“Had I known of your existence sooner, I would have come for you. Blood is blood after all.”
Fudge no! Blood? That’s the last freaking thing I need to hear about. The pang of hurt that rises at the mention of blood is all I need. I pray Rocks hasn’t been punished too badly because of me. He refused his first blood bond because of his aeronaught girlfriend—not to mention almost assaulting a Fold member—and now I’m not his girlfriend any longer. Fudge.
“Monday. Do not test me, Contessa.” Before I can protest, or refuse, or even beg him to leave me alone, he turns and walks swiftly to the car waiting in the darkness. I guess Monday I’ll be studying in the library.
* * * * *
Saturday morning, Dad has the paper spread across his knees and is fast-forwarding through last night’s late news report. My folks went to a fundraiser, which explains why Mini is little Miss Cranky-Pants today. That babysitter never follows Mom’s instructions. I collapse into the chair and stare blankly at the images zipping past.
“You want to come rappelling tomorrow?” Just the invite makes me smile. Nothing good has happened to me in forever so it’s a pleasant change.
“Yeah, cool.” The grin Dad gives me indicates I’ve made his day. When I look back at the TV, my moment of happiness vanishes.
Dad rewinds without me saying a word. “The trial of Vipers’ leader, Mitchell Jones, and his right hand man, Raymond Ramirez, has finally begun. The pair are charged with first-degree murder of two police officers, and the daughter of rival gang leader, Enzo Ascari, is said to be taking the stand some time in the coming weeks …”
This is why he showed up last night. Sophia will be in a safe house through WITSEC until she gives evidence in the Vipers’ trial. I pull my legs up and hug my knees. Enzo was serious. The urge to text Rocks is so strong I end up sitting on both my hands. He isn’t my boyfriend and does not need to know this.
Mini comes barreling into the room and gets her sticky fingers on Dad’s phone before he can stop her. As she runs off with her prize, Dad dumps his half-read newspaper on my lap before pursuing her. A black and white photo of a bat dominates the page. Smack bang in the middle of page eight is an article about the recent bat attacks. I swear I’m cursed. If that blasted witch made a voodoo doll with blonde hair, then she’s better at magic than I suspected. I must be cursed. Seriously. It’s the only explanation for the cluster of fudge that is my life.
Scanning the article, I grab my stomach to hold back the tidal wave of nausea that wants out of me. The local county has decided to begin steps to eradicate the rogue bats following the overwhelming number of groups lobbying for action. Parker and his dumbass petition is probably one of them.
Dad returns with Mini tucked under one arm as he tries to extract his phone. The wailing that ensues forces me to the sanctuary of my bedroom. I pace back and forth across the rug. I open the window all the way, and let the cool, crisp, spring air try to calm me.
After several minutes, I decide the Shadows and Rocks need to know this information. My arguments for not contacting him are weak and selfish. Finally, the fear that the council will eradicate the wrong Camazotz sends me sprinting downstairs. I snap a photo of the article while Dad is trying to wrangle Mini into submission. All his usual tricks—like tipping her upside down—aren’t working. The girl has her eye on his smart phone, and nothing will substitute for it. The fact that I never taught Rocks about the camera in his phone niggles at me. He would love it. I hope Decker told him he has one, and I pray he works out how to open the picture I’m about to send.
Thought you should know this.
The lack of emotion in my words makes my heart sink and my gut twist. I head to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My brain chants two important facts—I’m not welcome at the colony, and Rocks has blood bonds to take care of. This is for the best. My head knows it, but the rest of my body is refusing to listen. The silver bat dangles from my ear in our illuminated bathroom mirror. Crabapples! Slowly I remove both earrings, and my necklace. As the filigree bat that hasn’t left my neck since Christmas falls into my palm, I burst into tears.
Rocks and I are done.
