Gillian seemed to pause for a moment, to think about what she would do and then sighed, turning to face him again. She looked relieved to find him dressed and came into the room. Before she got to the bed, she stopped, flinching.
“What happened?” she whispered.
Frowning, Tristan shook his head, not understanding.
Gillian sat next to him on the bed, legs brushing. “The scars on your arms, was that from the accident?”
“Yes,” he lied flatly. Maybe she hadn’t seen the one on his stomach, it was the hardest to look at of them all. And probably the hardest to explain since it looked wrong—a vampire did claw his way through him, after all.
“I’m sorry.”
He flinched, looking at her. “What—why?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should wait to give the box to you but I, well, I’m so afraid you’re going to disappear on me again. And I know you don’t have time now for dinner, but maybe you can stop in really quick before you go and say hi to Mom and Dad.”
“Gillian,” he sighed.
“No, I know you promised. And I believe you, it’s just that…”
“What?” he asked gently.
She shook her head, her curls brushing his bare shoulder. “It’s just something in your eyes. I don’t know, like you… like you belong somewhere else.”
Well, that was almost the truth. The truth being that he really didn’t belong anywhere. His home was wherever Ash was and right now, he needed to be with her. They had so much to talk about.
She huffed and looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. The huge ring that Eric had given her was almost too much for her delicate, pianist fingers. “We, Eric and I, I mean… we were so surprised when we got that letter from you, out of the blue, asking to see us.”
Tristan tried not to tense. If she only knew the truth, that it was a trap set by his enemies.
She leaned into him a little and got a whiff of her soft perfume. He was used to her being clingy, it was just who Gillian was, but something about it in that moment made him uneasy. And overwhelmingly sad. “We’d thought you were gone for good.”
She tilted her head up to look at him timidly through her lashed. “I really am just… so happy you’re back, Tristan.”
He shut his eyes to hide his pain. “Me too,” he whispered.
“You know, I was really shocked when Eric proposed this morning.”
He opened his eyes, staring down at the floor. In his peripheral, he could see Gillian’s hands and that ring glittering on her finger.
“I know he loves me but he’s just the sort of guy that once he gets comfortable, he doesn’t like to change things, you know?”
He nodded, understanding that about his friend.
“We’d talked about getting married, for years, I just never thought it would happen. And I can’t help but think it was you. You’re the reason he finally did it. I think he was afraid of losing me to you.”
Tristan flinched, turned to look at Gillian with wide eyes. Just what was she saying?
She looked up slowly and met his eyes, a fire in her own hazel stare.
He swallowed hard, unable to look away and whispered, “Gillian?”
She was leaning into Tristan and he thought his body moved towards hers as if under a spell. And then lips touched his. They were soft and warm, so alive and tasted of strawberry.
He drew in a gasp, jerking away. “Aw, shit. I’m sorry, G.”
Gillian shot to her feet, hands out in front of her. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
He blinked up at her in surprise. Her face was almost as red her hair and a laugh crept up Tristan’s throat from nowhere. The laugh poured out of his mouth before he could stop it. He laughed until his side hurt and tears filled his eyes. It felt so good to laugh again, after all that happened the past week.
Gillian huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, grumping but smiling. “What is so funny?” she asked, pouting just a little.
“I’m, I’m sorry G.” He clutched at the cramp in his side, damn stomach wound still hurt sometimes. “It’s just seeing you blush over something so silly. It’s really cute. It reminded me of the last time we kissed.”
She smiled warmly, dropping her arms. “That was like forever ago Trist. We were just kids.”
He nodded. “Mhm.”
They had just graduated high school and were having a huge party at her parent’s house. He couldn’t remember how Gillian convinced her parents to leave with all of those kids there. It was probably because his parents were right next-door and that’s where both of their parents spent the evening, watching from afar.
