Bloodshade

by Isadora Brown

  A werewolf.

  Jon was a werewolf.

  The thought struck me like a blow. I wasn't sure if it was because I was in denial, but the thought was so surprising to me, I had to step out and catch my footing.

  I quickly responded to Robbie in order to forget my thoughts, just for the moment.

  Getting on the transport now, I typed in. I'll be back soon.

  That was a lie. Catching the bus from the cemetery and heading back into town would take at least two hours and that was with minimal stops. If I wanted to get there soon, I would need to catch the bus now.

  I glanced at my watch. The next transport came in ten minutes. I could do that.

  I sent the text and put my phone away. It chimed with another text right away, but I ignored it, and gave my family plaque one more look. I let me eyes linger. I went over the names. I went over the dates. I let out a breath.

  I could not fail them. My legacy would not be reduced to blood and shadows.

  - - -

  The rain finally started after I was on the bus. I leaned back against the soft chair and stared up at the ceiling. I would have closed my eyes, but I didn't trust the people I was in here with. I didn't trust anyone.

  My thoughts jumped around my head as we slowly made our way back into the city. Because it was peak traffic and everyone was leaving work, we stopped at every single stop along the way.

  By the time I got up to the penthouse, my body wanted to collapse. The two hours it took for me to keep this energy bottled up was enough to make me want to explode. And being cooped up on a small bus with only bouncing my foot up and down was not the nest way for me to release my tension.

  I needed space to breathe. I needed space to pace up and down.

  My hair stuck to my face as I got out of the elevator. I headed to Robbie's door, but someone threw it open before I could even pull out my keys. When Robbie saw me, he practically yanked me inside. I nearly tumbled into him, but caught myself. The click of the lock and the sliding of the bolt lock told me Robbie made sure we were inside.

  "What?" I asked, straightening up. "What is it?"

  "Where have you been?" Jon demanded. His voice was rough but I could tell his anger wasn't directed at me, exactly. It was more like a way for him to release his own tension.

  "I—"

  "‘I,’ what?" Robbie said, following me into the living room. "We've been waiting for you for hours to come back."

  "What's the big deal?" I asked. "I gave him the folders a few hours ago. I…I went to the cemetery."

  "The what?" Jon looked over at Robbie. Robbie went quiet. I didn't need to explain it to him. He already knew.

  "My family is buried in Perry Cemetery," I said.

  "And you decided to go there—why?" Jon asked.

  "She goes there when she wants to avoid things," Robbie explained, glancing back at Jon.

  Jon didn't acknowledge Robbie. He kept his gaze on me, clenching his jaw.

  "Is everything okay?" I asked slowly. "I know I stayed out a lot later than you expected. That's my fault. I just—"

  "You were inconsiderate," Jon said, each word clipped with frustration. "You're always inconsiderate."

  I opened my mouth, ready to get defensive when Robbie unmuted the television. I hadn't even noticed that it was on.

  "…body was found just moments ago on Eleventh Avenue," the reporter said. There was a picture of Estrada in the corner of the screen. His handsome face was serious, the black curls falling in his face. "No one knows what happened, but insiders say he was working on a lead and got killed for it. Two bullets went straight through his head. The Perry Chief of Police would not comment, other than to say that they were looking into all leads."

  "Wait," I said slowly.

  "Estrada is dead," Jon said.

  Robbie turned off the television.

  "I was with him a few hours ago," I said. I didn't understand.

  "He's dead," Jon repeated. "Maybe next time you'll tell us if you're going to go gallivanting off in a cemetery by yourself, hmm?"

  Chapter 22

  My mind buzzed. I felt like I had been shot. I wasn't sure how that felt. I had been shot at but none of the bullets had actually hit their mark unless I wanted to count the bullet that grazed my ear.

  But I didn't.

  Not when I hadn't even realized it had happened until after the fact.

  No.

  This was like a punch to the gut. Something to make my mouth drop open in shock. Something to tear the wind from my throat and shove it back down the wrong tube so I was left coughing and sputtering until I couldn't breathe at all.

