THIRTY-SIX
Rebecca
I’m not even remotely surprised when I wake up and everyone’s talking about Aidan being gone. Well, Kara’s not talking, she’s growling. I was so relieved when she was all right yesterday that I almost forgot that I don’t like her. She was glued to Aidan’s side the whole day, but I could feel his anxiety reach astronomical levels, and I knew he was about to do something big.
He believes he’s hurting her, even though I’m not sure that’s right. He loves her. Really loves her. So why would his power hurt her? It doesn’t make sense to me.
Anyway, it is clear why he left—to protect her—but everyone’s in freak-out mode. Even the ever-calm Sid seems panicked, rambling on about plans and fate and “How will we be sure it all falls into place?” He, Connor, and Kara huddle in the office first thing in the morning, apparently planning how to be sure things fall into place. I don’t know. I’m staying out of it.
If Aidan wants to tell them how he feels, then he will.
Eventually I get hungry and head for the kitchen to see if there’s anything good to eat in the pantry. This house is junk food central and I’m desperate for steel-cut oats and strawberries, with hand-whipped cream like our housekeeper, Marguerite, used to make me. Or homemade bread with rosemary butter and fresh squeezed OJ. It looks like I’ll have to settle for Snap, Crackle, Pop! and a cinnamon-apple Pop-Tart again, though.
I pour the milk over the small rice puffs and eat in silence. A few bites in, Kara comes through the back door and heads straight for the table, taking the chair across from me. She sits and watches me eat, not saying a word for several minutes. My snaps, crackles, and pops lose their zing, getting soggy because I can’t eat with her staring at me like that.
I start to speak, like, three times, but can’t figure out what to say. We’ve barely said two words to each other since the moment we met, and those two words were basically Kara saying, “Fuck off.”
At last she leans back and says, “You know, right? About me and Aidan.”
I’m not sure what she means—is she asking if I know they had sex? Uh . . . weird.
“I know he wants to be with you,” I say.
“You do, huh?” She gives a short, skeptical laugh. “Well, that’s not what I meant. I was under the impression that he told you about that predicament the three of us are in.”
Oh. “Um, yep.”
“Good. So you’re aware of why I hate you being here.”
“Yep.”
“Nice. Okay, then I don’t have to threaten you again out loud?”
“Nope.”
“Perfect.” She gets up from the table and starts to leave the room, then turns back like she just remembered something. “Do you wanna tell me why you’re not freaking out that Aidan’s gone?”
Nope.
When I don’t answer right away she comes back to stand next to my chair. “Do you know something you’re not telling us?”
I clear my throat and decide the only way I’ll make it another day in this house without losing what’s left of my dignity is to claim my space. So, I drop the spoon in my bowl with a clatter and stand to put myself at eye level with her. “Yes, Kara, there is something I know that I’m not telling you.” I clear my throat again. “I’m not telling you how worried Aidan is about his sister, or how worried he is about you—and basically the whole freaking world. I’m also not telling you that he’s pretty sure he’s killing you, and he can’t stand to look at himself in the mirror because of it.”
When she steps back a little, her eyes growing, I add, “And would you like to know how I’m aware of all these things? Well, I can sense every damn emotion he has. Like, I can sense how every time he looks at you he’s wishing he could kiss you and touch you, how he adores you and can’t stand it when you’re not around. How he counts the minutes until he sees you again, and how the club reminds him of the first time you kissed. Oh, and I can also sense that he doesn’t feel any of that for me. That help at all?”
She just stares at me, her eyes glistening.
And now I feel like a total bitch. I soften my voice and say, “I’m not freaking out about him being gone because I know beyond a doubt that he’s going to come back as soon as he can. He’ll always come back for you, Kara.”
She looks at her boots, then says quietly, “You care about him. I know you do.”
I release a long sigh. “He doesn’t feel the same for me. He just doesn’t. So you don’t have to worry about me taking him or tricking him or manipulating him. I wouldn’t ever do that.”
