He didn't look at Pippa, didn't want to see her reaction, knew he'd never get through this if he did. As Rory pushed on, his voice grew more strained with every sentence. "He kept sending things to the clubs, you see. Your hair, your skirt, that damned CD ... we knew he was keeping track of me, didn't know what he'd do if I changed my routine at all. And Tadhg needed every clue we could get from him for the search spell he was using to find you, so I kept going even though it was hell. But more than that--"
Another hitch in his words. His hands clenched and released spasmodically on his arms. "We knew--knew you were hurt from the recordings the bastard made and sent to me. And that night he sent your ff-finger--" One hand whipped up and raked through his hair, as if he could rip out the memory of Tadhg's face after he looked in that gaily-wrapped box. "F-finding you wasn't enough. We needed energy if we were to have any chance of healing your injuries, and the best place for me to get that was from an audience. Or at least it was until he walked in."
He'd started to rock ever so slightly, completely unconscious of the motion, submerging as he was into the memory of that horrific night. "I felt something wrong almost immediately, something ugly. I didn't know what it was until I searched the crowd and m-met his eyes. At that moment, something--it was--" A deep, shuddering breath. "I usually protect myself from random thoughts and impulses from people in an audience. But my defenses were down, I was vulnerable ... and he was completely focused on me. Trying to get into my head."
A harsh sound that was only superficially a laugh tore from Rory. "And he succeeded. Even more than he realized, God, how he succeeded." Another gulped breath, and then the púca had to force his next sentence out through clenched teeth. "Thoughts ... memories ... an entire cesspit of filth poured through my mind, not only what he'd done to you, but what he'd done to every single woman he ever took back to that abattoir of an apartment--" A stifled retch cut off the flow of words.
no subject
Another hitch in his words. His hands clenched and released spasmodically on his arms. "We knew--knew you were hurt from the recordings the bastard made and sent to me. And that night he sent your ff-finger--" One hand whipped up and raked through his hair, as if he could rip out the memory of Tadhg's face after he looked in that gaily-wrapped box. "F-finding you wasn't enough. We needed energy if we were to have any chance of healing your injuries, and the best place for me to get that was from an audience. Or at least it was until he walked in."
He'd started to rock ever so slightly, completely unconscious of the motion, submerging as he was into the memory of that horrific night. "I felt something wrong almost immediately, something ugly. I didn't know what it was until I searched the crowd and m-met his eyes. At that moment, something--it was--" A deep, shuddering breath. "I usually protect myself from random thoughts and impulses from people in an audience. But my defenses were down, I was vulnerable ... and he was completely focused on me. Trying to get into my head."
A harsh sound that was only superficially a laugh tore from Rory. "And he succeeded. Even more than he realized, God, how he succeeded." Another gulped breath, and then the púca had to force his next sentence out through clenched teeth. "Thoughts ... memories ... an entire cesspit of filth poured through my mind, not only what he'd done to you, but what he'd done to every single woman he ever took back to that abattoir of an apartment--" A stifled retch cut off the flow of words.