Broken Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

  “Actually, I think it’s more important that Cambria look like she usually does,” I said. “If the viewers see a difference between her appearance tomorrow and what she looked like in the live streaming, for example, it could make them suspicious that she’s been forced into this. We need her to be herself now more than ever.”

  “I see,” Piper said quietly. Her face fell and she licked her lips. Then, her head snapped up and her dark eyes bored into mine. “Are you sure about that, Tara? I mean, really sure? I know Cambria’s your best friend, but I think you should listen to the voice of authority here. I’ve had a little more experience with this sort of thing.” Her voice mellowed, its sharp edge rounding out into a cozy crooning, and I felt my lids droop.

  Heavy. All my limbs felt heavy. My muscles, my mind, even my mouth as I tried answering her. I swayed in place. “Now that you mention it,” I said slowly, the words think on my tongue.

  A beat of silence passed and I became aware I’d stopped talking. “What was I saying?” I asked.

  “Mom!” Cambria’s hands fisted and she shoved herself in between us. “You’re compelling her?”

  Piper waved Cambria away. “I was just—”

  “Knock it off. Now,” Cambria said, her tone shooting from indignant straight to scary.

  I blinked and shook my head, the fog clearing. But it didn’t matter. Cambria was livid and she only leaned in closer, her nose inches from her mother’s. “How dare you?” Cambria yelled.

  Footsteps approached behind us and stopped in the doorway as the others crowded in. I stayed alert, my attention on Cambria. This might be her mom she was facing off with, but I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

  “You have no right,” Cambria went on. Her mother backed up a step but Cambria followed. “Coming here after all this time and thinking you have any say or that I give a single crap about what you think of me.”

  “I was only trying to suggest—”

  “Not suggest, Mom. Compel. And you reek of vodka. She was probably half-drunk with agreement. God, you could’ve hurt her. Or yourself. You don’t get to come back into my life and still be this version of you.”

  “I thought you’d be happy I came back,” Piper said. Her bottom lip quivered but something about it felt too dramatic. Too contrived. “A daughter should be happy to see her mother.”

  “I’d be happy if you were sober. And not trying to mind control my friend,” Cambria said. “Besides, you have no idea what a daughter should be. You don’t know me anymore. They do. You’re a stranger. And a drunk, threatening one at that. We don’t take kindly to compulsion without permission. In fact, usually we kick the offender out.”

  She folded her arms and the tears brimming in Piper’s eyes suddenly dried up. Her expression hardened. “I sent you away to that school to learn some manners, some self-control for this temper of yours. Apparently, it didn’t do what I’d hoped.”

  Piper slid by an unmoving Cambria—whose face had gone white as a sheet. “I’m going to bed. We’ll discuss this in the morning when you’ve calmed down.” She rounded the corner of the counter and I stepped in front of her to stop her. She pulled up short, her eyes widening. Behind me, someone snickered; it sounded a lot like Cord. Piper’s eyes flickered to the offender and I watched a slight flush rise to her cheeks.

  “You won’t talk to her about this again in the morning,” I said quietly.

  “What?” she stuttered. “Excuse you, but I will talk to my daughter about whatever—”

  “No, you won’t. All due respect, Ms. Hebert, she’s right. You are a stranger. You don’t know what’s best for her. And you were wrong earlier when you called yourself the authority here.”

  “Oh, really?” she said, her darkly lined eyes narrowing. “And who is? That crazy old scientist?”

  “Me,” I said quietly. “And I’m not going to kick you out. Not yet. But when tomorrow’s show begins, you will stay inside. And if you try to interfere, I will do more than just kick you out of this house. Respectfully,” I added through closed teeth.

  Ms. Hebert’s mouth opened, and the flush in her cheeks deepened to a bright red. “Well.” She gave a pointed look over my shoulder. “Benny, let’s go,” she said.

  “She better not take the room with the claw-footed tub,” Victoria muttered behind me.

