Wrong Side of Dead

by Kelly Meding

  Okay, maybe Milo more than me. He’s legitimately twenty years old. I was twenty-two when I died almost three months ago. The body I have now is twenty-seven—a five-year gap physically, but my emotional and mental ages are playing catch-up. Still, I manage to not flip Milo the bird as I trail behind the pair, curious about how this impromptu wrestling match will turn out.

  Both men are in jeans, which aren’t ideal for wrestling, but I bet that neither is going to strip down to his boxers. Or briefs. Or whatever. Milo follows Marcus’s lead and takes off his own T-shirt. He’s got a fairly average build, lean, with muscles hinted at beneath his tanned skin without being obvious or bulked up. An odd pattern of faint, pencil-thin scars checkerboard his back and shoulders—a peek into his past and a story I don’t know.

  Marcus notes them, I think, with a flare of his nostrils, then redirects his attention to the fight. Physically, Milo is no match for Marcus. Strategically … well, we’re going to find out.

  I lean against the wall to watch.

  The first round goes as expected—the bigger, stronger Marcus has Milo on his back in less than ten seconds. They reengage. Marcus pins him again, but this time it takes longer. As Milo rolls up off the mat, he flashes me a confident grin.

  We’ve also gained an audience. Shelby and Jackson stand by the wall opposite me, smirking. I bite my lower lip, confident the tables are about to turn.

  Round three ratchets up my respect for Milo. Now that he’s tested Marcus’s strength and maneuvers, Milo adjusts his own movements to compensate. He skillfully rolls and ducks, easily avoiding the larger, slightly slower were-cat bearing down on him. Marcus lunges. Milo twists away. It’s an amusing dance that’s lasted more than a minute already.

  Marcus turns again, and I catch a glimpse of his face. His teeth are bared like any predator, but he’s smiling. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was on the verge of laughter. Milo seems equally amused—enjoying the challenge.

  “Come on, Marcus, pin the child,” Shelby says.

  Milo flips him off without breaking concentration, and I snort laughter. Shelby growls. Milo pulls to his right, and Marcus compensates—perhaps anticipating it as a feint. Only Milo doesn’t feint. He keeps going around, twists, and ducks lower. His shoulder hits Marcus’s lower abdomen full-force.

  In a move as graceful as a ballet dancer’s, Milo lifts Marcus up with his shoulder while anchoring him hands to ribs, and executes a perfect flip while falling backward. Both men land on their backs, Milo angled higher up so Marcus’s shoulders hit the mat at the same time. It’s a beautiful pin.

  Milo rolls away, then comes up standing, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. I half expect him to crow a little over the victory, or at least smirk. He just watches Marcus with a comical wide-eyed innocence as the larger man stands up, making a show of dusting himself off.

  Jackson and Shelby are silent.

  Marcus crosses well-toned arms over his chest. “You must have made a fortune hustling pool,” he says with a grin.

  Milo laughs.

  After fetching my duffel bag from Wyatt’s car, I find one of the living quarters’ unoccupied cubicles. Staking a claim is easy enough—all I have to do is unpack. We officially abandoned the apartment on Cottage Place where I spent four years living and working with Jesse and Ash. The place is riddled with memories both wonderful and awful, and I’m torn about leaving it behind. Although I need the fresh start, it’s the only place I’ve ever really considered home.

  Packing didn’t take long. My meager collection of clothes isn’t very useful after losing so much weight. I’ll need to go shopping soon. I hate shopping. Personal items consist of a laptop, a photo, and some hygiene stuff from the bathroom. I’ve never been one for sentimental things, and the fact that it took me five minutes to pack and half that to unpack is a little … sad.

  The cubicles are impersonal and simple. Bunk beds with a trunk at the foot, and next to the head is a pair of small, two-drawer dressers. Assuming that one item belongs to each bed, I choose a trunk for myself and toss my things into it, then plunk my duffel bag onto the top bunk. I’ll figure out the linens later.

  I stare at the crumpled blue duffel, a little lost as to what to do now.

