by Kiki Howell
“I’ve had broken bones before.”
“If you’d rather go to the hospital—”
“I trust your judgment,” she cut in. “And the light is green.”
Moments later, Jacob was pulling up into the driveway. He let out a quiet sigh when he saw Kirsten’s car there. She hadn’t picked up when he had called her right after the end of the fight, and he figured she was still mad at him for stopping her from coming with the rest of them. He’d left a message, hoping she’d at least listen to it if she was too angry to speak to him. They’d only argued a couple of times while they’d been dating, and when they had, she’d never ignored his messages.
“I’ll get her in,” Vinnie said when Jacob killed the engine, but Jacob was already out and opening the back door before Vinnie had even stepped out of the car.
“I’ve got her,” Jacob said. “Do you want to grab the weapons in the trunk? If you drop them in the back room I’ll clean them before I go to bed. You can go home and get some rest.”
Pulling Rachel out of the car without jostling her leg was about as much fun as helping her slide in had been. Jacob held his breath and winced right along with her until she was secure against his chest, her arms looped around his neck.
“Okay?” he asked again.
From this close, even with nothing but the moonlight over them, her face looked less ghostly, with spots of red high in her cheeks. She nodded, and Jacob started toward the door.
“Hey, Jacob, where’s your sword?”
Frowning, Jacob paused and turned back to the car. Vinnie was holding his own weapon as well as Rachel’s, which Jacob had pulled from the side of the dead demon and thrown in the trunk. But Jacob’s sword... had to still be on the battlefield, where Jacob had dropped it when he had realized Rachel was hurt.
Biting back a curse, he shook his head.
“My dads must have it,” he told Vinnie, and hoped he was right. “Don’t worry about it.”
He took Rachel inside. Kirsten was sitting on the sofa in the lobby; she stood at once. She had cleaned the take-out cartons off the coffee table, replacing them with the ingredients for her magic spells.
“How bad?” she asked right away.
“Broken leg,” Rachel answered before Jacob could. “It’s not that bad.”
Kirsten’s eyes narrowed, as though she didn’t quite believe Rachel. Why wouldn’t she, though?
“All right,” she said briskly. “Set her down on the sofa, I’ll—”
“Upstairs,” Jacob interrupted. “She’ll be too tired after the magic to go anywhere, won’t she?”
For a few seconds, Kirsten remained very still, before she gave a curt nod. She picked a few vials and sachets from the table along with a small metal bowl and followed Jacob upstairs. For years, the guestroom had been used for nothing more than storage, but the boxes of Jacob’s old things were now lined up against the wall, and the room looked decent enough. Jacob gently set Rachel down on the bed. She must have been close to falling asleep already, because her arms remained looped around his neck a little longer, and her voice was no louder than a whisper when she said, “Thank you.”
Retreating to lean against the wall, Jacob crossed his arms over his chest and watched Kirsten set up her things.
“Got scissors?” she asked, throwing him a quick glance. “I need to see her leg but I don’t want to move it any more than I have to.”
Jacob hurried out of the room and to the kitchen, quickly locating scissors in the junk drawer and returning to find Kirsten murmuring over her bowl and the ingredients she was mixing inside it. When she’d first been learning to do magic, she had let him watch a few times, explaining what she did as she went along; now, he didn’t dare say a word.
He approached the bed and met Rachel’s eyes. She grinned as she asked, “Think your father will pay for a new pair of pants?”
“Sure.” He smiled, as much in response to her grin as in relief she wasn’t so bad off that she couldn’t quip. “I’ll talk to him about it. Where do you hurt exactly?”
Her pants were torn a little below the knee, which was where he expected the break would be, but she pointed there as well as higher on her thigh. Jacob blinked, taken aback. A double break? She hadn’t said a word!
“I’ll do it,” Kirsten said briskly, taking the scissors from him and making short work of Rachel’s pants, exposing her leg from the top of her thigh down. She removed Rachel’s shoes as well, and they thumped when she dropped them to the floor.
