by Kelly Meding
"Good, okay." I studied the box of dye. "You know, I've never actually done this before."
"Don't ask me."
"I wasn't. Just remarking on my lack of knowledge of a simple girl thing. Don't most girls dye their hair at least once by the time they're my age?"
"Which age?"
"Good point." Chalice had been about five years older than me when we died. I opened the box and began sorting the bizarre contents—instructions, gloves, bottle, plastic tip, another bottle—until Tybalt's continued presence dinged my discomfort meter. "Okay, out. This isn't a sideshow."
He snickered, but pulled the bathroom door shut when he left.
I removed the scissors from the other bag and ran my fingers down the cool metal blades. I had a love-hate relationship with my hair. The length and thickness had been so foreign at first, and now I saw me in the reflection, not just the face of another woman. I liked how soft and feminine this hair made me look, made me feel.
But if ever there was a reason for a change, sneaking up on Vale and pounding his ass into the pavement was as good a reason as any. I grabbed a hank of hair, angled the scissors to a length right above my shoulders, and cut.
Forty-five minutes later, the girl staring back at me was a strange amalgamation of the Evy who'd died in May and the Evy I'd been up until this morning. She had the same freckled nose and brown eyes and heart-shaped face. But this new Evy had shoulder-length hair, dyed a strange shade of blonde-brown that had been a pain in the ass to wash out.
Bending over a sink and ducking your head under a small, badly-angled faucet is not easy when you have a ten-inch healing cut on your belly.
The results were worth it though, especially combined with my attempts at applying heavy eye makeup that didn't cross the line from striking to trampy. Nothing I did could disguise my scent to a trained Therian nose, or hide the birthmark that all Gifted humans carried and I had thanks to my teleporting ability, but anyone looking for Chalice Frost would not see her in me.
I needed clothes, though. My previous day's outfit was cut up and blood-soaked, and no way was I running around the city in someone's oversized t-shirt. I opened the bathroom door, unsurprised to see Tybalt sitting in the hall opposite. His mouth fell open when he saw the new me.
"If you say anything, I will punch you," I said.
He snapped his jaw shut.
"I need clothes."
He pointed at the office.
I went inside and found another shopping bag, this one with jeans, a t-shirt, and a black hoodie. No underwear and no bra, which made me roll my eyes. Gina obviously hadn't bought these. The jeans were super-tight, a size too small, but the hoodie helped cover some of the second-skin way they fit over my ass. Under the cot, I found a pair of boots a size too large. Some paper towels stuffed into the toes kept them from clunking around too much. I didn't complain out loud, though, because the strange outfit played to the strengths of my disguise. I looked and felt like a completely different person.
"Evy, I have to go," Tybalt said from the doorway. His eyebrows winged up at the sight of me, but he didn't comment on the new look. "I need to drop Elder Dane off at a more comfortable location, and then the Watchtower is expecting me." He picked the urn up off the floor, then handed me a plastic package. "There's a pre-paid cell phone. I wrote mine and Gina's cell numbers on the box, so program them before you toss it. One of us will call you about Wyatt."
"So I'm supposed to hang out here until then?"
"If you want Wyatt to know you're alive, then yes. For an hour or two, okay? We'll keep you updated."
"Fine." I didn't like the idea of hanging around an empty crematorium, but if it meant seeing Wyatt in the very near future, I'd deal.
Tybalt's cell rang. He mouthed Gina's name at me before answering. His eyebrows winged up in shock almost immediately, which gave me a horrible feeling in the pit of my still-healing stomach. "How bad?" he asked. Nodded. "Yeah, you, too."
"Who's hurt?" I asked as soon as he was off the phone.
"Dr. Vansis."
Oh no.
"Wyatt woke up sooner than expected. When Vansis tried to dose him again, he attacked. Threw Vansis across the room and knocked him out before escaping."
"Escaping?"
"He left the Watchtower, Evy. No one knows where Wyatt is."
Chapter Sixteen
6:15 p.m.
