Free The Healer's Warrior by Renee Lewin Page B

completely known the real Tareq, but she had fallen for the fantasy she’d created from what little she knew.
    She knew he could be thoughtful. He could be funny and spontaneous. Sometimes he was gentle and charming. Other times he was aggressive and assertive. He was handsome, and also mysterious. He hid many things. He was tortured with chronic pain by those secret things which fought him back constantly because he tried to bury them while they were still alive. Now he was trying to bury her, Jem’ya realized. He wanted to stow her away and contain her as if that would change what had happened, but Jem’ya would continue to fight him, just like the rest of his demons.
    A few hours later, Tareq returned to the cellar. He wore black silky pajama pants and a matching V-neck shirt and robe. His dark curly hair was wet from a bath. The muscles in Jem’ya’s body tensed when he came into the room. She stepped back against the wall and crossed her arms. Tareq glanced at the empty plate on the tray. Then he met her gaze. His expression was neutral. For the first time, Jem’ya noticed the dark circles beneath Tareq’s light eyes. He turned his back to her as he studied the newest additions to her cell. Bahja had hung a round mirror on the wall behind the square table, brought in a narrow dresser, and placed a three-panel privacy screen in the corner of the room for Jem’ya to dress herself behind.
    “So, what do your brother and your father think of me, eh?” Jem’ya taunted. “What would your mother think of this, Tareq?” Jem’ya had asked Bahja about the royal family and learned that Tareq’s mother died over a decade ago; of what, Bahja refused to discuss.
    There was a silent pause, but Tareq did not turn around. “Do not rile me this evening. You know as well as I how it diminishes my strength.”
    “Evening? Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was late. I live in a windowless cellar, you see.” She glared at the back of his head. Still he did not turn to her. Her eyes fell to his rigid shoulders. “I’ve told you many times that you should listen to your body. It is telling you what you do not wish to accept: that your actions are not in agreement with the flow of God’s pure energy. That your cold mortal heart and your divine soul are at odds.”
    He continued touching at the burnt-orange notebook and the quill that Bahja had placed on Jem’ya’s table, his back to her. “Well, according to you I have neither a heart nor a soul,” he said with a dispirited chuckle. “And according to your mother, you’ve believed all along that I was an arrogant, insensitive and entitled man.”
    Jem’ya’s heart seized. She wanted so badly to talk to her mother and father. Her eyes started to water. She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Yes, I did. And I believe it much more strongly now,” she needled.
    Tareq finally turned around. He wanted to ask about Jem’ya’s half-dream, about why she’d desired to be held by him and what it was that she wanted from him but felt she couldn’t have. He wanted to ask, but the disgust in her dark eyes pushed those questions back. He asked instead, “Is that what you really believe? That I am a monster and have no human feelings?”
    She wanted to yell Yes ! However, the vulnerability in Tareq’s eyes made her soften her answer.“I don’t know you, so I really cannot say.”
    “What do you mean you don’t know me? We have known each other a year or more! Were we not friends?”
    “Friends?” she laughed. She withdrew from the wall a step and straightened her posture. “Who was I friends with, Tareq? Not the prince, or the warrior or the kidnapper.  I was friends with a farmer. An act.”
    “You knew I wasn’t a farmer. It was obvious. I didn’t tell you the truth of my nobility, but I…I was myself with you. I never lied to you, Jem’ya.”
    “How dare you pat yourself on the back for sparing me your loose definition of a lie? Look at every other