Coveted

by Tara K. Young

  Chapter 26

  I felt like I was enduring Deja vu on Monday morning.

  "This is not a brothel, Mr. Sheehy. I've already explained to you once to keep your hands to yourself," Alistair scolded.

  Bran withdrew his arm from my shoulders as we sat down but that did not stop Alistair from giving Bran another detention.

  Michael was still missing from school when I reached biology. After what had happened Friday, I wasn't sure he was coming back. He couldn't stay away forever. We still had finals and he needed to graduate. Did that matter to him anymore?

  Maria said a pleasant hello but had given up sitting with me in favour of her lab partner for most of the year, Natalia. I sat alone, which gave me plenty of time to dwell on the possible reasons for Michael's continued absence, though I admittedly had made no progress even over an entire weekend of fretting.

  Give the stone back. I texted to him when class ended.

  Michael: No.

  I bit my lip to stifle a shriek as I rammed my phone into my bag.

  I texted him at lunch. It's mine. I want it back now.

  Michael: No.

  I texted him that evening.

  Michael: No.

  I texted the next morning.

  Michael: No.

  I texted him at every opportunity over the next three days.

  Michael: No. No. No. No. No.

  I threw my phone across my room. It hit the wall and there was a crack followed by part of the case falling to the floor. I cringed as I hopped off the bed to retrieve it. The screen was cracked. I bit my lip as I pressed the power button. The screen turned on and I was able to enter the code without any problems but who knew how long it would last like that. One more stupid thing to worry about.

  Thursday morning, I texted my usual demand. I blinked down at his new reply. I reread it several times over.

  Michael: It's gone.

  He better be kidding. What the hell does that mean?

  Michael: Don't have it anymore. Stop asking.

  Me: What did you do with it?

  Michael: Doesn't matter. It's gone.

  Me: I hate you.

  Michael: Better that way.

  Me: Why?!

  There was no reply no matter how many times I demanded an answer that day.

  The next day was prom and Michael was missing at school yet again. I tried to ignore this fact. I had more important matters on my mind.

  Bran was too important to me to hurt. I couldn't take the veiled pain in his eyes every time I did not answer him about forever.

  I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life. That was never in question. How long I wanted that life to be very much was. Given that he could not join me in death, I had to choose what was more important to me. I had decided he was and planned to give him my answer that night after prom, when I would finally give him something else we both very much wanted.

  My mother would be working. She was on night shift for the next three nights. It was like the stars had aligned. The universe had given its assent in lining up all the details. The gnawing was downright cooing. Most importantly of all, I had finally realized that I was happy with my choice.

  After school, I headed home and straight to the shower. I searched under the sink for my mother's rollers. I had only used them twice before in my entire life: when I was five and a flower girl in my mother's cousin's wedding and again when I was eight, yet another wedding. This seemed an appropriate event to use them.

  I knew the basic mechanics behind them but had never actually rolled them myself. The rows were not neat and several stray hairs had fallen loose and had to be re-rolled. One particularly stubborn roller refused to stay and I was forced to hold it with one hand while searching for the hair dryer with the other.

  With each struggle, my adrenalize load jumped several notches. If only I had spent my teenage years searching for a hairstylist instead of relying on my mother's basic skills with scissors. I plugged in the dryer and proceeded to aim the too hot air at my hair. I rested my weight on one leg and waited for the air to do its work. My arm was getting weak and numb.

  Did Riley just bark?

  I shut off the hair dryer and listened. No sound. I called Riley. A moment later, he walked down the hall from the living room, his head down and tail wagging slightly. I listened closely for any other sounds, giving Riley a reassuring ear scritch as I did.

  There was nothing. I turned the hair dryer back on and continued with my monotonous task. I tried to push away the thought of an unseen audience, especially one full of Morrigan's minions. I tucked the hair dryer under the sink. I left all the rollers in except for the troublesome escapee as I went to my room to put on my dress.

  I was supposed to be home alone but I closed my bedroom door and made sure not even the tiniest gap lay open at the edge of the drapes. I dropped my towel and pulled the dress onto my body. It hung exactly like it should, a feat of triumph to say the least. Maybe I had been depriving myself denying all the girly aspects of life.

  I borrowed a pair of my mother's white heels before returning to the bathroom. I stopped in the doorway and leaned back to look down the hall. Riley was in the hallway and facing the living room, just standing there.

  "Hey Riley, go lie down somewhere, you're freaking me out."

  He looked back at me before plopping down exactly where he stood, but he did not lower his head. He remained playing sentinel in the hall. I tried to ignore him. I needed to focus. Bran would no doubt be early. He always was.

