by Reinke, Sara
“Yeah, pischouette. That was me.” He couldn’t stand up. Not on his own, he realized to his dismay. He might have been able to somehow struggle upright if he’d been able to use both of his hands, but with his left one injured, there’d be no way.
Viens m’enculer. Fuck me.
Rene saw the doorknob start to turn and his eyes widened in alarm. “It’s all right,” he called out, but it wasn’t all right of course. He was stuck in the tub for all practical purposes, and if he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life there, he’d need Tessa’s help. “Just…just give me a minute, pischouette.”
If she’d walked in on him jerking off, he wouldn’t have been as mortified. He shoved his dripping hair back out of his face and struggled not to laugh. If he didn’t laugh, he’d probably burst into tears. Just bring me my pistol, Tessa, and slide it through the goddamn door. Let me kill myself, for Christ’s sake.
“Are you hurt, Rene?” Tessa asked, turning the doorknob again. “I’m coming in. What happened?”
“Tessa, don’t—” he began, but it was too late; she was already through the door. He grabbed a wadded handful of shower curtain and jerked it over his midriff, struggling to hide both his crotch and stump from view.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed as she rushed over to the tub, wide-eyed and reaching for him. “What happened?”
“What the hell does it look like?” he growled, embarrassed. “I fell down.”
“Are you hurt?” she asked, but he shook his head.
Just my pride, he thought as her hands fluttered about him. “No,” he said.
Her hands fell still and she blinked at him. “You’re bleeding…”
He shook his head and spat blood. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I bit my tongue, that’s all. I’m going to need your help here. I…I can’t get up on my own.”
“Oh.” Tessa stared for a moment longer, then shook her head as if snapping out of a reverie. “Okay.”
She turned off the water and leaned over, hooking her arm around him. He tried to hold the shower curtain in place and grunted, his brows furrowed with effort as together, they hauled him up enough to sit against the side of the tub. When they were finished, she squatted beside him and reached out, brushing her fingertips against his chin, dabbing at the rivulet of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.
“It’s nothing,” he said again, ducking away.
He hadn’t been able to look her in the eyes since she’d walked in the bathroom. He risked a peek now and found her looking at him, or rather, at the open air where his right leg had once been. The shower curtain had wadded beneath his ass and around his waist as he’d sat down; now, the folds had pulled back enough to reveal the end of his stump.
“Just…just go in the other room, please.” He jerked at the shower curtain, struggling to cover his stump. It was caught beneath him though, and wouldn’t budge.
“Okay.” She nodded, noticing that he’d noticed her attention. Bright color blazed in her cheeks and she cut her gaze to the floor as she backed out of the room. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” I’m about to start bawling like a girl who’s been stood up on the night of the homecoming dance, but otherwise perfectly goddamn swell.
The door closed behind her, and Rene breathed for what felt like the first time. He huffed out a long, anguished breath and forked his fingers through his hair. Tessa had seen him. She’d seen his leg, the ruined remnants of it, anyway. She’d seen him like no one else had in a long, long time—utterly helpless.
Half a man, he thought, blinking against the dim heat of shamed tears. Nothing more than a cripple.
“Goddamn it,” he whispered.
Chapter Twelve
It was the blood that had done it.
Tessa hadn’t meant to stare, but the sight of that solitary, slender trickle of blood leaking from the corner of Rene’s mouth, trailing along the contour of his chin had struck her with every bit as much force as a physical blow.
Rene was half human, and when he bled that percentage of his humanity—the part of him that made him so inherently different from her—was acutely apparent. The day before, when Rene had been shot, she’d been too frightened, her body too seized with adrenaline, for his blood to have affected her. But that morning, she noticed it. She’d smelled the heady, distinctive fragrance of it as soon as she’d burst through the bathroom door. And then she’d seen it on his face, bright red in contrast to his pale skin, and it had shocked the bloodlust to life within her.
