I shake my head and raise my voice more than I mean to, fighting back tears. "You're both selfish children. You know what exists in this world. You have the power to stop it. And you... you abandon me so I can fight it on my own."
"We're all hunters, Scarlett. But there's more in the world--you have to know that you can't fight--" Rosie pleads.
"Yes," I snap at her, my voice nearly a growl, "I can fight.
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Because it's the right thing to do, Rosie. How many girls could we have saved had you not spent god knows how long in dance classes or here with him?"
"I'm sorry," Rosie chokes out. Tears are streaming down her face. Silas gives her a pained look.
"Scarlett, we--" Silas interjects.
"Ah yes!" I cry with false enthusiasm. " 'We'! You and my baby sister, Silas. You're a happy little couple, aren't you?" I shake my head. "I can't... I won't stay here," I say through gritted teeth. Rosie reaches toward me, but I yank my hand away. "No," I snap. "Don't touch me."
The three of us stare at one another, our faces pictures of hurt.
Then I turn sharply, fling open the door, and leave.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rosie
Scarlett slams the door shut behind her, and I dissolve into broken sobs. Something aches in my chest, as if my heart has died within me. Maybe our hearts have finally become two instead of one. I fold my arms over my waist and cry, gasping for air and ignoring the burning of tears on my cheeks. Silas turns to look at me but doesn't move.
"Rosie," he says softly. That's all it takes; I fall forward and let him wrap his arms around me, pressing his cheek against my forehead.
"We shouldn't be doing this. We shouldn't have done this. She's my sister."
"Don't say that," Silas murmurs into my hair, voice genuinely pleading. "Please don't ever say that."
"We're hunters," I choke.
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"Yes. Of course we are. We're... we're more... but..." He shakes his head and pushes me out to arm's length, lowering his head to look me in the eyes. "I didn't mean for us to hurt her, Rosie, but I wouldn't take any of it back. I couldn't take any of it back--I love you too much."
I try to agree, tell him I love him, anything, but I can't find the words. Silas pulls me back against him, my tears dampening his shirt.
He lowers his head and speaks softly, running his fingers through my hair. "I'm going to go after her. We can't just let her go. Are you coming?"
"I..." I think of the dark, tragic look on Scarlett's face when she saw Silas and me together. I shake my head, about to lose it again. "I can't. She hates me."
"She loves you," Silas says firmly. He pulls me to him and kisses my tearstained cheeks. "Come on. We'll split up; she can't have gone far."
I struggle to gulp down the last of my tears and nod. Silas puts his lips to my forehead and hugs me tightly.
"Okay. Come on, let's go. I'll go north, you go south? I promise, we'll bring her home."
I nod again. Silas steps away slowly, like he's worried I may topple over if he doesn't steady me. I wave my hand and signal for him to go; with another worried look in my direction he throws the door open and pounds down the stairs two at a time. I strap the knife belt around my waist and take a deep breath.
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If we were in Ellison, I would know exactly where to find my sister. Here, I feel lost, like someone screaming out a missing dog's name in the middle of the night. I head toward the business district. My eyes are swollen and my nose is running to the point that anyone I pass averts his eyes. What kind of person am I? I traded my sister in for dance classes and kisses. But even as I think that, I can't help but realize how badly I want to be with Silas. Just an hour ago I was in his embrace, feeling more beautiful than I ever had before. And would I trade that in, give it away for the hunt? I stumble down the stairs of the subway. No. I couldn't trade it in again. Not now that I know what it is to be loved. Not now that I've stepped out of the cave and into the sun. But that doesn't make it feel any more fair, or make me feel any better that my sister hates me.
I brush through the subway turnstile, eyes scanning the poorly lit station for Scarlett. There's just the usual assortment of vagabonds and tired-looking waitresses. I move to leave.
"You lost, chickadee?" a voice says. I turn around to see a ragged-looking man packing up several buckets, a pair of beaten drumsticks in his dirty jeans pocket.