  Estrada was dead.

  "Don't even think about it." Jon's words sliced through my entire being. I picked up my eyes. They were filled with tears that would not fall so it was hard to really see him standing in front of me. He was distorted, like there were two of him.

  "What?" I said. My tone was as watery as my eyes. I balled up my hands into fists. I cleared my throat. Anything to help me get rid of this weight that had suddenly fallen on my shoulders and crushed me underneath it.

  "I know what you're thinking."

  "And what's that?" I asked.

  "Lara, Jon's right." At least Robbie's voice was tentative, as though he didn't want to be cold and unflinching when he was talking to me. Even though Robbie probably knew what I was thinking more than Jon did. "We can't do anything about this."

  "I never said—"

  "I can see the look in your eyes." Jon came toward me, each step purposeful, until he was right in front of me, too close for me own liking. I couldn't believe I was still standing. The couch was just behind me. I would have thought my knees had gone weak and I would have collapsed. Maybe they might have if Robbie hadn't turned off the news reports. "It's the same look I see when I look in the mirror."

  I furrowed my brow. I turned my head up, matching his hardened stare with my own.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked him. Spit flew everywhere, landing on his black shirt, the side of his neck. I was too pissed to be embarrassed.

  Jon didn't even flinch. It was as though he didn't care. "You want revenge," he stated. He clenched his jaw, as though he was daring me to disagree with him. Waiting.

  We were so close.

  We were too close.s

  I didn't want him to be right. I didn't want to agree with him. I wanted someone to fight with, to take my emotions out on. Robbie was surprisingly quiet. Jon was not.

  "You want blood," Jon continued.

  "So what if I do?" I asked. "Estrada is dead because of me."

  "It's not your fault—"

  "I didn't ask you, Robbie," I said, glaring at him over my shoulder. "I decided to give him the evidence. Neither of you wanted me to, but I did it anyway."

  "Get over yourself," Jon growled. "You made a shit decision. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and move past it. Don't wallow."

  "Wallow?" I burst out. "I'm not wallowing."

  "You are," Robbie interjected.

  I had been so consumed by what Jon was saying that I had completely forgotten Robbie was even there even though I had talked to him seconds before. Even now, as he spoke, I didn't turn to look at him. My gaze was focused solely on Jon. I couldn't pull myself away from him, even if I wanted to. I didn't like that Jon had that much power. I didn't like that he had that ability to wrap me up in his aura without my permission.

  "You are," Jon said, repeating what Robbie said. Except, his tone was lower, more biting. It was hard to describe, but it sliced through me like a knife and gutted me like I was some kind of fish.

  Wallowing.

  I wasn't wallowing.

  Okay, maybe I was.

  I took a step back, surprising myself that I could move in the first place. I took another.

  "What do you expect?" I asked. My voice came out watery. My eyes filled with tears. "Estrada is…"

  I didn't want to say the word. I didn't want to believe it was true.
/>   "Dead," Jon said. His tone had changed but it was difficult for me to describe. "He's dead. That's the way it is. We can't change it."

  "Don't you care?" I bit out, furrowing my brow until my wrinkles pressed against my skull. I was looking at him like I had never seen him before, like he was more monster than man. Had his transformation taken away who he was? Did he not have the capacity to feel anymore? "Don't you care that he's gone?"

  "I didn't know him," Jon said.

  "Lara, we didn't know him," Robbie said, standing in front of me. Even though Robbie was a few inches shorter than Jon was, he blocked him from my view. Which was good. I didn't want to see Jon right now. "But that doesn't mean we can't sympathize because clearly, you knew him. And, from what it sounds like, he was one of the few good Perry cops."

  "Guzman killed him," I said. "I know it. I just need to prove it. I just need…" I shook my head.

  "You can't do this all by yourself," Jon said. He came toward me but kept a safe distance. It almost seemed as though he didn't want to overstep what Robbie was doing. Robbie wasn't doing anything so I didn't understand his hesitation, but I was glad for it. I wasn't sure what would happen if he got too close. I didn't want to forget my surroundings. I didn't want to forget that Estrada was dead.