She’d only fed two days earlier, but everything about her body had become difficult and unpredictable with her pregnancy—especially her bloodlust. It would come upon her out of nowhere, like at that moment, and no matter how recently she’d last sated it, it would feel like she hadn’t fed in months.
She’d felt her gums suddenly tingle, the roots of her canine teeth throbbing as they reflexively started to lower. She’d stared at the blood on his face like a woman mesmerized, until at last, a voice of reason had snapped in her mind, shaking her out of her reverie.
What the hell is the matter with you? It’s Rene, for God’s sake! Stop gawking at him like he’s food!
Tessa didn’t say anything as Rene limped out of the bathroom. He didn’t say anything, either; simply fished a small traveling case out of his bag, then went to the sink to brush his teeth and shave.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked finally in a small voice. She watched him through his reflection in the mirror as she sat on the bed, her hands in her lap, her fingers twining anxiously together. As he’d finished in the bathroom behind closed doors, she’d stood over the sink and splashed cold water on her face, trying to rid herself of the damnable bloodlust. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened, but she wasn’t sure how to broach the subject.
He saw me.
He’d glanced up just as she’d torn her eyes away from his face. He’d undoubtedly realized what was going on; her teeth were partially descended, her face flushed with rising bloodlust. He wasn’t a moron. Oh, God, what he must think, she thought, and she wanted to plead with him, explain somehow. I didn’t mean it, Rene! I couldn’t help myself.
“I’m fine.” He walked back to his bag and tossed the electric razor inside. “Why don’t you get ready? We’re meeting Brandon and Lina for breakfast.”
God, after yesterday…and last night…what he did to me, what he did for me and this is how I repay him?
She wanted desperately to tell him she was sorry, but didn’t know where to begin. “Rene…” She stood, crossing the room toward him. He had his back to her, and stiffened visibly when she brushed her fingertips lightly, hesitantly, against his shoulder. She wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him. I’m sorry, Rene. I didn’t mean it. Please, can’t we just pretend like it never happened?
I would never hurt you, she wanted to tell him, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing.
“We need to get going,” he said, deliberately sidestepping away from her proffered caress. He didn’t turn around as he spoke, lifting the overnight bag in hand. “Go on and get ready, pischouette. You’ll make us late.”
At breakfast, Lina chattered cheerfully at them over an unfolded road map that she’d spread out across the table while they waited to place their order. Tessa only pretended to pay attention and kept cutting glances at Rene, who sat across from her. He seemed equally distracted, stirring the same packet of creamer into his coffee for at least five full minutes without taking as much as a sip. He’d occasionally nod or grunt in agreement with something Lina said, or put on a strained looking smile in mute response. He didn’t look at Tessa, not even a passing glance.
“…so I figure we can stop outside of Tucson for lunch,” Lina said. “That’s about four and a half hours from here and there are a couple of places we could try—a town called Cortaro here…” She pointed on the map, leaning forward and frowning a moment before planting her fingertip. “Or here, Rillito.
What do you think, Rene?”
Rene set his spoon aside and pushed his chair back. “I think I need to take a piss.”
Lina frowned quizzically as he walked away. “What’s with him?”
Tessa shrugged.
You two are getting along, aren’t you? Brandon asked. He’d been practicing picking up his fork and spoon, folding his newly healed fingers carefully around the slim metal handles, but frowned now, leaning toward his sister.
“We’re fine,” Tessa replied, smiling. It came naturally to her, without seeming outwardly forced or insincere. She’d had four years to perfect it; four years of hiding from Brandon the truth about her nightmarish marriage. “I…I guess he’s tired, that’s all. We stayed up pretty late last night, looking through the Tome together.”
“Did you find out anything new?” Lina asked.
Tessa shook her head. “Not much.” Unless you count Rene introducing me to the finer points of an orgasm, she added to herself. “Something about a fire in 1815, but no details. And a picture of Rene’s grandfather like the one that’s in the study at home, Brandon—the one of the Grandfather in front of the old great house. It was dated 1815, too, July, I think. Oh, and someone had written down another date for that year, too—the twelfth of October.”