"No," I answer. "I'm looking for someone who is."
"No luck?"
I shake my head. "Not so far."
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The ragged man nods wisely. "Maybe the trouble is, she doesn't want to be found."
"That's what I'm afraid of." I sigh. I toss the change in my pocket into the man's tip jar. He's right. Scarlett is not like me; she has never wanted to be rescued. Not from hunting, not from Fenris, and certainly not by me.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
SCARLETT
I BEGIN TO RUN AS SOON AS I HIT THE SIDEWALK. TEARS stop up my throat, wrap around my neck as if they're trying to choke me. People stare, but for the first time I don't care that I'm not wearing the eye patch in public. I dash through traffic, push through crowds, trying to outrun the hurt that's chasing after me.
Everything blurs except the hollowness in my chest and the feeling of my feet pounding against the pavement. I'm not sure how long I run, only that it doesn't seem as though it's been long enough when my body finally pleads with me to stop. Sweat rolls down my face and back, and I can feel painful blisters beginning to rub.
I grab the handle of my hatchet as I collapse onto the ground underneath an oak tree, and only then do I realize
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I'm on the outskirts of Piedmont Park. I lean my head back against the tree, panting so hard that my lungs burn for oxygen, the world spinning. Breathe. Just breathe. I focus on the breath entering and leaving my lungs so my mind can't wander back to Rosie and Silas. The moon steadily rises into the sky, but I hardly notice. Breathe.
"Lett?" a quiet voice says. How long have I been sitting here?
I grit my teeth. No. Not you. I'm breathing.
"Go away, Silas," I say firmly without looking at him. I hear his footsteps in the grass and look down as he appears in front of me, then drops to his knees.
"Lett, please. You're my best friend. You're my partner," he says gently.
"And she's my sister, asshole."
"That's not..." He sighs. "We didn't mean to lie."
It must be nice to be part of a "we." Anger rolls through me. I look up at him, eye burning. Silas tenses and holds his hands up, as if he's calming a wild animal.
"You'll never understand," I hiss.
Then I lunge at Silas before I can stop myself, hitting him in the shoulder.
He offers little resistance; I doubt he was expecting me to attack him. We roll backward down the small incline and spin apart in the grass. I'm up before he is, and I swing forward, left hook to his weak side. Silas blocks my punch, so I kick back, striking him in the ribs. He tries to say something but
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can only cough as I swing again. Fist to nose--his nostrils begin to bleed. He growls and swings back at me, catching my shoulder blade with enough force to knock me backward. I slide my leg out as I slam into the ground, kicking his knees out from under him. He falls, hard, and struggles to catch his breath, rolling away from me. I roll toward him and kick him in the ribs, then dash forward as he tries to roll away. We finally come to a stop at the bottom of the hill. I hold Silas's chest down with my knees, breathing hard as I raise one fist. I want to hit him over and over and over again, until I hit out everything that's tearing at me, eating me alive. God, I want to hit him.
"Lett, I-I love her, " he stammers, though it's hardly audible due to the blood pouring out his nose. I lift my fist higher but close my eye, searching for some kind of sanity. Silas stays perfectly still, eyes animal-like and pleading.
I gr
it my teeth and roll off him, kicking him away just for good measure. I bury my face in the grass and rip fistfuls of it from the ground. I hear Silas cough, and when I look back at him, he's wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand, leaving long streaks across his face.
"Of course," I say, forcing myself to stand. "Of course you love her." I look down at the scars on my arms. "She's my sister. I took the Fenris for her. And you, you and your father taught me to hunt. I thought surely ... you and Rosie could understand. You could know what it means to make the world better."
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"We do, Lett. But we want more than the hunt. That's all. You could have more too, you know."
"Come on, Silas," I say flatly, staring at a bed of tulips to avoid meeting his eyes. "Can you really see me as a wife? A mother?" My frustration becomes desperate pleading, and I realize how badly I want Silas to have an answer to my questions.