  The joy the dress had given me in girly pleasures had dissipated by my fourth attempt at using mascara. This was why make-up was stupid. One wrong move and it all had to come off and be started again with an even blotchier base. I should have done practice runs.

  After several attempts at slow breathing, I managed to look like I had had some clue of what I was doing with make-up brushes. I pulled out the rollers and let my now large curls fall over my shoulders. Even I had to admit I looked acceptable.

  With a quick nip into my mother's room, I grabbed some costume jewellery: stud earrings and a white gem pendant necklace. I put on the bracelet Michael had given me for my birthday. I swallowed.

  I looked up at the clock again: 6:15.

  Bran had still not arrived and there was one more thing I needed to do. I needed to try talking to Michael one more time. I wouldn't be able to get him out of my head all night otherwise and I wanted to indulge in my time with Bran.

  I looked at the time again. I had time.

  I tiptoed to the front door—mostly because weight distribution in heels still confused me—and opened it. The thin fabric of my dress was as protective against the evening chill as my birthday suit. I grabbed Bran's coat from the rack and wrapped it around my shoulders before hopping gingerly over the lawn.

  I was both relieved and surprised when he opened the door. He looked equally surprised though far from relieved. He just stared at me.

  "Are you going to let me in? I'm freezing!" I was begging. I wasn't ashamed.

  He hesitated. He looked vacantly over my shoulder as he considered. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded slowly and stepped aside.

  "Are you ever going to come back to school?" I asked. I draped Bran's coat over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and sat down.

  Michael was staring at my dress. I looked down at it, confused. "Is there something wrong with it?"

  His eyes returned to my face. "You really shouldn't be here."

  I stared at him. "You telling me what to do now or are you saying you really don't want me here?"

  But for the high-pitched hum of the kitchen lights, the house was silent.

  "I thought you were at prom," he confessed. His surprise when he opened the door now made sense. He hadn't wanted to see me. He would have kept avoiding it if he could. Had our years of friendship really come to this? To silence? To nothing?

  "Are you ever going to answer my questions ever again?" I demanded.

  He si
ghed. "Lu, I want you to be happy."

  I jumped to my feet, wobbling and nearly toppling over on the unsteady support of the heels. "Having my best friend keep secrets from me and ask me to hate him doesn't make me happy!" I shouted.

  He looked away. The coward wouldn't even face me. "You will understand some day," he said.

  "I want to understand now! I have a right to make informed decisions in my own life. Given that you've taken my only hope for knowledge away, then I deserve to know why." No, don't cry. Stupid mascara. Stupid Michael. By sheer force of will, no tears fell but my face hurt from the effort.

  He looked me right in the eyes. "I won't tell you."

  I could feel my cheeks getting hot. "I am so sick of people trying to protect me from... Well, I don't even know what it is because no one will tell me! Maybe I don't need protecting. Maybe I just want to know what's going on so I can feel good about my choices."

  He did not waver. "I'm sorry, Lu."

  "No, you're not," I shot back as I ripped Bran's coat from the back of the chair.

  "Yes," he insisted. "I am. I really really am."

  I swung the coat around my shoulders as I refused to look at him. "Goodbye, Michael. Have fun ruining 14 years of friendship and your entire education for some stupid teenage hormones."

  "You know that's not what it is!" He countered but I had already pushed him aside and was at the door, wrenching it open. I refused to speak to him. Let him endure the silent treatment for a while. I did my best to stomp from the house, twisting my ankle in the process. As I hobbled back to my house, Riley started barking.

  "Riley!" I shouted angrily. He kept barking.

  I opened the door and slipped inside. "Riley, be quiet!" I called out even as dread washed over me at the possibilities evoking this reaction from him. He was standing in the opening to the hallway and barking at the other end.

  I walked up to him and looked down the hall. I wanted to call out, "Mom, Bran?" but I knew it was neither of them. If it was Graham, Connor, or James, I had no desire to draw their attention to me.

  I grabbed Riley by the collar and pulled him with me as I meant to run from the house. I ripped open the front door and collided with a wall of well-dressed muscle.

  "What is it? Is everything alright?" Bran was looking down at me, the warrior ready for battle behind his eyes.

  "Down the hall," I whispered.

  He gently pushed me aside and entered the house. Silently, he sidled around the corner and down to my bedroom. My ears were ringing in the silence that was punctuated only by my heartbeat and breathing.

  "Goddammit!" Bran yelled.

  "Bran!" I called out.