Back in my room, I place all the jewelry he made into the velvet pouch. Searching for a hiding place, I spy my boots in the corner and stuff the pouch inside. Since spring is in the air, I shove my snow boots to the back of my closet and slam the door. Sliding down the wooden frame, I sit on the floor and let my emotions erupt. The tears run in constant streams down my face, and I don’t even care. The only good side to us not being an us is that Rocks won’t be risking his neck flying down to see me three times a week. Now the bats are under scrutiny by my kind, he’ll be far, far safer.
* * * * *
On Sunday, I’m convinced my alarm clock is possessed. The hands speed around the dial toward Monday morning at an almost supernatural rate. Hours feel like minutes. I spend most of the day pacing my room with Feathers chirping at me to let her out, but I’m in no mood to play. I need a ‘how to avoid working for a drug lord relative’ plan. I wonder what Google would suggest.
Late in the afternoon, Mom brings a piping-hot salted caramel bun up to my room. Sitting on the bed cross-legged, I tear sticky strips off and shove them in my mouth.
“So goot,” I mumble, chewing.
“You’re not wearing Rocks’ necklace.”
The caramel suddenly tastes bitter, and it’s hard to swallow my mouthful. “Cleaning it,” I lie. The wound inflicted from breaking up with Rocks is still bleeding, and under no circumstances will I discuss it with Mom. I have a feeling she’d be as heartbroken as I am, which makes me feel a smidgen better. I’m not the only one that will genuinely miss him.
“I see you got a few college envelopes downstairs. Could be an acceptance letter.” She smiles, sitting on the edge of my bed. “You nervous?”
I shrug and jam more bun in my half-full mouth to avoid talking. If you could measure just how nervous I am, it would be completely off the charts, but it’s not the idea of college causing it. Thinking about my plans after graduation is the last thing on my mind. My focus is staying as far away from Enzo and his business as possible. Kelly would have kittens if she knew what I was thinking.
Mom inspects her nails. “Loads of people complimented me on these,” she says, holding out her fingers. Her nails are jet black with a sprinkle of gold glitter on the tips. They matched her black and gold evening gown for the fundraiser.
“You can’t go wrong with glitter.”
“Do you think Rocks will stop by tomorrow afternoon?”
I sigh. Mom is missing her favorite mouth to feed. “I don’t think so. He’s got lots of work to do with his family business. They’re preparing for the summer tourist season.” Not exactly a lie.
She’s going to keep asking though. I need to tell her something better, otherwise I’ll be lying about his absence every week.
“And” —I swallow the last bite of caramel bun— “he’s sort of got a girlfriend now.” The image of Rebekkah, Violet, Phoenix and that new girl floats into my head. It’s my turn to study my nails, and I pray the tear I can feel stays put.
Mom leans over and rubs my arm. “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. I thought maybe—”
I look up and share the pain that’s inside. “Me too, Mom. Me too.” I swipe the single tear and push out my bottom lip the same way Mini does when she’s told no. Mom smiles and offers to get me another bun, or make whatever I want. She says she knows it won’t replace Rocks, but nothing chases the blues away better than freshly baked treats drizzled with hot caramel.
The doorbell chimes and Mom disappears to find out who’s visiting on a Sunday afternoon unannounced.
“Connie, sweetheart, it’s for you,” she calls from the door.
Half way down the stairs, I spy his unevenly laced boots. Rocks is in our entryway taking up way too much room and bringing with him his shadowy darkness that suddenly feels odd. My heart flips at the sight of him, until I
force myself not to get excited. His eyes go straight to my bare neck, then flick to my ears, and finally meet mine. What I see stuns me until his hair falls down as he looks at the floor. I straighten my shoulders. This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t be made to feel like the villain.
“Come up.” I turn and head for my room, then spin around on the stairs. “Mom made caramel buns if you want.”
I know his nose knows what’s in our kitchen already. His eyes flick in the direction of the tempting aroma, then to me, before he stuffs his hands in his pockets. This sucks. The awkwardness between us seriously sucks. I order him up to my room, making the decision for him, as I head to the kitchen. He won’t have easy access to aeronaught food anymore, so I’ll let him indulge while he can.