  "That's what I keep telling her but she's too fucking stubborn," Robbie said, but he didn't move his eyes from mine. "She wants to do things her way. And look where that's gotten you. Fired. Desperate."

  "Wallowing," Jon put in.

  Robbie nodded once. "Wallowing," he repeated.

  Wallowing. I was not wallowing.

  I bristled.

  "Do you guys trust me?" I asked. I could feel my emotions start pressing against the inside of my skin, all over my body, like they wanted to get out in a rush. I thought going to the gravesite would calm me down, but it set me on edge. It reminded me that my uncle was dead because of Guzman and Ramiro and that entire family. And now Estrada.

  "What?" Robbie asked, his voice flat. He plopped on the couch and kicked up his feet on the coffee table. When he used to do that, that would symbolize he was done with the conversation. Even if I had a good point I needed to get off my chest, he wouldn't hear me until he watched a half-hour of television because he needed to calm himself down. It used to drive me crazy.

  "Do you trust me?" I focused my eyes on Jon because it seemed Robbie was currently checked out. Which was fine. Jon was harder to get through to than Robbie was.

  "What does that even mean?" Jon asked, and I could tell he was annoyed with just me asking the question. "I'm here, aren't I? I haven't left."

  "Yet." My voice was quiet, as though I didn't want Robbie to hear. Which was silly, because it shouldn't matter if Robbie listened in or not. "You haven't left yet. But you always leave, Jon. You're—what? A lone wolf. You're proud of the fact that you're a lone wolf."

  "And what does that make you, huh?" Jon took a step closer to me. I wondered if he knew it was difficult for me to function with him being in my space, with him being too close to me. "You're the same way. You go to the docks and nearly get yourself killed. You don't tell anyone—"

  "I'm sorry, was I supposed to tell you?" I asked. "You've been out of my life for three or four months. It's not like you left me a card with your number on it."

  "If I hadn't shown up, you would have been dead," Jon said.

  "I know that," I bit back. "I'm sorry, did I not thank you enough. Do you want me to drop to my knees and look up at you with my arms wrapped around your leg and thank you for being there?"

  "Stop it."

  "Why?" I asked. "You don't get to dictate what I do, Jon. And neither does Robbie or Michelle or anyone. My parents are dead. My family is dead."

  "Yeah, and you're going to be dead too with the piss-poor choices you're making." Jon's voice was low, cryptic.

  I refused to back away from him, even though I needed to. Even though sharing this space with him was getting to be too overwhelming.

  What I really needed was air.

  Maybe that's why Robbie was currently sitting in front of a blank screen. Maybe he needed air as well.

  Jon took a step towards me, and then another. It was the complete opposite of what I wanted, and yet my feet were rooted to my spot. I could not move, even though I desperately needed to.

  "Do me a favor." Each word was a bullet sliding into a chamber. Precise and deadly. "Do not ever give me a visual of you down on your knees looking up at me with those eyes, hm?"

  I clenched my teeth. His eyes had gone dark. Heavy. It was like he could see straight into my soul, see all my insides, all the parts I tried to hide away from everyone else. I didn't like how close he was to me. It was difficult for me to keep my feet steady. I had no idea how I was even standing, if I was being honest with myself, but I was. I couldn't even let out a shaky breath. I didn't remember the last time I took a breath. Somehow, I wasn't sure how I was still even alive.

  I managed to catch his eyes. He held my stare. I wasn't sure if he was waiting for me to respond. I wasn't sure what to say to that. Even if I did, I wasn't sure I trusted myself to say anything at all.

  "I'm sorry," I finally forced myself to say because he wasn't saying anything and this silence was suffocating. "I didn't mean to assault your senses with something so disgusting to you."

  He slapped his hand over my mouth but did it in a way where his touch was gentle rather than biting. He flared his nostrils and brought his head so close to mine that our foreheads grazed.