  I waited while Ms. Hebert stepped around me and then I turned. “Benny,” I said.

  “Hmm. Yeah?” he asked quickly.

  “That goes for you too. Inside tomorrow or you’ll be asked to leave.”

  “Got it,” he said and then hurried to follow Ms. Hebert up the stairs. At least he didn’t need to be told twice. He’d already seen me in action. I almost smiled in spite of myself at the memory. George, Emma, Logan, and Victoria blinked back at me from the doorway. None of them spoke. Slowly, we all turned to Cambria. Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but she didn’t say a word.

  The front door opened and closed. Booted steps approached, along with the voices of Derek and Wes. They stopped abruptly when they rounded the corner and caught sight of us. Derek’s gaze sharpened into something like understanding as he took in the sight of Cambria by the sink looking murderous, but Wes looked completely confused.

  “What’s going on?” Wes asked.

  “My mom happened,” Cambria said.

  I told him about the compulsion attempt and he wrapped an arm around me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, just a little shocked,” I admitted.

  “My mom’s capable of more than she looks,” Cambria said with a sad shake of her head.

  “What about you?” Derek asked her. “You okay? Because if you’re having second thoughts about tomorrow—”

  “No second thoughts,” Cambria interrupted. “God, all she had to say about it was that I still hadn’t learned manners. Nothing about how tomorrow I’ll be a new species.”

  “Cam, your mom doesn’t know you anymore. Not like us. We’re here for you,” Logan said and even Victoria offered a murmured agreement.

  “She knew one thing,” Cambria said, her words twisting into sarcasm. “My mom’s prediction for my future is going to come true. After tomorrow, I’ll really be a bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The bedroom still smelled of mothballs and lavender soap. And if I sniffed in just the right place—near the bench at the foot of the bed—I could still detect the lingering scent of a familiar aftershave.

  “It’s just like we left it,” I said.

  Wes closed the door behind us and looked around. Inevitably, his eyes darted to the rug. Along the outer edge of the braided fabric was a small red stain. Janie.

  “It is,” he agreed quietly.

  He came forward, arms out, and pulled me in. He lifted me slightly and buried his face in my hair, breathing deeply. I grabbed handfuls of his jacket collar and held on just as tight. His breath was warm on my neck and grounded me in a way that made everything feel so much more manageable than it had down in the kitchen. One moment stretched into another and, when I didn’t move, Wes sat down on the bench and pulled me down into his lap.

  “Did you speak to Alex?” he asked.

  “He says they’ll miss the service but they’ll be here in time for ... Headmaster Whitfield doesn’t fly so they had to drive.”

  He huffed. “This inquiry board—”

  “Is necessary,” I said.

  He sighed. “And Cambria? How is she?”

  “She’s okay, I guess. I think mostly she’s nervous about tomorrow.”

  “Her mom certainly didn’t help things.” I watched while he slid his toe against his heel and slid his boots off.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I think in the long run, maybe she did.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, shrugging his jacket off while still managing to keep me firmly planted in his arms.

  “Cambria needed to say those things. Her mom needed to hear them. Even if things between them don’t
change as a result, it was necessary for Cambria to move forward,” I said.

  I turned and let Wes help me out of my own jacket. He set it aside and pulled my feet up, unlacing my boots and pulling them off one by one. “Thanks,” I said.

  The lamp light flickered, casting shadows. His expression was soft, full of shadows as he pulled me closer.

  “It’s okay to be worried,” I said and he smiled, leaning in until our foreheads touched.

  “That’s good. Because I can’t seem to turn it off.” I reached up, running my hand over his face and weaving my fingers into his hair.

  A thousand different reassurances were on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t bring myself to offer a single one. No matter what happened tomorrow, everything was going to change. One way or another.

  “I feel stronger with you beside me,” I said instead.

  “I’ve always ...” He trailed off and there was more in his expression than there’d been a moment ago.

