Strong, courageous, lethal… these are the traits of a Primeval, the person he was brought up to be, but it all leaves him the moment she looks up at Jaxen. Her skin is blotched in shades of remorse and regret. Her eyes are puffy and dark. Gavin lets her go and leans back on his heels. He’s standing next to Jaxen, and Jaxen’s grateful for it because beside him, he doesn’t feel so scared.
She inhales a breath and drags her hand across her face. It does nothing to remove the moisture. When her eyes connect with Jaxen’s, he knows, but he can’t force himself to look away. He can’t force himself to come to terms. It only takes three words for her to rip away the innocence of his childhood, to turn his heart into a solid piece of impenetrable steel.
“Your father’s dead.”
I NEVER THOUGHT ANYONE WOULD ever truly understand the depth of what I felt when my parents went missing. What I’m still feeling.
Not until now.
She asked him not to love. She asked him this, knowing that if a cure isn’t found, then he could possibly die. Everything I thought I knew about the love a parent has for their child disappeared with Evangeline’s request. How could she ask him that? A little boy? How could she make him fear love? Ask him to sacrifice himself?
My eyes open, and I find Jaxen with his still shut, silent tears trailing down his face. I take his face in my hands and lift until he finally opens his eyes, and I’m trying to sort through all that I feel. Pain, regret, confusion, love, confidence that he’ll be okay. They’re all fighting to be in control of my next move. All fighting to make the first move.
But I don’t have to, because he does.
“And just like that, she was gone,” he says, and I prepare myself for his pain, but this time… this time he doesn’t sound so broken. So scared.
This time, he sounds accepting. Maybe even at peace with it all.
And then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me. Not a hungry, passionate kiss, but a desperate one. A scared one. A kiss where I feel him asking me to guide him. To help him through his emotions that he’s only just beginning to acknowledge.
So I kiss him back. Cup his face in my hands as I climb onto his lap and pour every ounce of my love into this kiss. Into his soul.
He wraps his arms around my waist and buries his face against my chest, pressing his ear against my heart. We stay like this for a while as his breathing slowly calms to a normal pace. “Can I tell you something without you taking offense?” he asks.
He flips my arm over and traces the edges of my affinity mark. Presses his lips gently against it.
My heart does an off-kilter flip as my brain goes fuzzy. “I think so.”
“Before I met you, I had my emotions in check… for the most part. I could easily shut them off with the blink of an eye. But now… being with you… you make me want to feel. You make me enjoy feeling. And it scares me to be like this. To be so open. It makes me feel so vulnerable, and sometimes… weak.”
I take a moment to ingest his words. I know it isn’t because of me that he feels this way. It isn’t because of our relationship, or because of something I did. And I surprise even myself with how easily the words form for me. I look down at him. Plant a small, soft kiss against his forehead, and then smile.
“You’re not weak, Jaxen. You’re just… alive. And that’s beautiful.”
BEING IN JAXEN’S ARMS MAKES me wish I could control time. Makes me wish I commanded the seconds that tick by, stealing away our present and our past, pushing us further and further into the future. If I could, I’d slow them down. Pause them forever, or at least long enough to really, truly experience the time I’ve spent in his arms. Really, truly plant myself in the moment, so I can savor it for all it’s worth.
But time doesn’t work like that.
It was never meant to. It’s meant to teach us. To make us appreciate the moments as they come, because no matter what, they will fade. No matter what, reality will squeeze its way in.
I look to the clock hanging on the wall and listen to the sounds of the second hand ticking. Every tick is like a bullet to my heart. I’m bombarded by Clara’s words. Her threat. One hour. One more body. One more soul taken by someone cruel and heartless. One more person who dies because of me.
I can’t let that happen.
A knock sounds on our door, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Come in,” Jaxen says, pulling a clean, white shirt over his chest. He tucks the front of it into his pants, and then reaches for his gun and flux holster, wrapping it around his waist.