  "Stop it," he said again in a voice so low that somehow still felt as though there was thunder behind it, like a storm was coming from afar. "I don't want you to say anything as stupid as that again, okay? You know better."

  I knew nothing. What the hell did I know? I knew nothing, and yet, the way Jon was looking at me, it made me feel as though something was happening. My body was drenched in kerosene and he was just about to strike a match. I could feel my nerves stand on end. I could feel them lean toward him. Like even though my brain was frozen, my body still knew what to do.

  He slowly released my mouth with his fingers by lifting them up individually before dropping them down to his side. He waited, waited as though I was going to say something. Waited for me to do something.

  All I could think of doing was pushing my tongue across my bottom lip. They were suddenly dry after being invaded by Jon's rough hand. I watched as Jon's eyes dropped to the gesture. His jaw popped. Somehow, I could feel his body tense. I didn't understand.

  And then: "Stop it."

  A plea hidden within a rough whisper.

  I shifted my eyes to meet his. I didn't know how it was possible, but his darkened even more. I gulped. I felt like a deer in headlights, but instead of fearing for the oncoming hit, I wanted it.

  I needed to get away from him. I couldn't be in the same room as he was without cracking open and setting myself on fire. I would burn for him.

  I turned my head, letting my hair fall into my face and blocking him from my view. I clenched my jaw, afraid I was going to emit a whimper, something he could pick up with those super-hearing ears. I opened the door and let myself out. This time, I shut it behind me. I couldn't bear to meet his eyes. I didn't know what would happen if our eyes met. I was sure he'd be able to see the dark desire I felt. I had never been good at hiding my emotions. It was probably one of the reasons why I insisted on keeping people away from him.

  Because I didn't want to be found out.

  Especially not by Jon.

  Each step shook. I couldn't breathe properly until I got out of the building.

  I knew where Estrada lived because I had visited him before, when Jon first came on the scene. I was trying to plead with him to listen to me, that Jon was a victim, not a monster. Of course, Jon refused to see himself this way and Estrada refused to believe me. He needed proof. The man always needed proof, and now he was dead.

  I clenched my teeth together again. I was doing that so often, I was going to giv
e myself a headache. I released my jaw and continued to Estrada's on foot. I didn't have the time to wait around for transport, especially if Estrada died because of what I had given him.

  It hadn't even been twenty-four hours.

  I shook my head. I needed to rid myself of my demons. I reached up and clutched my cross, murmuring a prayer I didn't actually know the words to. I walked fast, pulling up my hood. The rain had stopped last night but it was still overcast. The clouds were pregnant with water, about to burst at any moment. I kept glancing up, checking to make sure they hadn't spilled yet.

  I turned the corner and nearly collided with a man in a police uniform. His partner sneered at me but stopped when he saw me and nudged the other officer. It was such a weird thing that I quickly stepped around them. I wasn't sure if they recognized me because I constantly bombarded the police for information or if they were part of the corrupt line of officers Guzman kept on her payroll as well as the city's.

  It didn't matter.

  They were nothing more than beat cops, probably running back to their car to try to get out of the rain that would probably come at any moment. I couldn't let myself be bothered by them.

  It took me another ten minutes to get to Estrada's. Unlike me and Robbie, he had no doorman. I walked in and headed for the elevators. There was some dulling on the gold material. A wall had graffiti on it that was still there but looked like it was fading. The overwhelming scent of marijuana tickled my nose.

  I hated that smell. I had no idea how people could sit in a car or in a room and smoke up, sitting in the excrement of smoke and haze and everything else.

  I pressed the button and waited. I could hear the elevator groan as it took its time coming down. I glanced over at the stairs and considered it might be safer if I walked up the flight of stairs.

  By the time I made it to the staircase, the elevator still hadn't opened up. I huffed a sigh and headed up the stairs, reminding myself that after that run through the forest with Jon, I made it an intention to get into better shape and this was a perfect way to start. My calves burned by the time I got to his floor. My eyes shifted left, shifted right, looking for his address.