The three warm, sticky buns hardly fit on the plate. He’s perched on the end of my bed and not in his usual spot in his chair. He rests the plate beside him and watches me as I sit at my desk.
“Why didn’t you text me you were visiting?”
“I knew you’d tell me not to come.”
I nod. Yep, I so would have. It occurs to me he probably doesn’t know a damn thing about breakup etiquette. The bats don’t date, and I’ve never felt any tension between Zada, Strickland, and Judge. Their open relationships are just accepted as normal.
“I need you to print out the newspaper article please.” His voice is soft and laced with sadness. I know how he feels. The fact he’s ignoring warm, baked goods speaks volumes. “If the government comes after vampire bats, it’s a disaster.” He shakes his head.
“I know. I can’t even bear to think about it.” Opening the laptop, I find the article, and the only noise in the room is my printer clicking to life. I watch him from the corner of my eye.
He goes to pick up a bun, changes his mind, and rests his head in his hands. A second later, he looks at me as though he knew I was studying him.
“Connie—”
“Don’t. Please don’t. I know what you’re going to say. The girls are right. I won’t share you. I’m sorry.”
The printer whirs and stutters before spitting the page onto the floor. I hand it to him but don’t meet his eyes. “Can I have another driving lesson, but this time just the driving part?” he asks quietly.
Oh, fudge no!
Rocks in my car is going to have my senses on high alert. That midnight smell is the last thing I need in the confines of my car.
“Um.”
“You promised.”
“We broke up.” My fear of him not understanding what happens when an aeronaught ends a relationship is confirmed. He frowns.
“I’m well aware of that, but what does that have to do with us being friends?”
“Doesn’t it, like, hurt to see me?” I ask. I know it’s killing me having Rocks in my room and knowing he is not mine anymore.
“Yes, but it hurts far more not seeing you.” Knowing Rocks is feeling our separation as much as me helps. Technically, it’s only been a day since we weren’t an item, but he’s struggling too.
“Usually when aeronaughts break up, they don’t tend to hang out much for a while, but you’re right. You promised me you would help me find my parents, and you did. I promised you I would teach you what I know of my world and driving is part of that promise, so let’s go.”
Mom wraps up the caramel buns, and I drive Rocks to Dad’s work for a driving lesson on private property. I don’t broach the fact that without a birth certificate he’s never going to get his license because that’s no longer my problem. When the lesson is finished, he hands me a crinkled envelope stuffed with one-dollar bills. He explains that the Sire has stripped him of all privileges, and this was all he had in his tips jar at the shop.
The money is for his phone account because he doesn’t think it’s right that I pay for his texts now. I don’t have the heart to tell him the amount in the envelope won’t last long, but since we aren’t texting so much, maybe it will. The silence between us is foreign and makes me want to cry. Rocks and I have never had trouble talking—ever.
“Guess I better get going. Thank you.” His face is blank and masking his emotions. I hate seeing him that way, but I know I’m doing the same thing to him. If he really wants to learn about my world, then it’s time for a really hard lesson.
“Rocks, we need a break. Okay? I need you to stay away for a bit.”
14. Envoy
Bat POV
The great, black bat swoops in low over the mountain, following the rise and fall of the land. No owls have been sighted since the market opened, but he stays on high alert. Listening. Sensing. Watching for movement in the foliage below. The nocturnal creatures are slowly awakening. The forest smells clean and crisp after the overload of suburbia, which Connie calls home.
Connie.
We need a break.
The pain those words send through his system cause the bat to call out on the wind—one lone, piercing cry. He knew this day would come. It was a matter of when—not if. How could an aeronaught ever truly accept the ugly, dark creature he becomes every thirty-six hours? No control over what form he takes when the animal breaks out, and the curse controls his wants and desires shoving them aside. He’s a freak of nature forced to fight against the animal urges hidden within.
Blood bonds.
Duty.
Family.