No sooner did the Thompson’s leave when the booze was brought out. Tristan remembered being drunk and wild that night in a way he’d never really been in high school, Gillian his constant cohort in all things mischievous. He was messing around and tossed Gillian into the pool fully clothed. She managed to climb out of the water without drowning and made her way stumbling and laughing towards her room, dripping water all over the house. He was chasing after her to toss her in again when he heard her slip at the base of the stairs and fall in a roar of laughter.
He ran to her rescue, gathering her in to his arms and helped her upstairs rather than back to the pool. They laughed and giggled all the way up the stairs, knocking pictures and shit all over the floor. He dumped her onto her bed when they finally made it to her room but before he could stand up she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a bruising kiss. He fell on her and kissed her like the typical drunken, horny teenager he was. They were in a frenzy pulling at each other’s clothing. She had gotten his shirt over his head and pants open, and he had her wet bra exposed and unsnapped before they both froze as if some horrible monster had just stepped into the room.
Well, it wasn’t a horrible monster, just his wonderfully pleasant girlfriend. She screamed, calling them whores and other names, saying she should have known they were fucking each other, best friends her ass, and stormed out. He blinked down at Gillian under him only then just realizing what they were doing. It must have hit Gillian in that same moment because her pale porcelain cheeks turned a lovely shade of bright red. They both burst out into hysterical laughter at the absurdness of their actions. They were always meant to be the best of friends and never lovers. It was not the type of relationship they had. Not then and not now.
He licked his lips tasting her lip gloss again and couldn’t feel ashamed for it. He loved Gillian, but it was Ash he was in love with. “You know I love you, just not like that. I’ve thought, more than once actually, that maybe we could be like that, but you’re my sister.”
Her brow pinched slightly and she smiled sadly. “I love you too,” she said softly. “But you’re right. It was nothing like that... I’m just, I’m a mess of hormones lately is all.” A sudden mischievous grin filled her face and she put her hands to her hips. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Eric you tried to kiss me so he won’t have to kick your ass.”
Tristan snorted a laugh. “Sure, like that punk could take me.” He flexed, making a joke of it all. But under the laugher and good times, there was a bad feeling taking hold around his soul. Things were changing and like Eric, he was afraid of that change and what it could mean for not only him, or his small group of loved ones but the world too.
“Um, excuse me.”
The others flinched at Kiba’s sudden appearance in the bedroom doorway. “It’s almost seven-thirty, we should really get going or we’ll be late.”
Tristan stood, nodding. It was almost dusk and Ash was probably up already. Wren would still be trapped by the late day sun but if Ash was up, Desmond might be too. That is if he wasn’t already dead. “Shit, you’re right.” He turned back to Gillian. Shit. Is that why she hasn’t called to see where he was?
“Yeah. I’ve really got to go.”
She smiled sadly. “Busy man. Go on and I’ll talk to you later. Just call me, ‘kay?”
He smiled at her and kissed he
r cheek. “Absolutely.”
She seemed sad and distant when he pulled away but he didn’t have time to stop and figure it out. He had vampire to save.
12: Call me a Dog
FUCK you then. I don’t fucking care if you die.”
Ash scowled at Tristan in admonishment, but didn’t bother saying anything. Everyone was on edge, and for good reason. He and Ash hadn’t more than a few words with each other when he returned with the Were. He’d yet to talk to her about Nastasia, or all that’d happened last night. Hell, he’d barely kept her from eviscerating Kiba when he brought the kid home. And with Desmond on his death bed, there was little time for anything aside from convincing a house full of angry vampires, and one fae, not to kill the man who signed their friend’s death warrant.
This moment right here, it was about seeing Desmond through this, whether it was to witness Desmond’s death or his miraculous recovery.
No one trusted the Were. And with good cause, especially after he openly admitted that he was Nastasia’s pet. He was hers and yet he was more than willing to enslave himself with anyone else if it meant a reprieve from his Master’s wrath. That alone seemed too cool Ash’s temper and soften her to the wolf, just a little. Though, if the kid weren’t on the up and up, Tristan knew she’d be all over him before he could even shift. For once, he found all the weird shit of his life more curious than urksome. Honestly, he really wanted to see what it was like for a lycanthrope to shift.