Instead, he looks surprised. "Lett, you've got to be kidding me."
I laugh humorlessly and shake my head. "No, Silas. I'm a hunter. I thought I wasn't alone. Sure, I thought you were gone for good when you left for San Fran, but Rosie... I thought I could keep Rosie. I lost my eye, my innocence, my ignorance, but I thought Rosie..." I look away. "But of course. You love her."
"Scarlett." Silas says my full name testily. "You stupid, stupid girl."
I turn to him, eye wide in alarm. He shakes his head and steps toward me. "Scarlett, it was you. Long before it was Rosie, I wanted you."
I want to laugh, because I'm sure he's joking, but instead I feel dim-witted, embarrassed. "Why would you say that? Just to hurt me?" I whisper.
"No." Silas steps closer to me and wipes at his nosebleed again. "I had a crush on you for our entire childhood."
"Before the attack, though--"
"No, after. Before, after. The entire time. Why did
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you think I was always at your house, for god's sake? Why I volunteered to be your guide to life in the Reynolds household after Oma March died? I wanted to be around you, Lett."
I stare at him incredulously. Would he really have the audacity to lie about something like this? I take a step back, scared by his claim. "Then why... you never said that, so why am I supposed to believe..."
"I was afraid to say it. And then I realized that you could never love me back. I'm your best friend, sure, but... you're in love with the hunt. You always have been."
My eye narrows. "I hunt because I have to--"
"Whatever." He waves a hand dismissively. "It drives you. It inspires you, it completes you, Lett. You come alive when you fight. I could never have competed with that." He steps closer to me, eyes flickering in the moonlight.
I shake my head. "No. Don't lie to me to make me feel better. Don't--"
But then Silas moves forward with the speed of an animal, closing the space between us. Before I can react, before I can realize what he's doing, his lips are on mine. I freeze. My mind stops except for the awareness of his warm kiss, the scent of his skin close to my face. When he pulls away, his eyes are searching, looking for something within me. I reach up and touch my mouth, feeling the spot where his lips were.
"I..." I begin, sinking to the ground. There's nothing.
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No spark, no fire. Nothing. "You're right," I whisper aloud. "I didn't feel anything."
"Not like you feel when you hunt," Silas says, lowering himself to the ground in front of me. He takes my hand in his. "It's fine, Lett. But just because you can find that kind of love in the hunt doesn't mean that Rosie and I can. We're hunters, but we need something more. You don't. You're a part of it; it's a part of you."
"I can't help it," I whisper through tears. How are there even tears left in my body? "I can't help it. It's what I am; it's all I am. It's all that's left of me."
"I know," Silas says gently. He rises and pulls me to standing with him. "It's okay."
"I don't think I can change," I murmur. "I can't stop... I keep thinking about hunting and the Potential and this Porter guy and..."
Silas smiles comfortingly, then shakes his head. "Lett, I'd never want you to change anyhow." He reaches over and puts his hand over mine, squeezing it tightly. I hesitate, then put my other hand on top of his. We're partners. Always have been, even when I hate him, when he's a thousand miles away, when he loves my sister... even when it'd be easier to go it alone for good.
We're silent for a moment.
"I promised Rosie I'd make you come home," he finally says.
I shake my head, mind still whirling. "I can't, Silas. Not right now, anyway."
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"I figured as much," Silas says softly. "I'll go, then?"
I nod. I don't know what else to do. Silas turns and walks away.
He doesn't look back, and I'm glad, because the tears have begun to flow again.
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CHAPTER TWENTY
Rosie
I return home, cheeks now rubbed raw with tears. Only Screwtape waits for me in the apartment, though I'm not surprised. I splash water on my face and turn the lights off, then carry Screwtape to the couch in hopes he'll comfort me until someone, anyone, returns. He allows me to bury my face in his fur for only a few moments, though, before he leaps away to chase a bug that skitters across the floor, its silhouette illuminated by the streetlights outside.
