He reached for her hand, taking it quickly and holding it with firmness, as if he feared she would snatch it away.
‘You’re not going to die.’
‘I might,’ she argued. ‘And I don’t want to die regretting the one thing I should have done. The thing I didn’t do because I was scared.’
‘What’s that?’
His voice was low, and his hand was so warm.
‘This.’ Reaching across the distance separating them, she grabbed his t-shirt by the nape of the neck and pulled him over until his lips were pressed against hers. She kissed him fiercely, prepared for him to pull back at any moment and tell her how he didn’t feel the same.
But he didn’t pull back.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around and pulled her closer, kissing her just as passionately as she’d kissed him. Parting her lips with his tongue, with a kind of longing that took her breath away.
His hands were strong on her back – strong enough to hold her. Strong enough, she suspected, to let go if that was what she needed, too.
When the kiss finally paused, Alastair let out a shaky breath, and stroked the edges of her face.
‘What the hell took you so long?’
Louisa, her hands still on his broad shoulders, shook her head. How could she explain?
‘Maybe I don’t know everything about you, but you know about me. You know about my family, right?’
He hesitated, but then nodded. ‘Aldrich told me at the start. He was worried about you when you first came to St Wilfred’s. Afraid you’d run and end up on the street again.’
This didn’t come as a surprise to Louisa. It was Aldrich who’d found her after she’d escaped from prison, where she’d been held for accidentally killing a man who’d tried to rape her when she was seventeen.
In Liverpool for a meeting, he’d spotted her on the street near the station. Her alchemical power, he’d always said, ‘was shining like a star’.
It had taken a lot of work on his part to convince her he was who he said he was. At first she hadn’t believed him. She’d threatened him, shouted at him, run away from him. But he wouldn’t give up.
Gradually, he’d convinced her of who he was, and what she was.
Still, she wouldn’t go back to Oxford with him alone. He’d had to send for his graduate assistant, a kind young woman named Joanne, who’d travelled all the way to Liverpool just to drive back with them.
Louisa had ridden in the back seat of Aldrich’s antique Jaguar, clinging to the door handle, plotting her escape if the two had turned on her. But they didn’t. Aldrich had hummed along to jazz streaming from the radio, while Joanne twisted around in her seat to reassure her that she was safe.
Even after they arrived in Oxford, and Louisa was ensconced in a warm, dry room of her own, they’d struggled to convince her to stay the night.
In the end, exhaustion won out – she simply fell asleep.
The next morning, Alastair had appeared in the corridor outside her room, posh as hell, more than six feet tall, wearing torn jeans and holding a cardboard cup of coffee and a bag of doughnuts.
‘Aldrich told me to bring you these,’ he’d said. ‘The cafeteria food might kill you, and we don’t want you to die before you get to know us.’
She’d always known it was a set-up. Aldrich hadn’t sent the wisest, funniest student in his class by accident. He’d hoped they’d look out for each other.
And now, four years later, here they were.
She was desperate. Desperate not to lose him. Now that Aldrich was gone, he was all she had.
She looked into his eyes, shadowed with affection and worry.
‘I don’t know how to love anyone,’ she confessed. ‘But I think I love you.’ To her astonishment, tears burned the backs of her eyes. Her voice trembled. ‘Alastair, I don’t know what to do.’
His hands tightened around her, pulling her closer until she was across the central console and sitting on his lap, his arms warm around her.
‘You do know how to love,’ he told her, pressing his forehead lightly against hers. ‘And what you don’t know, I’ll teach you.’
Then they were kissing again, and, for a while anyway, Louisa forgot to be afraid.
Twenty-Three
Taylor and Sacha sat next to the fire. There was no moon, and the darkness had a solidity to it, like you could almost reach out and touch it.
Sacha relished the peace. It reminded him of his aunt’s vineyard. Crickets were singing softly. An owl hooted somewhere in the woods nearby. The air was filled with the pleasing scent of wood smoke.
And best of all, just for a moment, nobody knew where they were. It felt safe. After they’d eaten the sandwiches and some of the pastries, rationing the little water they had left, they settled down by the fire.
Taylor had put his leather jacket back on as the evening chill deepened, and it swung back as she looked up at the sky, revealing the pale arc of her throat.
‘So many stars.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I don’t think I knew there were so many stars in the universe.’
Sacha looked up, too. Starlight frosted the dark sky with silver. Suddenly the night didn’t seem quite so dark after all.
When he glanced back, she was still gazing up, her expression pensive. She’d been quiet all evening – lost in her own thoughts. She seemed so lonely.
‘Tell me something about yourself,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘Something I don’t know.’
She turned her head, a bemused look on her face. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I’m boring. My family is boring.’
He made an impatient sound.
‘Everyone’s family is boring. I didn’t say tell me something interesting. I just said tell me something.’
Straightening, Taylor threw fresh wood on the fire. The flames crackled and jumped, sending sparks shooting up towards the stars.
Aware that she was buying time, Sacha waited patiently.
‘I stole something once,’ she said at last. ‘A lipstick. It was the worst thing I’d ever done until…’
She didn’t finish the sentence but he knew what she meant to say: Until now.