  “Evy?” Phin’s standing just outside the little room. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since the group meeting on Sunday. He’s still paler than normal, and I wonder if—like me—he’s been forever changed by his ordeal at Thackery’s hands.

  “Hey,” I say. “I didn’t know you were around.”

  “I just got here a bit ago. Astrid told me your people will begin moving in soon.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “You know you don’t have to live here at the Watchtower. My offer of a room at the condo still stands.”

  I offer him a grateful smile. “And I really do appreciate the offer, Phin, but I think I’d like to stay here. For a while I just want to be a little cog in a big wheel without the fate of the world resting on my own two shoulders.”

  “Understandable and, I think, well deserved.”

  “Thank you.”

  He averts his gaze to the floor. He’s avoiding a topic, and I can guess pretty accurately who it’s about.

  “Just ask, Phin,” I say.

  He looks up, eyes meeting mine, curiosity in them. “Have you and Wyatt spoken at length about the time you were missing?”

  “Not in any great detail, no.” I plop down on the lid of my chosen trunk, predicting this to be a long conversation. “We hit the Cliffs Notes version of events for each of us. Kind of came to the conclusion that we both changed and we need time to figure out who we are before we try to be together.”

  “Is that really wise?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Phin sits down on the trunk opposite mine, his expression drawn, uncertain. “I’m surprised, I admit.”

  “Why’s that?” I have no energy to be snarky with Phin, so I settle on genuinely curious.

  “I’ve witnessed the depth of your love for each other. That you would both step away, rather than fight for it, surprises me, especially after—” He stops the thought.

  Well, I can’t have that. “After what?”

  “The second day of your abduction, Michael Jenner asked Wyatt if you were his chosen mate. Because you were owed a debt by the Assembly, that debt was extended to your mate.”

  Nervous butterflies set to work on my stomach. “Wyatt said he was my mate?”

  “Jenner made the assumption. Wyatt did not deny it.”

  “He’s too smart to deny it.” I’m rationalizing. As much as I love Wyatt, and probably always will, the future scares me. I’ve always lived one day to the next, not making plans for tomorrow. It’s not that I’m scared of commitment, I just don’t know how.

  Phin nods. “True. By agreeing with Jenner’s assumption, he was granted protection by the Assembly, as well as assistance in his search for you.” Something in his tone hints at more he isn’t saying.

  “But?”

  “I don’t believe Wyatt said it only for those reasons. You are his life, Evangeline. He was … broken without you.”

  I study the scrubbed cement floor between us, the words echoing in my mind. Rufus told me that Wyatt drank a lot during those few weeks, that he was cold to everyone. Wouldn’t talk to any of his friends. I know Wyatt’s temper, and I’ve seen his moods range from joy to rage to despair. I’ve seen him drunk, and I’ve seen him sober. We’ve both seen each other at our worst. I knew what my leaving would do to him.

  I just never imagined how badly returning would hurt him.

  “Broken people heal, Phin,” I say. “Unless someone keeps breaking them all over again.”

  He’s silent for a long moment. “You think coming back hurt Wyatt more than accepting your death did?” It’s simply asked, without rancor or accusation.

  “No, I’m pretty damned positive it hurt more. But I can’t change going with Thackery, and I ca
n’t change the fact that I was rescued and proved not dead. And I know Wyatt.” Something tightens in my throat. “He probably thinks he deserves this. That he’s earned all this heartache and pain, because of the things he’s done. But he hasn’t. He’s saved so many lives, and all he can ever focus on are the people he’s failed.”

  Phin coughs. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re a lot alike.”

  “Indeed.”

  I wish fixing it was as simple as Phin made it sound. But people don’t just change twenty years of bad habits overnight. And I’m still carrying two heavy secrets, keeping them from him. If we’re together, it has to be all or nothing. As much as I want Wyatt, I owe him too much to do anything less.

  “Wyatt has something to live for now, Phin. He has the Watchtower and building up this new group, and that’s what he needs. Everything should go back to what it was six months ago when we just worked together. After we figure out who we are apart, we can start thinking about giving us another try.”