  “Always what?” I asked, smoothing his hair away.

  He hesitated, searching for words, and when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “Falling in love with you has been the single happiest experience in my entire life. I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t beside me in it.”

  “Even when being together has made things harder?” I asked. Not because I wasn’t sure but because the lump in my throat was preventing me from agreeing and letting the moment be simple.

  “Especially then,” he assured me. “I know it hasn’t been easy, but after everything I’ve been through, everyone I’ve lost, I do know one thing.” His eyes shone with moisture and I couldn’t move or look away from the beauty of the way he stared back at me. There was no sadness when he mentioned having lost people, only gratitude and affection as he spoke about what he had gained. It was the first time I’d ever seen him smiling when he talked about his parents.

  “And what is that?” I whispered.

  “This is what love is. Suffering together rather than alone.”

  Tears fell before I could blink them back. I hadn’t even realized they were brimming until I felt them casting wet tracks down my cheeks. I sniffled and shoved the words out before crying made them impossible. “Love is you, Wes. Love is sitting in your lap and listening to you tell me that we’re stronger together—”

  Whatever else I might’ve added was cut short as Wes slid in, pressing my parted lips to his. His mouth was hot and fierce on mine, no gentility, no holding back. His hands slid down my torso and gripped my hips, pulling me off the bench and onto his lap.

  I wound my arms around his neck and pulled him as close as we could get through the fabric of our shirts. My skin heated at every contact point, my nerves all bunching and coiling—and having nothing to do with tomorrow’s risk.

  Every nightmare, every stress point, every nightmarish memory and anxiety-ridden possibility looming in our uncertain future all dropped away. Wes kissed me like there was no tomorrow—and maybe there wouldn’t be.

  Maybe we would only ever have tonight.

  My fingers loosened their grip and I explored with my hands, my mouth hot and busy on his. My fingertips felt for the edge of fabric and when I found it, I slid his shirt up and over his hardened abs and broad chest.

  Instead of leaning in and assisting my advances, Wes went still. His mouth stopped moving, his hands stopped caressing. The only movement left was his labored breaths against my face where he sat staring at me with wide eyes.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Nothing, I ...” He looked away and when he faced me again, his eyes were shuttered against whatever it was that had gotten to him. He grabbed my hips and lifted me, setting me down beside him. The air around me thickened, like a wall between us.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my cheeks heating. I shoved past the embarrassment. This wasn’t the first time he’d called a halt and I couldn’t figure out the reason behind his rejections.

  “Nothing,” he repeated. He scratched his head, tousling his hair. “I’m tired. Tomorrow’s a big day. We should get some sleep.” He stood and went to work turning down the bed covers and arranging the pillows. I watched him with narrowed eyes while I tried—and failed—to suppress the angry outburst building inside me.

  “You want to sleep,” I said, my voice flat.

  He flinched but kept moving, taking care to fluff the pillows and not look at me.

  “What is going on with you?” I stood up and, when he didn’t answer, slid between him and the bed. I snatched the pillow and tossed it behind me. “Talk to me. Why do you keep pulling away?”

  “I can’t do this. I just can’t ... do it.”

  I blinked extra hard at the emphasis he put on the last word. We both knew what he meant by it. He’d obviously read my willingness—a willingness that had been there on and off for a while now. He’d always been the one to slow things down, but this felt different.

  “IS this still about my virtue and not wanting to piss off my mom?” I demanded. “Because I think we’re a little past that. We’re both adults now,” I pointed out.

  “I know. It’s not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I can’t do it letting you think it’s your first time.” The words fell out so quickly I almost missed them.

  “What?” I asked, shaking my head in order to better organize each letter in my mind. “That doesn’t make any sense. Of course it’s my first time. I think I would know if—”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” he said quietly. He sank to the mattress but I hung back, suddenly apprehensive. The only other time he’d spoken like this was that first day ... when he’d erased—

  “Wes, what did you do?” I asked.