‘You stole something? I don’t believe it.’ He kept his tone light. ‘You would never steal. It’s not in your nature. I know a thief when I see one.’
‘I did though,’ she insisted. ‘It wasn’t my idea. My friend Georgie made me do it. She was obsessed with challenging yourself. Doing things you don’t want to do. She was always saying, “Get out of your comfort zone, Tay. Live a little.”’ A smile flickered across her face. ‘I think she was afraid I’d end up trapped in Woodbury forever, alone with my books.’
‘Tell me about the crime.’ Sacha shifted, moving subtly closer to her. ‘How did it go down?’
‘It didn’t go down, Sacha. I’m not a gangster.’ She glanced at him, half-smiling. ‘It was nothing, I guess. But it still bothers me. I can remember every second of it. I walked into the local chemist. I knew it so well – it was where my mum bought all our plasters and hair bobbles. And I took a lipstick.’ She looked off into the distance. ‘I grabbed the first one I saw; I didn’t even know what colour it was. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold onto it.’ She looked down at her fingers, as if remembering that feeling. ‘Then I walked out. No one even looked at me. Perfect Taylor Montclair would never steal. I felt horrible about it. Like I was stabbing the people who worked there in the back. But I did it anyway. To test myself.’
‘You didn’t get caught?’
‘That was the worst part, I think. I got away with it.’ She hugged her knees. ‘I wanted to take it back, but Georgie said that would put me back in my comfort zone again, and that I had to take it and never give it back. I kept waiting for the police to come to my house and take me away. It never happened.’
‘I’m sorry the justice system let you down,’ he said solemnly.
She swatted at him. ‘I was fourteen. Respect my trauma, please.’
‘OK, smartarse.’ She turned to face him. ‘Tell me something I don’t know about you.’
‘I would tell you about my crimes,’ he said. ‘But we’re only here for another eight hours or so and that’s not really enough time.’
Taylor’s laugh was soft and pleasing.
‘Fine then. Tell me about your favourite crime. Or your worst. Or your most memorable. Choose one.’
Picking up a twig, Sacha traced it through the dirt as he considered which story to tell. He was only half-joking about his list of crimes – there were so many. He’d never told her about Antoine, for instance – about jumping off a warehouse to his ‘death’ for cash – but now wasn’t the time… It would make her stop laughing and he didn’t want that to happen.
‘I got mixed up with these guys for a while,’ he said after a long pause. ‘I guess you’d call them a gang, maybe? Anyway, they were up to all kinds of things. I thought it was funny to hang out with them. They used to hold these high-stakes poker games. They would bet everything – their cars, houses… It was crazy. It’s where I got the motorcycle.’
He gestured to where the bike was hidden behind a cluster of trees.
‘You won it?’ Taylor stared.
Sacha nodded.
‘The guy who bet it was really drunk,’ he explained modestly. ‘He should have known better. I wasn’t actually that good at playing poker, but I was good at knowing when other people were worse.’
‘How much is that bike worth? It looks really expensive.’
‘A lot.’ He couldn’t disguise his pride. ‘It was one of my biggest wins.’
She looked at him with new suspicion. ‘Is it legal?’
‘That depends on your definition of legal.’ Before she could ask more tricky questions he hurried into his story. ‘So, anyway, one night these guys bet that I couldn’t steal their boss’s car. Their boss is this big guy, surrounded at all times by a swarm of bodyguards. It was impossible. But I did it.’
Intrigued, Taylor turned to face him. ‘How?’
‘Everyone in his gang knew me. I was always hanging around with them. So, one day, I walked into the garage like usual, and told them I was there to pick up a car for Antoine, one of the guys. I was super casual. Very calm. But I was sweating because, these guys are all armed, you know? They called Antoine to check and he said, “Yes, let Sacha have the car.”’ His grin broadened. ‘I drove out of the garage in the boss’s car instead. They were furious. Antoine got into a lot of trouble.’
‘Did they come after you?’
‘Of course. I gave the car back but…’ Sacha thought of Antoine, a gun in his hand, pointing to the edge of the warehouse roof. ‘I had a few problems with them after that.’
Taylor turned until she sat cross-legged facing him, her elbows resting on her knees. ‘Were these the same guys who… hurt you when I was with you in Paris?’
He hesitated, not wanting the conversation to go where he could see it heading.
‘Some of them,’ he conceded. ‘But that was different. They were really after Antoine. Not me.’
Silence fell for a moment then Taylor said softly, ‘Why do you do it?’
Sacha’s brow creased. ‘Do what?’
‘Take all these risks? Hang out with criminals who want to kill you.’
Sacha threw a twig into the fire with a little too much force, sending red hot embers tumbling.
‘I guess I didn’t care how much pain I caused,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think about anyone but myself.’
‘What about your mum? Or your sister?’ Taylor was watching him closely.
‘What meaning does life have when you know the day you’re going to die?’ Sacha held her eyes – challenging her to argue. ‘You have to understand – I was clueless back then. I didn’t know why things were like they were. All I knew was it wasn’t fair. Nothing mattered to me, Taylor. I didn’t care at all – not about other people, and especially not about myself. And…’
He paused, unable to bring himself to finish his thought.
