eat. He had rarely spoken, just stared off into space, clearly lost in his thoughts. And I had been right beside him. He held my hand the entire time. ‘Held’ did the action little justice. He had clutched onto my hand very tightly, as though he could not physically let go. His fingers were iron clasped around mine.

At no time did he let me out of his sight. He tracked my every movement. Flame kissed me, he stroked my hair, like I was the most precious thing in his world. We had not made love again. And he would not acknowledge our baby or my bump. My husband was numb. This dormant state scared me more than him cutting his arms or changing moods. I was unskilled dealing with this passive behavior. I knew how to calm the flames. But the flames seemed to have diminished, and in their place a void had burrowed into Flame’s heart—a bottomless pit that I could not reach. I had racked my brain about what to do. Flame’s silence yelled to me that he was in pain. Not cured, rather trapped in an agony beyond the flames and perceived demons in his blood. His soul was imprisoned in a cell without windows or doors. Bars as thick as columns that Flame could not or did not want to break through.

This morning, while Flame slept, I called AK and told him what we must do. The final task that I believed could perhaps free Flame from the burdens that gripped him in waves of sadness, that kept him from reaching happiness. The horrors of my past weighed heavily on my mind. Nonetheless, I was equipped with the strength to find joy in the life I had now. Flame was that strength.

Flame adored me, of that I had no doubt. But his brain worked differently to my own. I had to lead Flame to his redemption, to the fountain where he could wash in the waters of self-forgiveness. Or in his case, to the heavy door that shut out any chance of him moving on. I would take him to that door. And I prayed that he would walk through it and close it behind us. He was the only one who could. I believed he had the strength to do so.

I heard movement outside of the cabin and I guessed it was AK getting prepared for our journey. I stood on my tiptoes and smoothed Flame’s black hair back from his eyes. Styled like this, no harsh hairstyle or hands leaden with blades, he appeared younger. Or that could have been the way his shoulders were slouched, all confidence diminished. “It is a long journey,” I said and Flame slowly met my eyes. I had not told him to where we traveled. I did not want to worry him or cause him pain. Of course, I knew it would cause him pain—untold pain. But I also believed this had to be done.

Just like when we had fallen in love, Flame had to confront his poppa in order for us to be able to live as one. Now he had to delve deeper