“Close your eyes,” Kirsten told Rachel as she picked up the metal bowl again. “Try to stay still and breathe deeply.”
The oily paste of herbs and powders she had mixed together smelled like a spring garden. She spread it over Rachel’s entire leg, chanting quietly the entire time. Jacob held his breath when the paste started to emit a soft glow. It seemed to seep right under Rachel’s skin, and in moments it had all but disappeared. Rachel let out a deep sigh and turned her face on the pillow as her body relaxed in sleep.
“Done?” Jacob whispered.
Kirsten nodded and gestured to the door. Jacob followed her out to the kitchen, where she washed her hands in the sink.
“I’ll check on her tomorrow,” she said. “But she should be fine. Her body responded well to the spell.” She shut off the water and took the hand towel Jacob was holding out to her. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t take her to the hospital.”
Jacob shrugged.
“You know I hate that place. And I figured you’d be able to help. Thank you, by the way. I wasn’t sure you’d listen to my message.”
Her mouth twisted into a hard smile.
“I’m still mad, if you’re wondering. But this is my job. That’s what I trained to do, and I do it well. I’d have been able to do it right on the battlefield if you’d let me come.”
“Thank you,” Jacob said again, and kept it at that. He was too tired to argue right now. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night.”
He left the kitchen and went down the hallway to check on Rachel. She was asleep, looking strangely frail, half undressed on that big bed. He didn’t want to wake her so rather than helping her under the sheets he pulled a blanket from one of the storage boxes and spread it over her. When he walked out of the bedroom, Kirsten was there. She raised a hand and rubbed his shoulder.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said softly. “Don’t.”
He wasn’t sure what confused him more, her words or the gentle, innocent stroke of her hand.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t your fault she got hurt.”
He shook his head once. He wanted to pull away, but found himself unable to move and sever that small contact.
“Who said I’m blaming myself?”
Her quiet chuckle held no trace of humor.
“Jacob, it’s me. I know you better than I know anyone else in the world. Pretend all you want with the others, but please don’t lie to me.”
She leaned forward and brushed a light kiss against his cheek. Jacob remained very still as she pulled back and walked away, and only after she had disappeared down the staircase did he touch his cheek. He could still feel the warmth of her lips. He sighed.
“Jacob?”
He started at Rachel’s quiet word and peeked in past the guestroom door before entering.
“Hey, you’re awake. How do you feel? Are you in pain?”
She touched her leg over the blanket.
“Not anymore. It kinda... tingles?” She sounded off, slurring the words a little, almost as though she were drunk. “She’s really good, isn’t she?”
“Kirsten?” Jacob tried to smile but couldn’t manage to. “Yeah. She is.”
“Does she know you’re in love with her?”
The question was so unexpected that Jacob had no idea how to answer. He stared at Rachel for a few seconds before saying a little gruffly, “You should sleep. Call out if you need anything. We’ll hea
r you.”
She said his name again when he turned away. As much as he wanted to ignore her, he couldn’t. She was in that bed because she’d been hurt, and she’d been hurt because he had said she was ready. He couldn’t just walk away.
“We were together,” he said without turning back. “But that was long ago, and it’s over.”
“Her loss.”
Rachel’s response wasn’t what he had expected. He looked at her, and found that her eyes were closed again, one hand curled up near her face in a childlike gesture.
“If she doesn’t want you,” she murmured, the words hard to make out as she slurred even more, “someone else will.”
Shaking his head, Jacob closed the door behind him.
AS NICHOLAS AND ANDREW walked up to the front door, it opened in front of them and Kirsten appeared on the threshold. The three of them froze for a second before Andrew said, “Rachel?”
Kirsten hoisted the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Give her a few hours and she’ll be good as new.”
Andrew nodded. “Thank you.”