Brandon raised his brows in surprise at the mention of their birthdate and she nodded. “I know. Coincidence, huh? Beside that, they’d written the French word for fire. But I don’t know what that means.”
Fire, Brandon repeated, his dark eyes suddenly growing troubled, though he offered nothing more.
“There were lots of pictures, too, drawings and paintings,” Tessa said. “One of them was of this weird-looking creature. I’ll have to show it to you later—someone had written abomination underneath it.”
Abomination? Brandon said. Like that bunch of bullshit Caine made up to frighten us when we were kids?
“You ready to order?” the waitress asked, appearing beside the table with a fresh coffeepot in one hand, her ticket tablet in the other.
Because she looked expectantly at Tessa first, Tessa said, “Sure, I guess. I’d like oatmeal, please. Just plain, with butter on the side and a glass of orange juice.” She nodded to indicate Rene’s empty chair. “He’ll have three slices of cherry pie.”
Pie? Brandon looked puzzled, and Lina laughed.
“He still does the pie thing, huh? Jesus,” she said, then looked up at the waitress. “Give me the pancake platter, please, with a side of sausage links.”
While Lina ordered for Brandon, Tessa caught sight of Rene emerging from the restroom. He walked back toward the table, but when his eyes momentarily met hers, he looked away.
I’m sorry, Tessa thought unhappily. Please stop being angry with me, Rene.
“You and your pie,” Lina remarked as he sat down again. When he just looked at her, clearly at a loss, she laughed again. “Tessa ordered for you. Three slices of cherry pie. You’ve always been a pie junkie. I remember you used to make special detours in the squad car just so you could hit this one bakery on East Twenty-second street and get—”
“I think today I’ll have eggs,” Rene interjected, holding up his hand to flag the waitress back to the table. When she returned, he said, “Eggs, ma chère. Hard-scrambled, with hash browns, buttered toast and bacon.”
“No pie?” the waitress said, and he shook his head.
“No thanks.” He spared Tessa a momentary, withering glance. “I’m not really in the mood.”
By the end of the meal, Tessa had barely touched her oatmeal, letting it grow cold, hardened to near-mortar consistency in the bottom of her bowl. She moved robotically, sullen and quiet, as the four of them left the restaurant together and exchanged good-byes in the parking lot.
“We’ll see you in Rillito,” Lina said, giving Tessa a hug and a smile. If she noticed anything tense or strained in Tessa’s demeanor, she didn’t mention it, but Brandon did.
What is going on? he thought as Lina and Rene conferred over the map one last time. Brandon hooked his hand against the crook of her elbow and led her aside, looking her in the eyes, his brows furrowed slightly in concern.
Nothing, she replied.
Tessa… he began, but she shrugged away from him.
It’s nothing, Brandon. I told you—I’m just tired.
He wasn’t buying it, not one bit. He’d known her too long and too well, and she could tell just by looking at him that he knew she was feeding him a line of shit. His feelings were hurt; she could tell that by looking, too, and felt badly. During the four years of her marriage, he hadn’t understood why she’d kept herself so distant, both emotionally and physically from everyone in the Noble family, but most of all from him.
When the Grandfather had broken Brandon’s hands, Martin had begrudgingly agreed to let Tessa return to the great house to help tend to her twin, a concession he’d offered because Tessa’s father, Sebastian, had come and practically pleaded it from him. She’d often imagined that Martin had enjoyed that moment of her father’s anguish and had reveled in not only the opportunity to watch Sebastian beg a favor of him, but to be in a position of power enough over the Noble house to grant it. During her brief return, however, Brandon hadn’t wanted much to do with her. Unable to write or sign, he’d refused to use psi-speech much, no matter how much she’d tried to initiate conversation with him. He’d told her once, in a quick exchange, that the Grandfather had forbidden him to use his telepathy and he was in trouble enough without inviting more on himself. But she’d known the truth—he had been angry with her for her absence and hurt by it.