‘And what?’ she pressed him gently. ‘You can say it. Whatever it is.’
He looked up at her. ‘I wanted to die.’
She flinched, and he continued quickly.
‘Can’t you see? If I could die before my eighteenth birthday, then I would have had some control over my own life, over this stupid curse. I would have been a normal guy, not some… monster who can be shot in the face or stabbed in the heart and just get up and walk away. Someone who can open a vein only to watch it heal almost immediately.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I tried to change my destiny. And I failed.’
He hazarded a glance at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
‘I get it.’ She said the words so softly, for a second he thought he’d misheard her.
‘What?’
‘I get it,’ she said again. ‘I’ve thought about it, too. About finding a way out. A way to not be me – and my problems aren’t anything compared to yours. Nobody ever told me I had to die, not until this week. But…’ A tear escaped, tracing a line down the curve of her cheek. ‘… I want you to know I will do everything I can to keep you alive.’
He reached for her then, unable to stop himself, pulling her closer until she nestled in the warmth of his arms. She wrapped her own arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer.
‘Don’t die, Sacha,’ she whispered fiercely. ‘Please don’t die.’
‘I don’t want to,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘Not anymore.’ He pulled back so he could see her face – those green eyes. ‘Now I want to live. More than anything in the world, I want to live. With you.’
Taylor’s breath caught. Then, as if making up her mind she tilted her chin, lifting her lips to meet his. It happened so quickly. Later he would try to remember the exact moment, but all he would remember was that little pause, when she didn’t breathe. And then they were kissing.
Her mouth was soft and warm. She tasted of salt from her tears and sugar from the pastries.
Gently he parted her lips with his tongue. Her hands tightened against him, pulling him closer still, until the softness of her body pressed against his.
He heard himself make a faint noise in his throat, as his hands slid under the leather coat, up the warmth of her back, brushing the raised ridge of her spine and the slim, horizontal line of her bra strap, before losing themselves in the velvet waves of her hair as they tumbled together onto the soft earth beside the fire.
Lapsing into French unconsciously, he whispered things to her. Telling her how beautiful she was, how much he had longed to kiss her, that he loved her. Kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids – each part of her feather soft.
Each kiss was proof that he wasn’t alone anymore.
He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him until she was above him, kissing the sharp line of his jaw, up his cheek towards his ear. It was hard to think when she kissed him there. Hard to do anything except hold her close.
Without warning, an electric shock ran through his body, shaking him. Making it hard to breathe, the way it did when Taylor was using his energy to draw power.
At the same moment, the breeze intensified. The trees swayed towards them. Even the flames from the fire seemed to lean in a way that didn’t seem entirely natural. His hair began to stand on end.
‘Taylor,’ he murmured, not wanting her to stop kissing him. ‘Are you doing something?’
Puzzled, she stared at him, then glanced at the fire and the trees.
She jumped off of him and scrambled away, colour rushing to her face.
‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t know…’
‘What happened?’ He was trying not to smile, but she looked so cute, her lips red from kissing, hair wild, cheeks flushed.
‘Nothing,’ she said unconvincingly.
His eyebrows winged up.
With
obvious reluctance she admitted, ‘I think… I think I was drawing your energy by accident.’ She looked mortified. ‘I don’t even know how I did that.’
Laughing, he reached for her hand. She tried to stay out of reach, but eventually gave in, allowing him to pull her back towards him until she was in his arms again.
‘You can have my energy,’ Sacha told her, ‘any time you want it.’
Twenty-Four
As the first faint streaks of golden light took the black from the night sky, Taylor woke to find herself curled up in Sacha’s arms.
For a while, she lay still, watching him sleep.
He looked beautiful. Sleep swept all the cynicism from his face. He looked young and vulnerable. His thick, dark lashes lay against his cheeks like charcoal smudges.
She didn’t know how long she’d studied him with a kind of wonder before he stirred, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the light.
She wondered if anything would change between them now that they were more than just friends. Were they different now?
When he woke up, though, he was still the same Sacha. Rubbing his eyes and glaring at the birds cawing in the sky overhead.
‘Stupid birds,’ he said hoarsely, before shouting, ‘Vos gueules les piafs! Will you please just shut up?’
She laughed, and his attention swung from the birds to her. Raising himself on one elbow, he reached down to brush a curl from her cheek.
‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep?’
‘A little.’
The smile they exchanged then spoke volumes. He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft and gentle.
The sun was warm against Taylor’s face, a reminder that time was passing. Reluctantly, she pulled back.
‘We better get going. Louisa wanted us on the road at dawn.’
‘Slave driver,’ he said, but he got up.
They cleaned up as best they could. There was very little bottled water left, so they brushed their teeth with lake water.
The whole time, Taylor felt giddy. She kept saying remarkably idiotic things.
‘Hopefully there’s no bacteria too deadly in here,’ she heard herself say brightly.
The Secret City Page 16
