Page 18 of Lesson In Forgiveness

Her brain turned off of its own volition.

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Grit

What was he playing at?

The question plagued him as he dozed beneath Tabitha’s sleeping form. She was out like a light, her breathing even and deep. Every now and then, she snuffled adorably, rubbing her cheek over his chest until she found a comfortable position.

He couldn’t imagine being afraid of touching another person. Personally, he was a tactile man. He thoroughly enjoyed different textures under his hands, and in his opinion, skin was one of the best. Different temperatures, ranging from rough to smooth, and sensitive to a large number of stimuli.

What would it be like to be trained, forcefully trained, to see other people as either targets or tools? One or the other with nothing in between. Did she walk through a mall or down a busy sidewalk and see individual faces, unique personalities, or were the general population akin to browsing the hardware section of a store to her?

No, there was more to her than that, he told himself. However she viewed herself, however she came across to others, she felt something beyond that; he’d heard how she interacted with the women from Avalon, the Masters’ subs.

Rumor had it that she’d taken care of Sonic’s stepfather; a predatory fuck obsessed with his stepdaughter, who’d kidnapped, raped, and murdered young girls within his county for years because he couldn’t have her.

There had to be some kernel of softness inside the little pixie, he mused. If there wasn’t, Elias would already be dead, along with Grit for standing in her way. She wouldn’t have a code of ethics, her own system for meting out punishment on the evils of this world.

If Dominic had corrupted her as deeply as she believed, there’d be no one safe.

Why was he even contemplating this? It wasn’t as if he was intending to keep the woman. She needed help to reconnect with herself, to dig under the roots poisoned by her father, and discover who she was without their influence.

Rolling his eyes, he scowled at the idiocy of that thought. There was no her without their influence, was there? They’d gotten their sadistic hands on her from day one, manipulated and molded her since before she could walk, talk, think.

Yet, like Jasper and Caera, something vitally good had survived.

Maybe he should bundle her up while she was asleep and haul her back to Phoenix so Connie could work her magic. The psychologist had a way about her—firm, supportive, compassionate, and oddly intuitive when it came to wounded little birds.

That would be best. A woman with her issues didn’t need a big, strict Dom demanding submission from her. BDSM wasn’t a recommended therapy for sexual trauma; hell, Tabitha was likely to dismember him and feed him to the cougars in the mountains if his hand stroked over her ass, for God’s sake.

Besides, he wasn’t sure how to handle a woman like her. The occasional phobia, a few hard limits—those he could deal with. Tabitha… how did one start unteaching habits and fears stemming back decades?

No, despite how well she fit against him, Tabitha was not meant for him. She needed someone like Saul, who seemed to have traversed a similar minefield with Caera with great success.

Maybe Connie or one of the Masters knew of someone who could guide Tabitha the same way.

As though aware of the direction of his thoughts, Tabitha’s fingernails dug into his chest, her muscles tightening beneath his hands. Noises reverberated in her throat, sounds he’d only ever heard from cornered, injured animals.

“Easy, little tiger.” Fully aware of his predicament if she woke in a murderous mood, Grit made sure to keep his voice and touch calm, unthreatening. “It’s okay, you’re safe here.”

She jerked once, twice, three times in succession. A low wail broke the quiet of the room, rising to a pained crescendo. More jerking, always in a set of three.

In his head, Grit imagined the crack of a whip. One, two, three. It timed perfectly with those involuntarily movements. He tipped her face up, unsettled to find her eyes open but blind. Her facial muscles were strained with pain that wasn’t real here in the present, yet was absolutely real in her memories.

Waking people from nightmares was a risky business; waking Tabitha from hers might be more costly than he liked.

Fisting his fingers in her hair, he tugged gently in between the vicious jerks of her body, each one growing harder in an effort to encourage her to wake. When that didn’t work, he tried pinching her side, slapping her ass, even tickling her.

Whatever chains held her deep in her subconscious, they were unbreakable.

“Little tiger, what you’re feeling, it’s not real. Phantom pain from memories. Terrible memories,” he murmured, grimacing at the sight of sweat trickling down her temple. “I know they hurt you, but they’re dead. Gone. The only way they can hurt you now is if you let them do it from the grave, Tabitha.”

No matter what he said, he couldn’t break the cycle. Eventually, he just cradled her close to his chest and did his best to soothe her every time she flinched. For more than twenty minutes, his heart ached for the little girl she’d been, alone and in the hands of monsters.

Whining under her breath, Tabitha finally went limp, her body shuddering in perceived pain. Her clothes were damp with sweat, but when her eyes cleared, there seemed to be no recollection of… well, anything.

“That’s my good girl,” he said cautiously, bracing when those pale blue eyes narrowed their focus on him. “Easy, Tabitha. Remember where you are before you rip my head off.”

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