  "I'm fine," he called back. "No sign of anyone." When he walked back around the corner, he was looking down at the cuff of his dress shirt. "I lost a cufflink," he said. "Those were two-hundred years old. And Parisian."

  My stress cracked into a giggle. "You never struck me as the fashion type."

  "I'm a keepsake type," he said. "I got them off... Well, it was work related."

  I crossed my arms. "The body of someone you killed?"

  He looked at the floor around him. "Yeah, that." He forced a smile on his face as he looked up at me. "Nevermind that. Your mom going to be at the clinic tonight?"

  I nodded.

  "Good. I was hoping you'd come to my place tonight."

  My heart skipped a beat. The Talons held it firm. "That would be perfect," I whispered.

  He grinned

  I looked down at Riley, whose collar I was still clutching and thought of Morrigan's lesser immortals. "I'm not comfortable leaving Riley alone that long though."

  "Take him to Mike's then," he suggested.

  I agreed but I couldn't face Michael again. Instead, I bent down to hug my little bed hog for good measure before asking Bran to do it. Despite the breakdown of our relationship, Michael welcomed my furry senior with a big hug and a head scritch. He shot a quick stony-faced glance at me before retreating inside with Riley in tow.

  When Bran returned, he looked me up and down, really taking me in for the first time since he had arrived. He was looking amazing in a black three-piece suit and silver tie. I was brought back to reality mid-swoon when he said, "You were right."

  My brow furrowed. "About what?"

  He smiled as he looked down at my body. "I had totally underestimated the power of that dress. Taking you home right now seems like a pretty good idea." He tugged at his thick jacket that was still around my shoulders. "I'm not sure I'll be able to control myself when you take this off."

  I leaned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up into his face. "Who says I want you to?"

  With a chuckle, he took my hand in his and we walked to his car. "Give me that kind of permission and I will take you up on it."

  "Dance first," I insisted.

  "You are such a tease."

  "Always."

  In the car, he did not drive off right away. He pulled a small box out from under his seat. He smiled as he opened it to reveal a corsage of white and black roses. "It seemed like us," he said. He was right.

  When we got to the school, we stopped by my locker to drop off my coat. The moment I had it off, Bran was wrapped around me and kissing me with all the hunger he had shown the night we had first kissed.

  "Mr. Sheehy, this is a school dance, not a sex den," Alistair called from down the hall.

  Bran's lips fell away from mine. His fingers clenched around the fabric of the back of my dress.

  "You get so much joy out of this, don't you, Alistair?" he growled.

  "That's Mr. Roghan," he shot back. "Do you need to be expelled from the school?"

  Bran released me and stepped back. "No, sir," he said with a bite.

  Alistair approached. "Best not linger in the halls." He was taking far too much joy in a miniscule victory.

  I had not remembered him being the vindictive type. Granted, I had not remembered much. If he wanted to have it out with Bran so much, it made no sense for him not to get to it instead of resorting to petty baiting. How strong was Bran's patience when put up against a centuries-old hatred?

  Bran took my hand in his to lead me away but Alistair stopped me with a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Still missing all the pieces?" he asked.

  Bran tried to step between us but I stopped him with a soft touch of my hand to his arm. I looked right into Alistair's familiar eyes. "The stone is gone and as I already told you, I've made my choice."

  He faltered. Any remnants of his smugness had dissipated. "It can't be gone," he whispered. Then he glared at Bran.

  "It wasn't Bran," I said, stepping between them. "Michael took it and claims it is gone forever."

  Bran tugged on my hand. "Let's go. We didn't come here to fight with him." I let him lead me away.

  Alistair remained where he stood, still with a furrowed brow.

  "Tonight is for us," Bran said. "I won't let him take that."

  The music of the gym was pounding down the hall. It was too loud for normal conversation even before we reached the doors, which were propped opened. It looked like an explosion of pink, white, and black streamers and balloons were bursting from the opening. Christmas lights had been strung across the ceiling to give light in place of the usual miserable fluorescents. It made the room look like an overly festive Neapolitan sundae.

  Bran spun me around and pulled me against him. He led me onto the crowded dance floor. A bobbing and gyrating sea of teenagers oozed around us. Without knowing how it had happened, I was spinning around and then back against Bran. The talons inside raked at my rib cage, demanding freedom. I swallowed and blinked up at him. The mischievousness of his crooked smile was nothing compared to the inferno behind his eyes. How could he trigger such torture in both of us and endure it?

  I had no time to develop an answer. He was lifting me up and spinning me, performing moves that I had not expected from a warrior. The music slowed and he pulled me close. He was no longer showing of
f but instead joining in with those around us in swaying in the middle of the room. I rested my head on his chest. This was right and it was real. It was perfect. There was nothing I could ever remember that would change it. Not a single thing.