Having a grieving, half-Lupa ex-Handler on the loose certainly added an extra layer of fun to my already fantastic day. The good news: Vansis was fine, but pissed, and the Dane household was locked up tighter than the federal Mint, so Wyatt had no chance of getting his claws on Demetrius. The bad news: no one knew where Wyatt was, and he'd disappeared into the city. Not even the super-sniffers of some of our Therian friends could pick up on his scent.
With no reason to hang around the crematorium, I had Tybalt drop me off on a quiet corner in Mercy's Lot before he headed off with Elder Dane. Despite my disguise, I still felt like everyone I passed knew who I was, knew I was supposed to be dead and wasn't fooling anyone.
Only I'd fooled the person I cared about the most, and he was in major pain because of that betrayal.
Tybalt had given me a switchblade to go along with my cell phone, and they were my only companions as I began my search. My first stop was the old apartment on Cottage Place. The pups had come here. Wyatt might, too. Small chance, since this was too obvious of a place, and Wyatt knew how to hide when he didn't want to be found. I still had to check it off my list.
The apartment was empty, no sign of anyone having been there today. The phone number he'd written in mustard had dried to a greenish-brown, and the air was musty-stale.
"Where did you go, Wyatt?"
I'd lived here with my Triad partners once, but Wyatt had kept his own apartment a few blocks away—close enough in case of emergency orders, but far enough to give him privacy and distance from his Hunters. In all my years of knowing him, I'd never actually been to his apartment, even though I knew the address. He probably didn't hold the lease on it anymore, since we'd both been living at the Watchtower full-time since July.
Worth a try, though.
I walked four blocks west, one block up, to Culpepper Street. His building wasn't much nicer than ours, but it had an entrance that wasn't stuck between the doors of two tiny businesses, or a led into stairwell that reeked of old urine. My nerves jumped when I reached the third floor, and I took a steadying breath in front of his number. Normally I'd have jimmied the lock, but I didn't know if other people lived here now so I did something slightly out of character. I knocked.
Nothing. I knocked again, harder, and figured what the hell. "Wyatt? If you're there, please open the door."
A lock turned. The door pulled back a few inches, stopped by the security chain, and a pale face peered out. A somewhat familiar face with red hair and freckles. One of the Lupa pups. Crap.
"Is he here?" I asked.
"No," the boy replied. "You're his mate?"
"Yes."
"You look different."
"No kidding. Have you talked to him today? I need to find him."
"I haven't seen him today. He hasn't called us." There was accusation in his voice. The poor kid had no idea what was going on in the outside world.
"May I come in, please?" My healing cut still hurt, and I was already exhausted. Going at this on foot so soon after being sliced open was not my best plan ever.
I also needed to regroup. I hadn't planned on revealing myself to anyone else except Wyatt, much less a twitchy teenager I simply did not trust.
He closed the door far enough to remove the chain, then let me in. The apartment was tastefully decorated in a very manly style—dark furniture, wood, perfectly matched fabric patterns, like Wyatt had pointed to a room in a catalogue and made it magically appear in his space. It was impersonal, too, lacking photos or books, or anything that told me about the man who'd lived here. The only sense of being lived-in came from the messy kitchen,
with its collection of trash bags, food containers, and empty pizza boxes.
Three teenage boys could eat like nobody's business.
"Which one are you again?" I said to the twitchy pup.
He shut the door and turned a deadbolt, but didn't slip on the chain. "John. You're Evangeline."
"Evy."
"Can't you call Wyatt?"
"I tried." I sat down on the sofa, grateful for a chance to rest for a minute. "Either he doesn't have his phone, or he isn't answering for anybody." Or checking his voice mails, because I'd left one demanding he call his not-dead mate back immediately or else. "Where are your brothers?"
"Out getting dinner. We're allowed to leave for food, as long as we stay on this block and don't interact with strangers."
"Better than being locked up, I guess."
"It is. I like Wyatt. He's fair to us."
"Considering you infected him, I think he's being super fair to you."