Weldon steps through the door, looking more tired than I think I’ve ever seen him look before. Small, purple half moons have formed under his eyes. His always perfectly groomed golden hair is in disarray. Large splats of blood stain the front of his light gray V-neck, and down the length of his denim jeans. He swishes the amber liquid in his glass, and then tosses it back.
I haven’t even thought about the fact that his brother is back. His twin. The same man who is responsible for the disappearance of his partner.
I can see it’s taken an effect on him. Holding it in. Keeping it together for the sake of everyone else. He may be strong and resilient, but he’s still part human. Still filled with unresolved issues, just like the rest of us.
“Oh, good. You’re still alive,” he says sarcastically, blinking sluggishly, looking at me. “I thought you might be dead since you didn’t come down for dinner last night. Although, it’s probably best that you didn’t. Cassie burnt the meat.” He looks over at Jaxen. “And I see you’re finally awake, Sleeping Beauty.”
“It appears that way,” Jaxen shoots back, sitting next to me so he can slide his boots on.
“And you’re still an ass too, I see,” Weldon says as he drags his way across the room. He plops down onto the armchair by the window, resting the hand with the glass over the edge of the arm. “A small ‘Weldon, my hero, thank you for saving my ass’ would be nice.”
Jaxen looks at him flatly. Stands. Slides a flux through the leather binding. “Thank you,” he says dryly.
Weldon lazily lifts a lone brow, his lip twitching at the corner, forming a wounded frown.
“And you’re my hero,” Jaxen adds, smiling now.
The left side of Weldon’s mouth lifts up into a weak attempt at a smirk, and then disappears. He pinches his forehead between his fingers and rubs, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“Too old?” I ask, looking at his clean-shaven, smooth-as-a-baby face.
Weldon drops his hand and looks up at me as if I’m insulting him. “Yes. I’ll be forty-six this year, and you, and everyone else in this house, has me running around like a damn teenager working off a punishment. My bones are brittle. My age is catching up to me. I spent all last night and this morning cleaning up blood. So much in fact, that I’m pretty sure I could land a job within the biohazard field.” He rubs at his lower back, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Why didn’t the Witches clean with magic?” Jaxen asks.
“Couldn’t. Their magic was burnt up from healing and manifesting. Everyone pretty much passed out before eight PM last night. Everyone except me… hence the pity party.”
“Well, you don’t look forty-six,” I say, pulling the blanket over the bed, trying to make it look put together. “And I don’t think your age is catching up to you either.”
He stops rubbing his back and looks over at his empty cup with a pout. “You’re right. I was just playing the sympathy card. Fetch me a drink?”
I blink. “Me?”
“No, the Faye behind you. Yes, you,” he says, shoving the glass at me. “I need to have a little chitchat with our boyfriend.”
I sigh and take the glass from him. Jaxen grabs me by the arm before I can walk out and kisses me, making sure I know just how his heart feels. I smile at him when Weldon makes a gagging noise, and then head down the stairs.
I’m almost across the hallway when I
hear something that makes me stop. Katie crying.
“I was so worried about you. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t really have a choice.”
“I know, baby. It’s okay. I’m here now,” I hear Chett say behind the door to their room.
I don’t want to eavesdrop, so I force my feet down the steps, two at a time, careful to sidestep the loudest parts of the floorboards.
Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he really does care about her. Whatever happened to him in the disciplinary ward must have worked. But then why do I get this tingly feeling in my gut when I think about him? His aunt is a Priestess. A corrupt one at that. She had to have flipped out when he was placed in the disciplinary ward because of the fight we had and the way he treated his Witch. There’s no way she would have allowed it.
Right?
I don’t have much time to think about it, because, by the time I make it down the stairs and into the library, my mind instantly flips to the catastrophe that had only just recently happened. The bruised and broken bodies. The tears. The bloodshed at my expense.