She folds her arms across her chest like she’s trying to protect herself. “Sorry I was a bitch to you.”
“Let’s just say we start over.”
She nods and stands there for a second like she’s trying to decide whether to say something else. Finally she comes closer, leaning in, in a conspiratorial way. “So, do you maybe want to help me and come along for a little adventure tomorrow night?”
Her request knocks me off guard, striking me speechless.
“Never mind,” she says, backing up as I stare at her. “It was a lame idea.”
“No,” I say, quickly. “I’ll go.”
She relaxes a little again. “Great.”
“Can I ask where this adventure will take us?”
She smirks. “The mystery is half the fun.”
“You mean keeping me in the dark is half the fun.”
Her smirk turns into a smile. “Something like that.” She heads for the back door, but before she shuts it behind her, she turns and asks, “If you knew where he was, would you tell me?”
I consider that and then answer honestly. “No, I wouldn’t. He’ll do what he has to do, and then he’ll be back.”
“You sound so sure. Don’t people ever disappoint you?”
I lean back in my chair and sigh. “Constantly.”
I get bored watching Finger play some zombie game for an hour, and go look for Connor. I head up to his room and spot him through the half-open door. “There you are,” I say, pushing it open the rest of the way.
He stands in a rush from the bed, looking caught. “What?” he says as he slides something into his pocket.
Weird. “I was bored. What’re you up to?”
Connor steps back like he’s trying to get space. “I’m just thinking about this job we’re going to do at the old mental hospital.” He seems distracted, cagey.
“What’s going on with you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, too quickly.
He’s all tension and knots. Why can I only read Aidan? It would really be great to see into other people, too. Especially Connor—Connor with those serious eyes and settled ways.
He’s not settled now, though. That’s pretty obvious.
“You’re a bad liar,” I say under my breath, looking around the room. It’s smaller than the other rooms, about a third of the size, actually. The walls are bare except for the three surfboards resting in a rack on the far side. The bed is neat. Who knew guys actually made their beds? Charlie never did. The room doesn’t have a closet, but there’s a small dresser beside the bed that also serves as an end table. I guess everything else he owns is in there. Which obviously isn’t much. He’s the epitome of moderation.
When he doesn’t say anything, I ask, “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” he says. “I think.”
My gaze skips to his. “You don’t know?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t really matter.”
But . . . not knowing how old you are, when you were born exactly, that’s just . . . wrong. “How do you ever have a birthday party?”
He releases a small laugh. “Hasn’t really ever been a concern.”
It’s like we were raised on different planets. I live in a totally separate world from the people in this house. Or I used to, anyway. Now I don’t know where I belong.
“I’m a sham,” I say. Because I think I always knew something about me was different
: the dreams, the drawings . . . I always blew it off as my artsy side and tried to hide it. But, underneath, something about my “regular” world didn’t feel real. I let myself be wrapped in the facade. Happily, even. Until fate took Charlie from me. Then I couldn’t pretend anymore. “I have no idea what’s going on inside me.”
“We’ll find him,” Connor says, like he’s trying to console me.
For a second, I’m so distracted by the path my thoughts have taken, I’m not sure who he means. “Aidan,” I say when I remember. “He’s fine.”
Connor raises his brow.
“But you don’t seem fine,” I add.
“I’m not really your concern,” he says, sounding confused.
“Sure you are.” I walk over and sit on his bed. “I thought we were family now.”
He just keeps frowning and picking at his thumb like I’m making him nervous.
When it becomes obvious my line of inquiry isn’t going anywhere, I stand again. “Listen, Connor,” I say. I’ve only known him a few months, and only actually talked to him a couple times over the last few days, but I feel comfortable around him. I want him to be okay, and for him to know he’s helping me through all this strangeness. “I’m sorry if I’m driving you nuts. You’ve been really nice. And I know I can be annoying.”
