those times with Rory when everything fell away but what mattered.
“Some days better than others,” she said honestly. “This is one of them.”
“Good.” Marguerite smiled. It wasn’t an open or easy gesture. “For most people,” she said, “life is about coming out of the womb into a world of possibilities. For others, it’s about crawling out of a grave and discovering we are no longer dead.”
A fierce look crossed her face. “They couldn’t kill us. We are alive, and have so much living to do. But they will always be calling, because their darkness is something we can’t leave behind. At times, it seems those shadows won’t be satisfied until we’re pulled back into those memories, those feelings, and trapped there forever. Each morning, we start the fight anew, and wonder when our strength to resist will falter.”
Things rose up, wanted to choke her, but Marguerite’s other arm slid around her, held her shoulders, steadied her.
“It’s all right,” Marguerite said, and now Daralyn heard the Domme side surface. “You’re all right. Breathe. Relax. Don’t fight it. Let it wash through.”
Marguerite’s reassurance, the strength in her hold, weren’t Rory, but the method and tone were so much like him she could reach for him through Marguerite, hold onto that mental lifeline, steady herself, though the breathing part took extra effort with the corset. She didn’t want the panic attack to require its removal, so she summoned the force of will to even her breathing and stave off any lightheadedness.
Fortunately, Marguerite didn’t rush the process. They sat that way for a while, Marguerite demonstrating no urgency at all. Not until Daralyn herself had calmed did Marguerite eventually ease back. “All right?”
Daralyn nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Marguerite pursed her lips. “Do you think about power, Daralyn? Having it?”
Daralyn frowned at the unexpected question. “I…I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Rory loves you, and that gives you so much power. Not just over him, but over the world. Your world.” Marguerite gave her a steady look. “He doesn't want anything to hurt you or cause you pain. Including him. But you have your own power to survive that. You proved it, didn’t you? And now you’re learning you not only had the power to survive, but to thrive. Live. Love.”
Marguerite’s white hair blew forward over her shoulder. The lustrous strands were such an unusual color. Daralyn lifted a hand toward it before she thought. She froze, her usual apprehension surging forth to counter the impulsive gesture.
“It’s fine,” Marguerite said. “I would like it if you touched my hair, Daralyn.”
Daralyn stroked the thick silk of it with tentative fingers. Marguerite returned the favor, brushing Daralyn’s hair from her brow. The gesture was neither sexual nor sisterly. It had a hint of something maternal to it, but not motherly. More on the warrior-teacher side of things.
“It wasn’t until Tyler found a way to break through that I knew why I’d survived,” Marguerite continued. “I’d lived before I met him, found ways to thrive, but I couldn’t find my way back to what love was truly supposed to be until I met him.”
Daralyn thought about Rory. Since that first kiss, she’d struggled with so many things between them. Those things hadn’t been a straight line. Instead they were more like a spiral, touching past, present and future at the same time as they rotated around what the two of them were building between them. She suspected that was close to what Marguerite was talking about.
“At some point, you’ll have to come face to face with that power to love, figure out how to take it inside you,” Marguerite said. “Only you can do that. No one can force it on you, and no one who loves you will. But they will hope for it for you. Because they’re standing on the other side of that choice, already knowing what we have to teach ourselves, because it was never taught to us the way it was to them.”
“What’s that?”
“That finding the bravery to love fully, with every cell of who we are, is the only answer to all of it. Don’t be afraid of the power that comes from it, Daralyn. Whether it’s used to rule or serve, it’s a gift we should never turn down.”
Daralyn turned Marguerite’s hair over her fingers, watching it slide free, drift back to her shoulder. Marguerite offered that serious smile.
“Love isn’t something you expect, let alone that it will have the strength to stand at your back. Even more than that, once you take it