  “Only what you asked. No, demanded,” he said quickly, jumping to his feet again. He threw his hands up in a defensive motion and I hardly blamed him, but I was far past humor. “I swear. I didn’t want to but you made me. And it wasn’t safe before now to even mention it but with Steppe gone and ... after tomorrow, you’ll be in my head. Anyway, I thought you should hear it from me this way before you discovered it in my thoughts somewhere.”

  I stared at him, studying his expression. “You’re serious,” I said.

  “Deadly.”

  “What happened?” I asked warily. “Tell me everything.”

  “Will you at least sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

  “Fine,” I said and threw myself onto the mattress. “Happy?”

  He muttered something, but I let it go. I was too desperate for an explanation to summon the energy to argue with him.

  “You’d been missing for weeks already. I was convinced you were still in DC somewhere so I’d rented out that apartment I told you about near the train station so I could spend my days chasing down leads.” He turned away to pace and I watched the way his mouth somehow managed to look pinched even while he talked. Nerves rolled off him, his steps clipped and stiff. This boy was crazy nervous.

  “It was the middle of the night. I don’t know what time, two or three I guess. I was in bed. One minute I was sleeping in my empty apartment and the next I was waking up and you were standing over me.”

  “I was in your apartment?” I asked, momentarily forgetting all about where this was headed. “How is that possible?”

  “I had no idea. Still don’t. But you were there. You were sad, scared, but you didn’t look hurt. You said you didn’t have much time, seemed just as surprised as I was to be standing in my room. We kissed and ... I pulled you into bed.”

  He fell silent but I was enthralled, my brain on a fast-track of possibilities. “And then what?” I asked. His cheeks flushed and I waved an impatient hand. “I mean after that. How did I get back? Why would I want to forget it?”

  “You got called back or pulled or something. Neither of us really understood it. You were scared of Steppe. You said he would find out what had happened and use it against you or me. Or both. You made me promise to take the memory awa
y so that he couldn’t get in your head.”

  “What was I so worried about him finding?” I asked quietly, finally focusing on the event itself. “What happened?” My pulse sped, but I needed him to say it.

  His gaze was piercingly sharp on mine, his dark eyes swimming with a mental image I couldn’t conjure. “We made love, Tara.”

  My mouth went dry. I nodded, numb all over. Wasn’t a girl supposed to feel differently after something like that? Shouldn’t I have noticed it when I woke?

  Before I could think of what to say next, Wes was there. He knelt in front of me on the floor, his hands grazing the outer edges of my thighs. “Please don’t be mad,” he whispered.

  “I’m not mad,” I said honestly when the shock began to clear.

  “You’re not?” he asked, one brow arched in skepticism. “Because if you are, I understand.”

  “You did the right thing. I wouldn’t have wanted Steppe seeing that. He already saw enough and he definitely used it all against me at some point or another.” I shuddered.

  Wes exhaled, clearly relieved.

  “I’m not mad,” I said again. “But I am disappointed I can’t remember. Can you give it back to me?”

  “Yes. I can do that, but...”

  “What now?” I asked. “Dear God, how many times have we done it?”

  “Just one,” he assured me quickly.

  “Then what?”

  “I just want you to be prepared. It’s ... a lot.”

  “Okay. I’m prepared,” I said, settling in.

  He shook his head but didn’t press it. Probably a good thing. I didn’t want to explain that a girl could only be so prepared to experience her first time—for the second time. But I didn’t have to. The look on his face said he knew exactly what I was thinking. This was going to be really interesting when we could hear each other’s every thought.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  I did, and shivered when I felt his fingertips run down my arms before his hands settled over mine. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Ready,” I murmured.

  It was a rushing of emotions, images, and remembered heat. The memory was a slow love song in front of a roaring fire. The experience was the light, the heat, comfort. But underneath it all, I’d been terrified. Lonely, and scared, and terrified.