A slight smile tugged at her lips. “You guys keep saying that like it’s not part of my job. This is why you hired me, remember?”
“That’s part of it, yes.”
Her smile hardened into something sardonic.
“Well, maybe next time I’ll be allowed to do the rest of it. Good night, boss.”
Nicholas grinned as she passed by them. She hadn’t changed one bit. That might have been the whole problem right there, because Jacob was still the same, too.
“Do you remember when he told Kirsten about us?” he asked Andrew as they watched Kirsten’s car pull away.
Andrew grunted.
“Hard to forget.”
And indeed, that event was engraved in Nicholas’ memory like he was sure it was etched in Andrew’s. In all his years of schooling, Jacob had kept their secret faithfully. He had never slipped and told anyone they were vampires—not until the day he had flat out decided to tell Kirsten.
“He was so sure at the time that she was the one, so sure he’d never love anyone else.”
“He was young,” Andrew said with a heavy sigh. “He didn’t know any better.”
“Do you think he does now?” They entered the house together and Nicholas closed the door behind them. They headed toward the back room to drop the weapons there, Nicholas pursuing his train of thought. “In some ways, he’s still that kid. Still as much of an idealist as he ever was. And it might be our fault.”
The swords clanked when they dropped them on the work table. Andrew looked tired as he arched an eyebrow at Nicholas.
“How so?”
A flash of embarrassment ran through Nicholas. There were things he and Andrew didn’t talk about, words they didn’t use in relation to each other—words they didn’t need to use to know they were true.
“He looks at us,” he said slowly, not quite meeting Andrew’s eyes, “and he sees two people who’ve... cared for each other for more than a hundred years. Of course he’s going to want his relationships to last as long.”
Andrew’s fingers were never as gentle as when they curled at the back of Nicholas’ neck to draw him forward. Their mouths met in the whisper of a caress, but in seconds the kiss turned almost frantic, as so often happened on those nights after they’d fought demons.
Without breaking the kiss, Andrew led Nicholas backward, trapping him between the wall and a body that was all hard muscles and pure need. Andrew’s fangs came out, and the fire between them burned a little brighter still when their blood mixed in their joined mouths. Nicholas dropped a hand to where Andrew’s cock was pressing so insistently against his own—and stilled when a deeply exasperated sigh resounded across the room.
“God, get a room, will you? Some of us have work to do.”
Andrew and Nicholas pulled apart and turned to Jacob. Standing by the table, he had already picked up a rag and was cleaning a sword, his eyes resolutely focused on his task.
Clearing his throat, Andrew said, “It’s late, you don’t have to do that now.”
“I’m not tired,” Jacob said. “I might as well do something useful.”
With one look, Nicholas confirmed that Andrew could read the same things he did in each of Jacob’s too precise gestures, in his toneless words and jumbled scent. Guilt, which they had expected after what had happened to Rachel, but also the same old pain from his break up with Kirsten.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Nicholas said as they walked past him and out of the room.
What he really meant was, don’t torture yourself over any of it, but for some things Jacob was quite as stubborn as his father. Luckily for all of them, Nicholas had a knack for pushing Andrew—and Jacob—into seeing reason. It would just have to wait until morning; he had plans for the rest of the night.
Chapter Five
JACOB’S STOMACH CLENCHED before Kirsten even said a word. He knew her, better than he knew anyone, except perhaps his fathers. He knew her features, and could tell when she was forcing herself to smile, when her eyes weren’t as bright as usual. He knew her scent, too. For years, he’d done his best to pretend other people’s scents didn’t reveal so much of them to him, but he’d stopped trying with her; how could he ignore her scent when it told him she loved him and wanted him?
Right now, though, it was saying something entirely different. And so was her expression, grim and already full of guilt. He braced himself for the worst. It didn’t take long before she started.
“Jacob... We have to talk.”
With an effort of sheer, raw will, Jacob did what he’d been unable to do three years earlier, and put an end to that painful conversation. He forced himself to wake up.