The door opens. It's Silas. He meets my eyes in the near darkness and presses his lips together. No words are necessary. I nod as the familiar lump rises up in my throat again. Silas slips his shoes off and sinks into the couch beside me, dropping his head into his hands. Screwtape darts by him, bites
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his ankles, and moves on; Silas takes the most halfhearted swipe at the cat.
"No luck?" I finally ask.
"I found her. She wouldn't come," Silas says gently. My face tightens and I curl into a ball against the couch arm. She wouldn't come home. I hurt the other half of my heart that badly.
Silas sighs and moves closer to me, taking my forearms in his and trying to pull me into an embrace. I want him to hold me, I want to breathe in the scent of his skin, let my hand climb up the front of his shirt, feel the heat of his body. But something stops me, something more powerful than my own desire. I pull away and shake my head.
"I... I..." I want to say that I can't. I can't touch you like this right now, can't hold you even though my body begs to be against yours. I love my sister; this is what hurt her. This is what drove her away.
Silas nods sadly. "Okay, Rosie. Why don't we both just get some sleep, then?"
"Y-yeah," I stammer. "Right. And we'll go try to get her to come home in the morning," I say firmly.
"Of course," Silas answers. The bells outside toll twelve times, but it feels much later than midnight.
I grab Screwtape again and trudge to the tiny bedroom that Scarlett and I share. Behind me, I hear Silas pull off his shirt and unfold the afghan. I wonder how well he'll sleep. I don't know if there's even much point in my trying. I crawl
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into the bed, Scarlett's side achingly vacant. I steal her pillow and bury my face in it, inhaling the scent of her hair--it's different from mine, just the smallest bit. How can I exist in a world where she hates me? Tears burn my eyes and begin to fall again, self-hatred gnawing at me. I stop crying for a moment when light from the street steals into my bedroom as Silas gently pushes the curtain aside. He leans against the wall, arms folded across his bare chest and hair falling in front of his eyes. Almost silently, he moves to the tiny space between my bed and the wall and lowers himself to the floor. Raising his knees to his chest, he drops his head and reaches for my hand, running his thumb across my knuckles silently.
I slide off the bed, sheets wrapped around my legs, and ease into his lap, tucking my face against his neck. He cradles me against him like he's afraid to let me go. I know I should shy away, that I should climb back into my bed out of loyalty to my sister. But there's something that locks me in pl
ace, something that won't let me stray from the gentle rise and fall of his chest or from his arms, supporting me like I'm something precious as his lips brush across my forehead.
Without speaking, we finally fall asleep.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SCARLETT
I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO GO. WHERE TO GO, WHAT TO do, or whom to speak to. I don't talk to strangers; I don't chat and discuss the weather in elevators. So I wander the city, silent, stoic, as a low morning fog rolls in and covers the ground. Even the homeless avoid me, as if I'm giving off some sort of leper vibe. I try to hunt, but in a way I'm afraid to; the Arrow pack knows who we are, and I'm not sure I have the willpower or ability to stop them if they ambush me. It would be easier to just let them have me.
The next day is the same.
And the next. I wander into the library and halfheartedly type Porter's name into the computer--still no results. I sleep in the park, huddled under the coral-colored azaleas with my cloak swept over me like a blanket. A cop gives me
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trouble once, but when he sees me without the eye patch, I can practically feel his throat go dry. He nods at me and advises me to find a new bed in the future, then leaves me alone. I wander like a lost girl, jumping whenever I think I see Rosie or Silas. Every time I happen across a couple that resembles them, my heart leaps nervously. I don't want them to find me, but while I dread it, I also find myself hoping to see them laughing, holding hands, walking along together. Maybe I'm a masochist, but watching them together would hurt, sting with jealousy and betrayal. Hurt would be something, at least, some feeling to break up the dead, dull sensation I've been filled with for days now.
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