I decide to throw caution to the wind and close the distance between us. Then I rise to my toes and press my lips to his cheek in a quick peck.
It’s meant to be sisterly and sweet, but I find myself lingering for a breath longer, taking in the warmth of his skin, feeling the beginnings of scruff at his jaw.
I’m lost in it for a second, surprised by how good he feels up close.
Then I lower myself back down and study him, his strained expression, his rigid shoulders. My fingers slide down his arm and I step away, swallowing hard. Is he angry? Did I ruin everything because of my need to connect? This is what I did with Aidan, and it seemed to push him away.
What is wrong with me? I am seriously mental and in need of—
My thoughts freeze as Connor takes my upper arm and tugs me back into his chest. His other hand grips the nape of my neck, gently drawing me up, closer to his face. I gasp from the sudden intimacy, his mouth half an inch from mine, his steady breath brushing at my cheek. His scent fills my head, salt and heat. But he doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t do anything except breathe and look tortured.
So I rise up that last centimeter and touch my lips to his.
His grip on the back of my neck tightens. His chest tenses under my palms. But his mouth is delicate, a feather against my skin, kissing me like no boy’s ever kissed me before.
Reverent—that’s the only word to describe it. A moment of worship. His lips slide over mine, unsure at first, then more urgent as each breath quickens, and my insides melt into a puddle from the feel of him.
But then he’s stepping back. He keeps his hand resting at my nape for an extra second. His thumb caresses my skin and all I can do is stand there in stunned silence, gaping up at him.
He leaves a warm tingle in his wake as he releases me completely. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says.
I’m so bewildered, it takes me a second to realize what he said.
Then the familiar bitter taste of rejection fills my mouth. “Why?”
He looks right at me. “I don’t want to be second in line for anyone.”
That’s not what I expected. He’s afraid of being rejected, too? “Connor, that’s not what’s happening here.”
“Isn’t it? You want Aidan, but he’s chosen someone else.”
“Well, yes, but . . .” But what? He’s right and there is no however.
“You’re just lonely.”
His words sting; they feel like an accusation. “You don’t need to be a jerk. You kissed me, too, you know. And I can tell that you . . . have feelings for me.” Whatever happened at the beach, there was something between us. And he’s the one who just pulled me into his space, begging me to kiss him.
“You’re too damn beautiful,” he says.
Thanks? Frustration turns to anger and my cheeks turn hot. “This again? Seriously?”
Like a forced confession, he says, “I like you. All right? But it just won’t work.”
I close my eyes, my insides turning sour as I sink back to the bed. What a mess.
“I’m an ass,” he says, “I know. But I can’t be your man of the hour, Rebecca. I’ve known girls like you before. I can be your friend if you need me, but that’s it.”
Of course. My friend. “You’ve known girls like me? I’m that common, am I?” My words come out sounding defeated. I would normally hide how hurt I am, but I’m too tired. And I’m done. I’m finished with this game.
“That’s not what I mean. You’re special. Of course you’re special.”
“And stuck up, don’t forget that gem.”
“Rebecca—”
I hold up a hand to stop him from hitting me with any more daggers. “Please, call me Emery. It’s what my friends call me. And since you’re just a friend, and that’s all you can be, just stick with that, okay?” I stand, exhausted.
He runs a hand through his hair, agitation tightening his muscles. “Dammit. I’m just fucking this up.”
“Yes, you are, but I’m used to it now. That’s one bonus of having others in line before you. You don’t have to be the first one to step on my heart.” I walk past him and out the door before he can stop me, before he can say anything else about friendship and distance and la-de-da girls like me.
I think about what Aidan’s father said in the hall at the club, how my destiny is changing, how it’s heartbreak and emptiness now, and I believe it. I wholeheartedly believe it. I am walking rejection. I’m the one who everyone will befriend but never love. I’m the girl on the fringe, looking in the window and wishing for warmth.