What does it all mean if you can’t be the real you? Why honor bonds when his own kin consider his human side an indulgence and a disgrace to the blood in his veins?
Blood.
The life-force that drives the universe. The substance he longs for, but hates himself for wanting the very next moment. Connie witnessed the animal in him feed. He drank from her neighbor’s beloved pet. I am a monster.
Hoo-hoohoohoo Hoooo Hooo
The bat dives for the cover of the nearest, tall pine. He twists in a dizzying turn to come in low under a secluded branch to take cover.
Look left. Check right. Deep breathe. Scent … Birds!
Stinky bird. Find bird. Scent of feathers. Listen. Wait.
Rockland hangs perfectly still, listening. After a moment of silence, he wraps his wings tightly around his body, waiting for another call to confirm his fear. The fear his colony will not be pleased to hear when he reports—the owls have returned. He would bet everything he owns—including his precious phone—on that call belonging to a Great Horned Owl. It’s the sound of death, but these forests are filled with dozens of owl species, and not all of them are his enemy. Maybe he’s mistaken; maybe he didn’t catch the correct cadence of the call. He was distracted, and he knows better than to fly alone distracted.
He scents the familiar stench of a feathered creature—birds stink. The scent is weak indicating it’s either a small species, or it’s far away, but the difference could mean his life—or death.
As the sun sinks below the horizon, he watches the purple sky for movement. No Camazotz should be this far south, so any large wing span silhouettes will mean only one thing. He closes his eyes to prevent his vision distracting his ears from a subtle call on the wind.
He waits.
He senses.
He watches.
Patience is survival. The patience he depends on waiting for his prey to fall asleep before he feeds—No! Don’t think about feeding. The aroma of the sweet buns Mrs. Phillips had made awakened his appetite. The boy flipped feeling hungry so now the bat demands a feed. He should have eaten those treats in Connie’s car, but he didn’t want her thinking he was only visiting for food. He was visiting for information, well, that’s partly the truth. Her text was the excuse he was waiting for to see her.
The last vision of her leaving the colony on Friday will haunt him forever. The sadness and disappointment in her eyes is what he’s used to seeing from the Sire. Seeing it in his girlfriend’s eyes confirm what a failure he really is in this world. He let down the one person he swore he never would.
The pink and purple canvas above is turning a deep indigo. He needs to keep
flying, but his instinct—that animal he loathes—is telling him danger is close.
Silence.
He takes another deep breath analyzing the scents, discovering a new visitor is close—a raccoon. Hanging upside down, he scans the forest floor. Leaves rustle to his left, and through the dense branches, he spies the fat, grey, fur ball waddling along.
Letting go of his hold, his body plummets, until he snaps his wings open wide. They fill with cool, night air and he evens out, gliding to the forest floor.
Flip!
The pine needle bed softens his heavy landing. With his instincts sure an enemy is close, he’s safest in human form. He’ll walk up the mountain until he’s sure he can fly again without detection or threat.
The exercise will do him good and might keep the bat quiet. Without his long, regular flights to Atlanta, the animal becomes restless, but only since he spent those eight long weeks trapped. Thankfully, the market will be empty by the time he returns, and he won’t have to face any consequences of his unauthorized excursion. Pushing through the dense underbrush, his mind wanders to his—no, not his—the golden girl. Connie would be tripping and stumbling along in the dark, clutching at his elbow to stay on her feet. He wonders for the millionth time if aeronaught eyesight is really that atrocious. Sometimes, she acts half blind. He smiles at the memory of her mud-covered feet the night they first met—the night his life changed forever.
* * * * *
“Where have you been?” Strickland demands the moment Rocks arrives at his wagon. The Sire steps out of the darkness causing several of the goats in the adjoining pen to bleat. “Should I be surprised you’re ignoring my orders?”
Rocks’ boot freezes on the bottom rung, and the argument fades from his lips before it’s given voice. He pulls the folded printout from his back pocket and hands it to the rigid man before him.
“There was another attack. Connie did some research.”
Sanguine Moon Page 19