  “Because it’s what he needs,” Phin says.

  “Yes.”

  Something flickers in his bright blue eyes. “And what do you need, Evangeline?”

  A hug. A kiss from someone who loves me and means it. One night of peace when I don’t feel the weight of five hundred thousand lives resting on my shoulders. Respite from fear. So many impossible things, and all outside the realm of Phin’s abilities.

  I think back to Milo and his wrestling match with Marcus, and I realize there is one thing I can ask Phin for. “I need someone to help me train,” I say.

  He frowns. “Train?”

  “Yes. Even before Thackery, I never managed to get this body into peak physical condition. But it needs to happen, especially now, and I have all the time in the world.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking—the things he’s weighing. Finally he speaks. “All right. When would you like to begin?”

  I don’t wear a watch. I have no idea what time it is and don’t really care. I flash him a bright smile. “How about right now?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Friday, July 11

  It should be easy, and it isn’t. I’ve done this move hundreds of times in the past. Emphasis on past, I guess, since my sixth attempt at a spinning roundhouse kick ends the same way the first five did—with me flat on my back.

  “Fuck!” I slap my palm on the mat to put a little power into the word. My frustration level is topping out. Ten days of training has put a little muscle back on and increased my flexibility, but my coordination is shit. Granted, Chalice Frost didn’t seem like the most acrobatic chick before she died, but this is ridiculous. Like riding a bike that won’t let me take off the damned training wheels.

  Phin looms above me, his face upside down. He’s been my dutiful teacher since the day I asked for his help, in between his duties to the Assembly and assisting Astrid in readying our tactical squads.

  The squads have started patrolling, getting out and making ourselves known. The Triads have expanded, is the word on the street. We’re feeding the existing fear to create a new reputation for the Watch. The challenge has been folding five active Handlers, sixteen Hunters, and a dozen trainees into the ranks of existing vampire and Therian volunteers with as few issues as possible. Matching up temperaments and skill sets is like a chaotic game of Memory.

  Or sudden-death overtime.

  “Again?” Phin asks, reminding me of my aching back.

  “You’re a sadist.” I sit up fast, nearly clipping his chin with my forehead. “I used to be able to do this without thinking.”

  “You used to be an entirely different person.” He circles around and offers his hand. A quick jerk and I bounce up to my feet, sore and a little sweaty. “Again?”

  “Fine.”

  The seventh time is not the charm, but it is my lucky number. As Phin yanks me back to my feet once again, his phone beeps from its place on the floor. He retrieves it. Checks the message while I stretch a little.

  “I’m needed in the War Room,” he says, frowning. The War Room is what we call the conference area in Operations—which means something’s up. Something that doesn’t include me because Phin grabs his shirt on the way out the door.

  Terrific.

  I snatch a towel from the stack in the other room and dry off as I amble out of the gym, unsure of my destination. Maybe a shower. But a shower will only relax me, and I’m warmed up, keyed up, and eager to do something, dammit. I haven’t been out in the field in what feels like forever. More than almost anything, I hate feeling caged. Although the Watchtower is a far cry from a tiny utility closet in an abandoned train station, it’s starting to feel just as claustrophobic in terms of my freedom.

  Maybe I can talk someone into doing a little two-man patrol. I need out.

  After I change into jeans and a T-shirt, I nearly smash right into Milo at the living quarters entrance. He’s in regular clothes rather than his patrol outfit, but he’s definitely on his way somewhere.

  “Hey, sorry,” he says.

  “Are you heading into the city?”

  He blinks rapidly. “Uh, yes?”

  “That wasn’t a trick question, Milo.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m taking Felix into the city for his appointment with a pain management specialist.”

