James palmed my cheeks, his lips crashed against mine, and I whimpered as bloody tears stung my eyes.
No, I didn’t love James in the way I did Mercer, but this still hurt, dammit. Nobody liked getting dumped, even if we weren’t exactly an official item.
He didn’t linger, and neither did I. Rubbing his thumbs across the tracks of my tears, he dipped his head and licked at them gently, taking my tears into himself. It was considered a great honor amongst Veilers to share in the gift of tears and blood.
It would be so easy to fall for that shifter. If only Mercer hadn’t come first.
He nodded. “Don’t be a stranger, Scar.”
“This feels an awful lot like goodbye.” I clutched at his leather jacket, unwilling to let him go just yet. My fangs started to drop.
Normally, I could control my shifting, but I was upset and hurting and feeling guilty all at the same time because I shouldn’t feel any sort of relief by this, but I did.
A corner of his jaw tipped up, causing his Glasgow grin to stretch wide. My heart pattered. I’d been ingesting so much shifter blood lately that the old rock inside my chest practically felt human again.
“It’s not. And never will be if that’s what you decide.”
I closed my eyes. “Why isn’t this enough, James? Why can’t it just be enough? You’ve already lost your mate. You’ll never feel for anyone the way you did her. Why do you have to have all of me if I can never have all of you?”
I’d never spoken those words aloud before though I’d thought them plenty. I looked at him with my heart in my eyes.
His grin was soft as he shrugged. “I guess I’m just a Viking that way, love.”
Then, lifting my hands to his lips, he brushed a petal-soft kiss against each one.
“Come on, assholes!” Medusa gestured wildly from within the cockpit.
I hugged my arms to my chest as I watched him go. James bounded up the steps, then stopping at the threshold, he turned and waved once.
I jerked my chin in reply.
Only a handful of us had come out to say our goodbyes. We all gathered together minutes later as Medusa taxied down the runway.
A small hand slipped into mine. I looked down at the thick, dark hair of my youngest brother, Steven.
Wild boy that he was, he usually wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing since shifters couldn’t shift and keep their clothing intact. That day, though, he’d scrubbed his face and put on a pair of badly fitting jeans that came up to his ankles and a small gray shirt that showed off a good inch of belly button.
I glowered up at Mercer, who’d followed his brother although he looked reluctant about it, as though I was contagious or something. That made the beast in me feel wild and angry.
Mercer lifted a thick blond eyebrow, obviously feeling the weight of my stare. “What’s on your mind, Scar?” he asked slowly.
I shook my head. “Oh nothing, except for the fact that our brother looks like Oliver Twist begging for more porridge.”
He sighed. “Scarlett.”
“No.” I lifted a hand to silence him, more angry at him than I’d ever been, and that had zilch to do with Steven looking like a street urchin and everything to do with how he’d treated me lately. He’d put up the walls first, not me. “You don’t get to chastise me. Not now. I’m taking Steven shopping tonight.”
His bottomless blue-green eyes flashed at me. Mercer was undeniably handsome, looking like some ancient Nordic throwback with his long blond hair and neatly trimmed lumberjack beard. He was hot—no ifs ands or buts about it.
But I was done being dragged through the mud by guys.
“I don’t want you leaving the safety of our lands. Not right now. Not with the Alpha having just—”
I snorted. “Well, guess what, dog breath? I hate when you treat me like the local pariah, but we don’t always get what we want in life, do we?”
He sucked in a sharp breath as his eyes glittered with angry threads of neon green. “Scar, this isn’t the time or the place for this.”
Feeling the burn of Steven’s eyes on me and the flash of worry in the eyes of the others surrounding us was the only thing that staved off my words. Clarence might be Alpha for the time being, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before Merc stepped up and took that throne. Not a single shifter there would have my back if push came to shove. I wasn’t even sure if Mercer would anymore.
That thought hurt more than just about anything else, making me feel cold and irritable.
“No, you’re right. How about we just keep on pretending like we don’t know each other. My life was so much better that way.”
Mercer’s eyes grew wide before quickly slivering to fine lines of irritation.
Whatever. Like I cared.
I didn’t.
I so totally didn’t.
I refused to analyze the sudden trembling of my fingers.
Tugging on Steven’s small hand, I said, “Come on, kid. We’re going shopping.”
He nibbled his bottom lip, and I instantly felt bad for putting him between us. Steven was probably the only wolf in the place that loved me anymore.
Squeezing his hand tightly, I gave him a flash of a smile. “And maybe after we’re done, we’ll get some ice cream too.”
At that, his dark eyes widened, and a happy curl stole his lips. “With fudge?” he asked hopefully.
I nodded. “Whatever you want.”
I didn’t look back at Merc as I walked off with Steven. I was his sister, and I had every right to make sure my brother didn’t look like a clown.
I’d driven Betsy to the airport, and I was glad I hadn’t opted to run, as James and I had taken to doing more of lately. Showing up at a strip mall with a naked Steven in tow would have been a little awkward, even if said mall catered almost exclusively to Veilers.
“Where we going?” Steven asked softly, cutting through my churlish thoughts.
Lifting a brow, I plastered on a tight smile for my brother’s benefit. “I was thinking the mall over in Devil’s Run.”