His heart hammered in his chest, the same way it had back then. He blinked several times, chasing away shadows and memories. Somewhere near his feet, the familiar weight and warmth of Trixie shifted and she let out a quiet purring sound. Jacob took in a deep breath and held it in for a count of ten before exhaling slowly.
Damn it, but he hated that dream. He’d been having it every few days since Kirsten’s return. If only he could have dreamed of happier times too, instead of always coming back to that last conversation. At least, small mercies, this time he had managed to wake himself before she had actually broken up with him.
Trixie protested when he pushed himself out of bed; she always did, and he always rubbed her behind the ear to soothe her. Not this time; too distracted, he went to wash up without so much as a pat. When he emerged from the bathroom a while later, his hair still wet and his mind still reeling from his dream, she was sitting by the door, her back firmly to him.
“Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Now even Trixie is mad at me.”
Scowling at nothing in particular, he put on jeans and a tee-shirt and walked out of his room, following Trixie and the aroma of fresh coffee. Nicholas was in the kitchen, warming up two mugs of blood. He looked up when Jacob came in with a mumbled, “Morning.”
“Good morning. How are you?”
Jacob quickly took care of Trixie’s water and food before pouring himself a cup of coffee, all the while avoiding Nicholas’ gaze.
“I’m fine,” he said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who got hurt.”
Nicholas huffed.
“You’re such a crappy liar, it’s not even funny.”
Glaring at him, Jacob took his first sip—and burned his tongue. Annoyed with himself and the entire world, he set the coffee down on the table with enough force that it sloshed over the rim.
“I screwed up,” he said, gritting his teeth.
He drew a chair and sat at the table, staring at the coffee and seeing something else altogether. The woods had been dark last night. They always were, but the moon had given enough light that he could recall every little detail about the moment Rachel had been hurt—like he could recall every small thing about the day Kirsten had broken up wi
th him.
“I screwed up,” he said again, louder, and met Nicholas’ eyes. “Is that what you want me to say?”
“No it’s not,” Nicholas said in a calm, even voice. “And no, you didn’t.”
Jacob shook his head.
“I said she was ready and she wasn’t.”
Leaning back against the counter, Nicholas crossed his arm and raised an eyebrow at Jacob.
“Wasn’t she? She was holding up her own pretty well from what I saw.”
With a sigh, Jacob picked up his coffee again and blew on it.
“She got hurt, Dad.”
“She did, yes. And you’ve never known anyone who was a great fighter and who got hurt anyway?”
Jacob glanced at him again. He knew Nicholas meant Andrew, but it was true of Nicholas as well. Even now, an ugly, discolored bruise peeked from under the short sleeve of his tee-shirt and wound around most of his arm.
“She was ready,” Nicholas continued on the same quiet tone. “She just got a bad night. We all do, sooner or later.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said. “I think.”
Both Nicholas and Jacob turned to the door, where Rachel was standing on the threshold, a wry smile twisting her mouth. She’d found the clothes Jacob had left at the foot of her bed. Both the sweatpants and tee-shirt were too big on her. The sleeves almost reached her elbows and she had tied the tee-shirt with a knot at her waist. The sweatpants covered her down to the top of her feet, but only because she had rolled the waistband a few times; if she hadn’t, she’d have been walking on them.
The effect wasn’t particularly flattering, but somehow she managed to pull it off. It didn’t hurt that her hair fell on her shoulders in curly waves of burnished gold. Jacob couldn’t remember seeing her before without that tight braid she favored. Her face looked softer, framed by her hair like this; her smile, brighter.
“Glad to see you on your feet,” Nicholas said. “How’s the leg?”
She looked down at herself and stretched her leg in front of her. Her feet were bare; without her usual combat boots, they looked tiny.
“Pretty good,” she said. “Still kinda sore, but hey, I’m walking, so I can’t complain.”