“I agree with Desmond,” she said softly. “This could very well be a mistake. But,” she emphasized when Tristan opened his mouth to argue. Her attention went to Wren then Desmond. “You are going to die… soon. What harm is there in trying a spell? This is our only option.”
Desmond looked like hell, a wraith melted to the bed. During the day, he’d lost all of his hulking mass. His skin hung on him in sallow pockets of wrinkled leather. All of his hair had fallen out, even his eyelashes and brows. His bright green eyes had gone dull and grey and were circled in purple. Every breath he took, and yes, he said he had to breathe, was wet sounding and rough, a death rattle. He was too weak to even lift his head on his own. He could barely talk and despite not liking the guy, it hurt Tristan to see the vampire like this.
Before Lance rushed out of the room to take a phone call, he told the others how he tried to feed Desmond during the daylight hours. The vampire should have smelled the blood, even in his death-like sleep, and latched onto the fae. Even after Lance cut open a vein, the vampire didn’t respond. Wren did however and Lance had to fight the unconscious vampire as he forced Desmond to drink his blood, but he was sure the guy had died during the day.
Something that looked a hell of a lot like fear passed over Desmond’s wretched expression at Ash’s words. “Could make me death hurt more.”
“Or simply put us all out of your misery,” Tristan snapped. “God, man the fuck up.”
Desmond looked angry, but that was Tristan’s point. He was being the person Desmond needed him to be, the rival that always fought with him and told him to fuck off and die. He just never really meant those things and they both knew it. Well, maybe not at first… best not to dwell on the past.
“Look,” Tristan stormed up to him, holding the cup of spell. It was the first one he’d come by that actually smelled not bad. “You’re drinking this shit and that’s that. If it kills you, fine; if it doesn’t, then great. So stop fucking whining like a baby and drink the damn thing.”
Desmond searched Tristan’s face and then smiled weakly. Tristan started, trying to hide it when he saw that several of the vampire’s teeth had fallen out, including his fangs. “I dinnae take orders from fooking Uruwashi.”
Tristan smiled. “That’a boy.”
“Then do it for me,” Ash said, putting a hand on his leg, what was left of it, which was mostly just bone at this point. “Do it because I asked.”
Desmond glanced up at Wren, something like a question in his eyes. The other man didn’t flinch, not even a blink. Tristan knew enough of Wren that the man wanted Desmond to try, fight to live, but he wouldn’t sway his Master one way or the other, not intentionally. Wren was a true submissive and while he and his Master had their issues, they still loved each other.
Desmond huffed. “Aye, fine, fine,” he said raising his voice and then falling into a fit of coughing. Everyone winced at the sound of it, he really was dying. Ash was right, Desmond didn’t have long. He’d die tonight if this spell didn’t work.
Ash gently pushed Tristan aside, taking the spell from him. “I swear on my honor that if this does kill you, fast or slow, in peace or agony, I will rip the lycanthrope’s throat out and eat his heart.”
Tristan balked at the ferocity in her statement, because, fuck, he felt her conviction and knew she meant every word. Shit, Ash was a bad. Ass.
Desmond reached out to touch her arm and missed a few times. Finally, his bony fingers found her. “You be a real good lass, you ken?”
She tried to smile and failed to make it look anything other than worried. “Drink.”
It took both Wren and Ash to help Desmond up. Bile burned the back of Tristan’s throat when he inadvertently got a glimpse of Desmond’s back. He quickly turned away with his eyes shut, but he’d never forget the sight of the flesh literally rotting off the vampire and stuck to the sheets. That accounted for the smell at least.
Desmond choked, but managed to get most of the spell into him and then they help him lie back against the bed again, in his own filth.