I peer out the front door window. The bloody mess from yesterday has vanished. Devastation has been swept under the rug. In its stead is an array of cots spread out inside the library. Sheets of every color and pattern have been draped from the ceiling to make small, private sections for each couple. There’s no way I can get to the liquor cabinet without bothering whoever is behind the sheets, so I turn and head down the hall to the kitchen instead, thinking about how I can get to Clara to keep her from hurting anyone else.
The table still has the map given to me by Sterling, only now there are different colored gummy bears being used as pawns. Gavin grabs one, pops it into his mouth, and then sits back down in his chair.
Cassie smacks his hand from beside him. “Stop eating the soldiers!”
Gavin almost chokes on a gummy when he laughs.
Seamus rolls his eyes to the side, shaking his head, sitting on the other side of the table. He looks so different out of his Priesthood attire. Not draped in crimson. He’s wearing a well-tailored silver suit, and his silver hair is brushed back, not a single strand out of place. He looks put together, in control, but in his steel-gray eyes, there’s a rocky ocean threatening to capsize his well-groomed ship. There’s a tremor left behind by Clara that’s only just beginning to crack.
You can’t hide defeat from someone who’s met it on a personal level.
Mack gives Gavin a cold stare from the head of the table, and then tucks a pen inside a pocket sewn onto the front of his slate-gray trimmed, black cashmere sweater. He unbuttons the top button of his white shirt underneath, leaning back in his seat. I can’t help but see Weldon in him. See the resemblance in the way the two move. The soundless, precise movements their bodies make. The demand for respect.
Yet, they’re nothing at all alike.
“Sorry,” Gavin says, his smile vanishing as he carefully replaces the red and yellow gummies back on their marks.
My boots scuff the trim of the doorway, and they all look up.
“Faye,” Mack says at once, smiling at me, though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Hello,” I say, forcing a mirrored smile on my face. Trying not to think about that night on the roof. About Claire and Weldon. Or about my parents and the fact that he had to have known Clara was in on it, though he never said a word. He just used me… pushing me to train and to find the Dagger of Retribution.
Maybe he just uses everyone.
“Come, sit,” he says, ushering me over with a hand wave. “We were just talking strategy while we waited for everyone to recover.” He pulls out the chair next to him. Smiles expectantly at me.
I hold the glass up. “Weldon asked for a refill.”
Shadows move across Mack’s face. “Yes. Of course.”
I head over to the pantry and pull out the bottle of aged whiskey, feeling heat crawl up the back of my neck from all the stares. After filling the glass halfway, I look over at Gavin. “Where’s Sterling? How is he doing?”
Gavin flicks a folded-up piece of paper resembling a football across the table at Jonathon, who has yet to say a word. “He’s doing okay given the circumstance. He’s in the house across the yard with the wolves.”
There are so many undertones in that statement. Too many, and it rattles everyone I think, because we all shift uncomfortably. We all scratch at our skin, which tingles from the need to attack. To defend our territory.
“We offered for him to stay here,” Cassie rushes out, “but he wants to be with his wife.”
I exhale. “Understandable,” I say, chewing the inside of my cheek. I stare out the back window, thinking of all that’s happened. Thinking of Clara. There has to be a way for me to get to her without causing anyone else harm.
I should just leave. Jump in a car and drive there. Put an end to this.
“If you try it, I’ll kick your ass.”
I turn at the sound of Jezi’s voice. She’s standing next to me, staring me down. “You’re not a martyr, Faye, and what Clara does is not your fault.”
“What are you talking about?” Mack says as everyone turns their attention to me.
Molten heat spreads through my limbs and up to my cheeks, but Jezi doesn’t care. She turns and says, “Faye wants to turn herself in to keep Clara from acting on her threat to kill more people.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Mack says lightly, and I can’t understand how he could blow this off. Why he isn’t freaking out like I am.