I stayed away to protect you, Brandon. She wished so desperately that she could make him understand. And myself. I didn’t want you to think badly of me, or worry about me, and I knew if you realized what Martin was doing…the way he treated me…that you’d try to protect me somehow.
They were only just now reconnecting, rediscovering the closeness that had always bound them to each other, and she could tell from his expression he felt wounded that she wouldn’t confide in him.
It’s not because I don’t want to. I’m ashamed, Brandon. I’m ashamed of what I did and it’s bad enough Rene won’t talk to me now. I don’t want you to be angry with me, too.
She made herself smile for him; forced herself to hold it until his expression softened, the worry in his eyes fading.
You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? he asked and he reached out, brushing the cuff of his newly mended fingers against her cheek. If there was something wrong? Whatever it is, Tessa, I’d be here for you. I love you.
She hugged him, holding him fiercely for a moment and closing her eyes as tears flooded her eyes again. I know, Brandon. I love you, too.
She sat rigidly in the passenger seat of the Audi, her shoulders hunched, and flinched as Rene lowered himself into the driver’s side, slamming the door hard enough to rock the little sports car.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” she asked in a small, hesitant voice. “With your hand, I mean?”
“I’m fine.” He fired up the engine and dropped the car in gear. She didn’t miss the way he gripped the steering wheel lightly, gingerly with his injured hand, or the wince that momentarily twisted his brows.
The tension in the car was thick enough to stifle. Rene drove out of the restaurant parking lot and across the street, pulling up to a gas station and killing the engine. “I need to fill up,” he said, reaching for the door handle and wincing again as he forced his fingers to grasp it.
“Rene.” Tessa caught him by the sleeve. All she’d said was his name, but already, she could feel tears welling up, threatening to choke her.
He glanced at her, his brows narrowed slightly, draping his eyes in stern, disapproving shadows. It might have been her imagination, but at the sight of tears glistening in her eyes, some of that severity in his face seemed to abruptly falter.
“I want to talk to you about this morning,” she said, forcing her voice out. “About what happen
ed. I…I didn’t mean…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He drew his arm away.
“But you’re upset,” she protested. “I just want to explain. Please, Rene.”
He looked at her for a moment, his face unreadable. “What’s to explain, pischouette?” he asked at length. “It’s happened before. Plenty of times. I’m used to people staring at my leg.”
Tessa blinked in surprise. “What?”
“And while I don’t normally keel over in the bathtub like that, it doesn’t mean I’m not used to people gawking,” he continued, his voice growing sharper, his brows narrowing again. “I mean, after all, it does come with the territory and all—good ol’ Rene, half a man, the poor cripple gimping around on his Tin Man leg, no?”
What? Tessa thought, so caught off guard, for a moment, she couldn’t speak. “What are you talking about?” she managed finally.
“The Tin Man—you know, from The Wizard of Oz,” Rene told her dryly, leaning over to rap his knuckles demonstratively against the titanium shaft of his prosthetic calf. “What? Is that too far before your time, pischouette? You don’t have TNT on your cable channels out there in Kentucky?”
He hadn’t realized after all. He has no idea, she thought.
“I don’t care about your leg, Rene,” she said with a frown, feeling her own anger stoking slightly at the confrontational edge to his voice. When he uttered a mean little bark of laughter, her frown deepened. “I don’t give a shit about that, Rene.”
“Ah, vraiment?” he asked, arching his brow. Oh, really? “Then what were you gawking at this morning, pischouette? Cause if it wasn’t my stump, your eyes were sure bugging halfway out of your skull over something.”
He has no idea, she thought again, and in that moment, she clammed up, pressing her lips together, too ashamed to admit the truth: I was looking at your blood, Rene. I wanted to feed from you.
When she said nothing, his brow raised all the more. “Voilà,” he said and he pivoted, opening the car door and swinging his leg around.