  We danced and ate and sat cuddled together as we watched the others. Maria had relented and come with Spencer, who was looking rather pleased with himself. Samantha was currently in a corner sucking a boy's face. His hands kept getting lower. That wouldn't last long. Ms. Patterson was heading for them with a don't-mess-with-me stride.

  "Bran," I said against his arm, during our last slow dance.

  "Yes, dove?"

  I looked up at him. The spiraling blues and greens could never be outdone no matter what advances were made in contacts. "Take me home with you."

  Bran dipped his head and kissed me. He moved his lips to my neck and whispered, "As you desire."

  My breathing sped up. I involuntarily arched my body against him. "Careful, dove," he whispered into my ear. "I still need a clear enough head to drive."

  We walked hand in hand to the car. Alistair did not come across us again, which was a blessing. It began to rain. It was getting late. The roads were quiet. We were the only two people in the world.

  He led me up the walk and into the house. I had expected us to attack each other the moment we were inside but when he turned the light on, the living room held my attention. My heart, my lungs, they all stopped.

  The furniture had been removed and in its place was a black grand piano. Bran wrapped his arms around me from behind and kissed my shoulder. "Think of it as a graduation present," he whispered.

  I stepped forward. He let me go. The varnish was smooth and flawless under my touch. The lid was open. I looked up and down the length of the strings. I pressed several keys at the end of the keyboard and watched the mallets strike. Perfection. I forced the tears to stay dormant. If I cried, it would be messy.

  "Thank you," I whispered, but emotion had silenced most of my gratitude.

  With a gentle tug on my hand, Bran turned me to face him. Cupping my jaw with his free hand, he bent his head down. I stretched my chin up and met him halfway. This was not the same hunger I had come to expect. It was a gentle caress. He pressed into me and I in turn was pressed against the curve of the piano.

  I writhed as his hands moved exactly where I needed. He required no guidance from me. It was as if we were one person and our needs were one need. His soul resonated as mine. I pressed against him and could no longer tell where I ended and he began.

  I was not aware of when we had started pulling each other's clothes off. My brain had lost its ability to catalogue information. I was skipping time as if on a narcotic.

  The world around me was a blur of the piano, our bodies, a bed. I felt the silk of a scarf tickling my wrists. Where his hands moved, so did mine. We were a single entity, moving together, feeling together.

  It was the middle of the night when I woke up, realizing I was alone in the king-sized bed. I was cradled by the soft mattress and my bare skin was caressed by the silken sheets. A silk scarf was still tied around one wrist. The folds of the now-released end undulated over the sheets. I caressed the length of it with my free hand, recalling the pleasures we had felt even as we had been confined by it.

  The gnawing returned. My heart fell. I had hoped it would have finally been sated. It might never go away. The hayloft, it hadn't been sated then either. The disappointment sobered me.

  "Bran?" I called sleepily.

  "Just getting a drink, dove," he called back. A moment later, he was standing in the doorway, completely naked and holding a glass of water. Even through the darkness, I could see the broadness of his shoulders, the bulk of his muscles, and his marks. He had endured so much for this moment.

  "The sky is clearing," he said, walking over to the bed. He set his water down on the night table and bent over me. Slipping his arms around me, he pulled me to my feet.

  "I'm cold," I protested when he withdrew his arms.

  He chuckled. "And impatient," he teased.

  He lifted the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. "Come with me," he said barely above the quiet of the room.

  He led me by the hand from the bedroom through the house and out the patio door. He pulled me down onto the wood surface outside and took the blanket off me just long enough to wrap himself around me and then the blanket around us both. I leaned back against his torso and sighed.

  The sky was a bespeckled stretch of silk cloth. We could have been in the middle of nowhere, free of responsibility and any demands that were not each other. The skin of his chest felt hot against my back.

  "It's not our Scotland," he murmured in my ear, "But it will do for now."

  The time had come. "It does not have to do for much longer."

  I could feel his body tense at my words. "What?" His voice was hot and husky against my neck. He sounded patient and calm. I knew he wasn't. I didn't know how, but I could tell exactly what he was feeling at that moment as if I were feeling it too. He was scared.

  "I will join you in immortality," I said.

  The relief and joy that washed over him made me dizzy. It was so much. It was a thousand years of fear and sadness released all at once. My cheeks were as wet as my shoulder, where he wept at my vow.

  "I love you, dove," he whispered, "To the end of my life."

  A smile spread across my lips. "And to the end of mine." The gnawing had calmed.