John's mouth puckered up, and he stepped behind a nearby armchair. "I didn't infect him."
"Your brother did."
"Please don't assign his actions to me. It isn't fair."
True enough, but I was too tired and cranky to be fair, and I was scared out of my mind for Wyatt's mental state. I wanted him here so he could get pissed at me for hurting him, so I could see for myself that he was okay.
"Why is Wyatt avoiding contact?" John asked after a moment of awkward silence.
"Really long story, but he's upset and I need to talk to him. I thought maybe he'd come here."
Keys jangled in the door locks. John turned around, while I hauled my tired bones to my feet. Peter and Mark tumbled inside the apartment with two white plastic sacks of food I could smell before they were three steps in the door. And it smelled great. They noticed me right away and froze in place.
"Wyatt's mate is here," John said, earning him his own crown as King of the Obvious.
"Why?" Peter asked. I remembered him easily enough. He was the oldest, the one who'd spoken with Wyatt yesterday when he took them under his wing. The suspicious glare he was tossing my way did not endear him to me at all, but it did make me respect him.
"Because Wyatt's missing, he's upset, and I need to talk to him," I said.
Mark shut the door and carried the food into the kitchen, out of sight. Peter eyeballed me like I was part of his dinner, and I was very glad to have John between us. "Why is Wyatt upset? And why do you think he would come here?"
"He doesn't have anywhere else to go." As much as I hated to admit it, the pups were his family now.
John snapped to attention, followed an instant later by Peter. Both turned to face the door in the same moment that Mark appeared in the living room. The hair on my neck prickled with alarm. The front door slammed open, and all three pups dropped to their knees, heads down
Wyatt stalked inside, his face shifting in his rage, as though all of the control he'd maintained on the way here had finally snapped. I didn't move, barely had sense to breathe, while his face bi-shifted into the thing that terrified me the most. His silver eyes flashed as he looked over the boys, who were all trembling—with fear or from his shared rage, I didn't know. Words stuck in my throat as terror won out over love. I tested for the Break and found it waiting.
Wyatt snarled something, and Peter scrambled to close to the door. It shut with a bang that made me jump. Silver eyes turned on me, in a face so full of rage and hate that I lost all sense of the man I loved. He simply wasn't there. A monster had taken over, and it was all my fault.
The monster took a step in my direction. I fell into the Break and let it shatter me, carry me away. Too late I focused on a nearby location, someplace I could go without risking rematerializing inside of a solid object. The only place I summoned was the hallway outside, and that's where I landed a moment later. My wound screamed at me. Sweat popped out on my forehead and shoulders, and I dropped to my knees, dizzy from the exertion. Dizzy from having run from Wyatt like a coward.
I was down the hall from the apartment, near the stairwell door. I could leave, get away before his rage sent him into the hall looking for me.
An odd déjà vu struck me. Months ago, I'd done something very similar—teleported out of Wyatt's reach out of terror and shame. The circumstances had been wildly different that night in the motel where we shared so many secrets, but the result had been the same. I'd run from his touch, and the devastation in his eyes had torn me apart.
Running from Wyatt now wouldn't help settle his soul or convince him I was still alive. He told me once he'd never hurt me physically, even at his angriest, and I believed him. Time to put my money where my mouth was.
I stood on shaky legs and walked back to his apartment door. Froze at the sound of a mournful howl, so heartbreaking that tears tightened my throat and stung my eyes. The boys were talking, voices and words muffled behind the door. Were they calming him down, telling him I was alive? Did he believe them?
No sounds of furniture breaking or kids screaming in fright.
I steeled my spine and knocked.
Peter whipped the door open, the relief in his eyes stark and shaming. I stepped back into the apartment, surprised by its pristine state. Not even a throw pillow out of place. John and Mark hadn't moved from the floor, but their expressions were identical to Peter's.
Wyatt was sitting on the sofa in the exact spot I'd vacated, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He seemed to have lost the bi-shift, if his normal fingernails and height were to be believed. His shoulders were shaking, and then his broken sob sent me racing across the room.