“We saved those who she had planned to hurt,” he continues, “and when I broke into the system, I deleted all the files I could find on the Rebellion. She doesn’t have any names of our guys on the outside. She has nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean she’ll stop. She never backs down from a threat,” I say, feeling my nerves shake. Feeling my muscles flex. Just thinking about someone else being hurt because of me makes my stomach twist. Makes my brain pound.
“No,” Mack agrees, his eyes glassed with pain, “she won’t stop. But I also know that she won’t kill any who aren’t involved with our Rebellion. Not now.”
“How can you be so sure?” Cassie says. “She’s a sociopath, for Goddess’ sake.”
Mack inhales slowly. Releases the air. “Because she isn’t stupid. She’s being watched now, closer than ever due to the Darkyns.” He turns to the small television on the counter and puts it on a regular news station.
Overhead footage taken of small fires and chaos outside of different Watchmen academies across the globe flick across the screen. Countless bodies lay scattered on the ground, some wearing Darkyn attire, and others in Watchmen uniform.
My lungs feel like a steel pipe has pierced through them.
Across the bottom of the screen, a recap of this anomaly scrolls continuously, listing the cities and body count. They’re saying it’s a terrorist attack on privately funded schools from a group of angered radicals who want equality in the schooling system.
“This is how the UN has covered it up,” Mack says as he shuts the television off. “For now, but that will change if she doesn’t get a handle on the situation. The more this happens and the closer humans come to finding out about us, the closer Ethryeal City is to its demise.”
“What does she care?” Cassie asks. “If she’s working with the Darkyns and Bael, then she surely doesn’t care about our people.”
“There’s a lot that I learned about Clara and her goals during my short time in Ethryeal City, but that is for another discussion,” Mack says calmly. “I just wanted Faye to know that Clara won’t make another move unless she knows it will be effective. With the Rebellion members she had in custody rescued, she doesn’t have anyone left to use against Faye. Not unless she finds us.”
“Which won’t happen,” Gavin says with certainty.
“For now, no,” Mack continues. “But we won’t be safe forever, which is why I think our first act should be facing the matter at
hand—ensuring the people on this property are safe and can get along. Without unity, we are powerless.”
He’s looking at me. Waiting. Hoping I understand everything that he has presented. Hoping that he has settled my nerves.
And, staring into his gray eyes, I know deep down that I believe him. I believe that he doesn’t want another person hurt. I believe that he wouldn’t lie to us about this, because I think he has learned from his mistakes.
I think he wants to make things right.
I nod at him and inhale. “Is this going to be a safe venture for all involved?” I ask. I’m looking at Seamus now. The only Priest from the Priesthood in the room. The one who should have the answers as to how we can all be on the same property, at this very moment, without having killed one another yet. Nothing at all like what we’ve been taught our whole lives.
Everyone in the room is staring at him now too, probably all wondering the same thing.
Seamus clears his throat, and the sound is uncomfortable. Dry. Like something is stuck. Something like the wad of lies he’s been trained to feed us all this time.
“Yeah, Seamus, how is it that they still seem somewhat normal?” Jonathon asks. “I thought we were to exterminate them, regardless of who they were born as.” He leans forward, his arms folded across his chest. He’s changed since the last time I saw him in Ethryeal City. He’s grown out a full beard that reaches down inches past his chin. His eyes seem hollower. Less happy and open. He’s in a fresh black shirt, and black linen pants, his dark hair still wet from a shower.
Seamus drags a hand down his wrinkled face. Exhales laboriously. “I knew the moment I saw the wolves cross over the protective barrier that this would be a matter I couldn’t avoid any longer.”
I set the glass down on the counter. Move a couple of steps closer to the table so I can hear him better.
“You have to understand the way things were before the Divine initiated the Priesthood and the Proclamation, and all the rules we have come to know today. It was chaos. Disorderly. There wasn’t an ounce of uniformity between our people. Hunters and Witches fought against each other just as often as we fight against the paranormal. There was no safe, middle ground.
Everlost (The Night Watchmen Series Book 3) Page 17