  As soon as he speaks, the object of conversation hobbles around the corner and into view. Given the horrific injuries he sustained weeks ago at the claws of a genetically engineered hound, Felix looks good. He’s upright and mobile, even if he manages to hide the pain he’s in constantly because of nerve damage. He’ll probably never go out on patrol again, but Astrid agreed to let him come in as an Operations communications coordinator—which is a fancy way of saying he monitors our phone calls when we’re out. It isn’t what he’s used to, but he’s here with Kismet, Milo, and Tybalt. His family.

  I envy that through all of the drama and injuries of the last few months, the four of them are still together. My heart aches for Jesse and Ash, and for the closeness I once shared with Wyatt.

  “Hey, Evy,” Felix says, offering a pained smile. “You gaining weight?”

  If I was any other kind of a girl, I’d slug him for such a thing. As it is, the observation is a compliment. “A little, yeah. One of these days I might even be able to do a roundhouse again.”

  “You always seem to manage anything you put your mind to.”

  “Mostly.” I clear my throat. “Listen, you mind if I tag along with you guys today?”

  His eyebrows furrow. “You want to come to my doctor’s appointment?”

  “Not particularly, no, but I need to get out of here. I haven’t left since I first arrived—Phin hasn’t signed off on me being fit for patrolling—and I’m going a little stir-crazy.”

  “I hear that.”

  “No one’s going to wring my neck for taking you into the city, are they?” Milo asks.

  “I doubt it. No one ever said I couldn’t leave, I just haven’t yet.”

  The guys exchange a look.

  “Come on,” Felix says. “We’ll get some burgers or something afterward.”

  Considering the diet of lean protein, complex carbs, and vegetables (weight gain without inducing high cholesterol was apparently the point of such a diet) I’ve been on since my abduction, the idea of a juicy hamburger with the works and a pile of crispy fries makes my mouth water. It must also affect the look on my face, because Felix laughs.

  The walk from the living quarters to the parking area isn’t unusually long, but Felix is red-faced and sweating by the time we reach the corridor outside Operations. He accepts silent help from Milo, draping his arm across the slightly shorter man’s shoulders and leaning some weight on him. To the former Hunter, the show of weakness must be almost as painful as the nerve damage causing it.

  Milo has the keys for Kismet’s Explorer, and he helps Felix climb up into the passenger sea
t. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I glance over my shoulder.

  Marcus is watching from the entrance to the parking area. He nods at me, then turns and walks away. I stare at the vacant spot where he stood just a moment ago, confused.

  “Evy?” Milo asks. “You okay?”

  I shake myself out of it. “Yeah, fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  The appointment is at 4:30, which means the schedule is already backed up by about an hour. The fact that the doctor’s office is in a wing of St. Eustachius Hospital next to the Emergency Room has me on hyperalert. Two of the staff members here once saw me as a frozen corpse, and I don’t need the recognition. Not to mention that, the last time I was here, Felix lied to my face about Wyatt being attacked by a were-cat and then utterly failed at kidnapping me.

  Unfortunately, we can’t discuss these amusing anecdotes out loud in a waiting room full of normal people here for their own appointments. So we trade magazines and stare at the news program playing on the room’s only television. As far as mundane tasks go, it’s oddly refreshing.

  Felix is more restless than I am, and I don’t know him well enough to guess if it’s physical pain or hospital memories. Forty-five minutes past his appointment time, he leans a bit toward Milo, who’s sitting between us, and whispers, “You know what this feels like? It’s the same damned waiting room.”

  My ears perk, but I don’t look up from the article on fall fashion tips I’m trying to pretend I want to read.

  “The day you guys brought Lucas in and were waiting for word,” Milo replies.

  “Yeah.”

  “The Hunter Kismet was involved with?” I ask. Two heads swivel in my direction, two pairs of eyes wide and curious. “Um, girl talk.” Something occurs to me. “Shit, tell me you both knew.”

  “We knew,” Felix says. “We’re just surprised she told you.”

  “If it helps, she told me right before I went off with Thackery, so she probably didn’t expect I’d repeat it.” My intention is humor, but the words don’t come out that way. They’re almost sad. And now that the topic is open, I crave the conversation. “How long did you know about it?”