"I'm so sorry, Wyatt, I'm here, I'm sorry." I wrapped my arms around him from the side. His entire body tensed, then pulled away.
He held me at a distance, wide eyes taking me in, tears I'd hope to see stop instead falling more thickly. He studied me, sniffed me, never losing that confused, stricken look.
"I'll explain everything, I swear," I said.
"You're alive."
"And you'd have known sooner if you hadn't assaulted your doctor and run off, you bonehead."
He blinked and something wonderful lit up in his eyes. "I didn't want to believe them. I felt you still, right here." He touched my chest, his hand warm over my pattering heart. "I knew you couldn't be dead if I still felt you, but Aurora said—I didn't know what to think."
I lifted the hem of my t-shirt and hoodie, showing off the bandages. "It had to look real. Vale had my parents, Wyatt. I didn't have a choice."
His fingers traced my cheeks and brow. "You had a choice, Evy, and you made this one without me." He sounded utterly confounded as to why I'd have done such a thing. Maybe when he was down off his emotional roller coaster, he'd understand why I made the choice I had.
"Marcellus is alive, too."
"He is?"
Ouch. That one kind of hurt. "Yes, he is. I never intended to kill him for real, dumbass, but Vale needed to think I did. The whole Assembly is out for Vale now." I straightened up and pulled away from his touch, finding some courage lurking behind my guilt. "I know I hurt people, and I hate how badly I hurt you today, but I can't argue with the results."
He turned that over, every emotional tic easy to spot because I knew him so well. Knew he felt pain at my betrayal, joy at my resurrection, hope that the plan worked, and confusion over everything as a whole. He had every right to be furious at me, to yell and throw things and call me names. I wouldn't care if he did. The only reaction I couldn't handle was dismissal.
I didn't want to do this—any of this—without him.
"Did you think about me?" he asked.
"Yes. I knew this would hurt you, but I couldn't risk telling you ahead of time. The more people who knew, the bigger chance Vale would find out it was all a fake."
"Who did know?"
"Gina knew, because Vale contacted her first. He had some kind of leverage, apparently, to keep her quiet, but she didn't care. She's the one who told the Assembly about my parents. And Tybalt found
out because she can't keep secrets from him."
"A problem we obviously don't have." The ice in his voice scared me. "You already knew Vale had your parents when we spoke this morning."
Shit, now he was going to deconstruct the entire conversation. "Yes, I'd just gotten the information, but I hadn't decided what to do yet. I did go visit Ava after I left you and…then I kind of winged it. The only Felia who knew, besides Marcellus, was an enforcer of his named Demetrius. He helped smuggle us out of the compound and into a crematorium."
Wyatt's eyebrows went up.
"Tybalt is presenting my ashes to the Watchtower as we speak," I said.
The eyebrows went down into a deep furrow. "How long do you plan on staying dead?"
"Probably a few days while Elder Dane remains dead too. He wants the Assembly to vote in a new Elder intead of—I don't know, that's his thing. He says the vote should happen within three days, and that gives me plenty of time to go looking for Vale. The bastard still has the vampires' cure."
I was letting all kinds of important things drop in front of three pups I barely knew. But who were they going to tell? They were hiding out in Wyatt's apartment precisely because they had no one else.
"And that's the reason for the new look."
"Pretty much. You can thank Gina for thinking that far ahead. Because of the Frosts, my mug was all over the news for two days. I can move around more easily like this." I reached for his hand, but he pulled back. Stabbing me in the eye would have hurt less. I swallowed. "Tell me how to fix this, Wyatt. Us. I love you so much. You're the other half of me, and I need you. I've never needed anyone before, and I need you."
"I need you too."
"I hurt you today, and I can't apologize enough for that. I hate what I did to you, and I'm not asking for you to forgive me. That has to be yours to give, and I probably don't deserve it."
He flinched. "I can't pretend this doesn't hurt, Evy. A lot. We've been through too much to not be totally honest with each other, and I am pissed. I am so fucking pissed at you for putting me through that again."