Maybe it’s time to go back to the plastic world where I belong—the world of shopping and bitchy gossip and alcohol-fueled parties—where no one feels anything real.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Aidan
Hanna and I talk for several hours after my shower. Well, I talk and she listens, as I spill my guts about Kara and everything else, about how helpless I feel.
She knows about Eric now—that becomes clear quickly. Apparently, he decided to tell her everything the other night. He obviously cares about her, and if the constant awkward pauses in our conversation about their reunion are any indication, the making up included more than just talk.
I want to ask her how she can love a guy who’s so crusty, but I guess Hanna has a soft enough heart for both of them. And now that Eric’s come clean, she understands my role and why he watches over me. Which means I’ve gained another ally, and at this point I desperately need one.
After I refuse to crash in the warehouse’s back apartment, Hanna insists I sleep in the warehouse itself. She loans that apartment out to clients sometimes, and I’m not about to take a free ride while also hurting business. So she sets up a cot in the back of the vault and gives me keys to the bathrooms on the other side of the building. It’s a much sweeter setup than I ever had before—before LA Paranormal, anyway.
She says she can give me a couple days before she calls Sid, but she reminds me that he’s my legal guardian, and he deserves to know where I am. Which he does, he’s earned that. So I promise her that I’ll call him and let him know that I’m all right.
Meanwhile, it’s past time to really start figuring out my power, to see how far I can take it. I know that I can resurrect people, but I also know that doing so depletes my abilities. Maybe there’s a more efficient way to harness the power and make it go further. I’ll definitely need to conserve it if I’m going to find Ava’s soul and awaken her, all while fighting off some possessive dominion angel.
There’s a spot west of Sunset that’s a nice thick feeding ground for demons. Hookers, addicts, and loads of twisted energy to draw in the other side. So I start making my way to that are
a. A few bus changes and a couple blocks later, and I’m almost to where the energy starts to thicken and it’s tougher to breathe without tasting waste on my tongue. Depression and fear are palpable in the bodies that walk past or hide in the shadows of storefronts and doorways.
I see two ghosts along the way—not what I’m looking for, though. I pass a demon that’s chained to a guy who’s handing out flyers for something that looks like a church that worships snakes. Or maybe worms—the artwork is pretty bad. I don’t want to mess with bound demons, though—a demon that’s owned by a human. Or possessing demons, for that matter. I pass two females—arguing over a guy—who are practically leaking sulfur they’re so full of demons. I need a creature that’ll follow me, a feeder or a lurker. Easy prey.
I come around a corner and see the perfect specimen, across the street from a strip club entrance.
Its skin is an odd pale blue, with dark veins visible through the surface. The head is small and thin, tiny feelers poking out from under the chin and what would be the hairline—if it had hair. The eyes are slits, three of them stacked low on the forehead, just above the over-large nose. The creature is only about three feet tall, with transparent, fly-like wings hanging from its back. It’s fairly mundane as demons go, even though I’m pretty sure it has a nice maw of sharp silver teeth behind those pale lips. Still, it’ll be good practice.
My seal burns on my chest as I walk closer, studying it. I pull out my dagger and make my way across the street, to the left of the demon’s human target, so the guy won’t see my blade. The demon isn’t attached to the young man’s skin or chained to him, so it’s a free agent for now. Or it could be working for a higher-up demon.
The guy is about my age, and his life hasn’t been kind. His soul is wrecked. He’s got a ton of handprints covering it, several of them red around his neck. There’s a black onyx mark that reads slave in demon tongue on his forehead. And as I move closer, I smell the energy of a junkie.
He’s shaking a little, fidgeting with his too-tight shirt, like he’s trying to show off more of his thin, pale chest. When he sees me, his features shift, trying to hide the fear in his skin, but I feel it, prickling around me. Strong.
Darkness Fair (The Dark Cycle Book 2) Page 20