“How long?” Ash asked softly, searching Desmond’s face as the man shut his eyes with a rattling sigh.
“Um.” Kiba straightened in his seat when all eyes fixed on him. “I’m not sure, actually.”
Ash pursed her lips in annoyance and turned on her heel, marching out of the room. “Come with me, wolf.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said without a hint of sarcasm, head bowed.
“Wait.” The group stopped and turned to look at the man in the bed. “Last request fer a dying man…” Desmond tried to lift his hand and gave up with a little whimper. “Could go for a puff.”
She smiled. “Of course. I think I have some in my luggage.”
“You be a sweet, sweet lass,” the vampire said, barely able to speak and his eye lids slowly lowering.
Tristan exchanged a look with Wren and left the vampire alone with his Master. He was glad they finally made up after all this time, but he was sad for them both at the seemingly apparent loss soon to occur. If Ash didn’t end Kiba for messing up Wren’s second chance, Tristan would.
He scoffed, shaking his head as he silently admonished himself. He knew all too clearly what his stance on killing lately was. Even Pollux, more than deserving of his fate, was off his docket as far as he was concerned. He was done with all the violence and death. There had to be a way out of the vicious cycle.
Ash glanced at him over her shoulder, brow furrowed in an obvious frown but said nothing. It wasn’t like she could hear his thoughts. He had his mind locked up tight and he knew, with partial jesting, she lamented that she ever taught him how to do it.
Silent with her chin held high, she marched into the front sitting room with Kiba right behind her like an obedient dog. Lance glanced up from his place on the far stool at the center island, phone pressed to his ear and blinked blankly at the group. Tristan shrugged and followed the others into the front room.
Ash was already seated on one of the high back chairs near the fireplace, one leg crossed over the other, her thin fingers laced together under her chin. Tristan shivered at the remembered memory of spending an evening with the creepy boy-Ash in chairs much like those, being told dark fairytales that ended up being so fucking true. Kiba stood in the middle room with his hands clasped before him, head bowed and looking like a scolded child. Tristan raised an eyebrow at Ash. Her eyes smiled even though her lips didn’t.
“Start with telling me your name.”
Kiba glanced up before looking down to his
feet again. “Trevor, ma’am. Trevor Lee Marshall.”
“I see,” she said in a solemn tone but her expression was surprised.
“What?” Tristan asked from his place on the sofa.
Staring at the Were, Ash addressed Tristan. “As with the humans, the shinwa and heikō can be measured in their familial success by how far back they can track their ancestry. A successful vampire line, for instance, would be one that has several Master vampires living at one time and active knowledge of past progenitors. I suppose you can say my particular line in the House of Earth was successful with Innokentiy still living, as well as Genoveva, Malik and myself…”
“That’s disturbing,” Tristan muttered. Sure, her line had several living Masters, until recently anyway, but look at the people they were.
“For the lycanthrope, the Marshall clan bred themselves into every other clan to become the only clan of lycanthrope in all of Australia. They even had a few off-shoot clans in the orient, perhaps farther, that is only known to the Marshalls. They were the largest lycanthrope clan to ever exist.”
And then the vampires wiped them all out.
“I guess I don’t really need to be told that that was what attracted Malik to them,” Tristan said sourly.
“Probably so.” Ash turned her attention on the quiet wolf again. “Trevor?”
“Ma’am,” he responded softly, head still bowed in submissiveness.
“Tell me why I should let you live after you hurt my friend.”
Tristan made a little noise, but the look Ash gave him said that she was bluffing. He relaxed a little but still felt the stir of unease.
“I wonder that myself, ma’am.” He looked up, flipping his blond hair out of his eyes with a practiced shake of his head. “If I’m the last of my kind, there really is no point in going on, is there? And I’ve done a terrible thing, willingly biting your friend.”
Ash narrowed her eyes on him. “Were you ordered to bite him by your Master?”
“No, ma’am.”
Primal Burdens: (The Uruwashi Series #5) Page 13