“Oh, they have that—”
“Believe me, pup, frozen yogurt was already on my to-do list.” I winked, and he chuckled. Hopping into the truck, I waited till he’d buckled up before turning the engine.
Yes, he might have been a shifter and therefore not quite as breakable as a human, but he was a young pup and not quite fully matured into his abilities yet. I was also a wee bit of a worrier.
I had just reversed and was set to shift into drive when the passenger door was suddenly tossed open.
Mercer framed the doorway, his hands gripping the rusted tin of my old Ford and glaring darkly at me. “You are not going to Devil’s Run without me.”
Steven grinned.
I scowled. “I don’t recall inviting you, dweeb.”
“Dweeb, Scar? Seriously.” He snorted, slid into the truck, and slammed the door shut, banging the side of it with his fist. “Well, c’mon. We don’t have all night.”
“Actually ,we do, ass clown, and I’m serious—I don’t want you to co—”
“Scar, please.” Steven wheedled, clasping his hands together. “Please. Please. I like hanging out with you and Merc. It’s fun.”
Unsaid but very much implied was the fact that he’d not had a lot of fun in his life lately. Mercer’s lips tipped up in dark humor.
The butthead knew he was winning because I’d never been able to deny my little brother anything.
“Steven.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, blowing a deep breath through my mouth.
He crossed his small arms over his scrawny chest and pursed his lips tight. “It’s going to be my birthday next month.”
“Oh, that’s dirty,” I growled at him.
He grinned broadly, and just like that, the vampire had been soundly defeated by the babe with fangs. No fair.
Mercer grinned, lips twitching as though he was holding a chuckle in check. Giving the gearshift a firm jerk, I shifted into first and
romped it, making Betsy growl. Mercer’s reaction was immediate, his warm chuckle booming and making my skin tingle.
Suddenly, all I could think about was that damn kiss we’d shared in his trapper’s cabin months before—the one that’d changed me forever, that’d made me imagine for just one second my stupid-ass adopted brother might actually want me back as fiercely as I craved him.
But the clock had struck midnight, my coach had turned into a pumpkin, and everything had changed.
We were no longer even where we’d been, we were worse. I felt his look, but I chose to ignore it.
Turning onto the freeway, I clicked on some music and tuned him out. For the first time in ages, Steven was actually chatty. He’d grabbed hold of Merc’s hand and had placed his other palm on my thigh, idly playing with the denim of my blue-jean skirt.
The drive into Devil’s Run would take an easy hour, if not a little longer. But it was the place to go shopping if you were a Veiler type. The outlets of Devil’s Run were run by us, for us. In fact, humans were seldom even allowed on the premises except on designated days. That night wasn’t one of them.
I had no problem with that. Adding humans to a Veiler party was a sure way of turning a good time into a bloodbath. Not everyone had control of his or her monsters, and it was definitely the safer option when it came to shopping with a rambunctious seven-year-old.
This place was basically our version of a gun-free zone, and since most Veilers tended to keep nocturnal hours, the outlets stayed open all night. The best part of DR was that everything was decorated with an uber creeptastic vibe to it. Think Haunted Mansion meets The Twilight Zone, and you’d get close.
It was pretty freaking awesome and a good way to take Steven’s mind off his sole parent’s current predicament.
Thirty minutes into the trip, Steven had stopped chatting, his head lolling against my arm. Growing pups tended to sleep a lot, especially when they weren’t active.
Etta James was belting out “At Last” on my antiquated stereo when Mercer looked at me.
“What?” I asked sharply after a minute of his staring in silence.
“You’re off.”
I frowned harder. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You and James, you’re off.”
I’d been counting trees rushing by in my periphery, but I growled beneath my breath and turned to look at him.
I expected a cocky grin. Satisfaction. But that wasn’t what I saw. His normally green-blue eyes were a vivid shade of electric neon green. Mercer only got that way when his wolf was riding him hard. He looked good that night, damn him.
Body-hugging jeans. A plain black shirt. And his perpetual man bun. He had shaggy long hair that came down to his shoulders, with a hint of a soft wave to it that always made my fingers itch to run through it.
Mercer didn’t need to do much to look hot. Most Veilers were supernaturally beautiful, but you could never actually call Merc a beauty. That was a word choice reserved for the sexy, androgynous appeal of the fae.
Merc was pure gristle and testosterone, one-hundred-percent primal male—raw, powerful, and sexy as hell.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I snapped, drumming my fingers on the wheel, losing the cadence of the song and getting annoyed by that, too.
Finally, after having tapped out the wrong beat for the third time, I let out a frustrated growl.
“No, you’re right. It’s not,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just thought maybe you’d want to talk about it.”
Spotting the first Halloween-meets-film-noir sign announcing the outlet, I turned off the interstate and onto more rural county roads. I needed out of the tight confines of my cab already and away from his temptingly vexing scent of musk and man. I should have just left his ass back on that tarmac.
“You’re about four months too late for this discussion.” I eyed him hard, feeling the blood rush through my eyes, turning them from their normal brown to a glowing red.
No, I wasn’t going to snap his neck, even though right then I really, really wanted to. At least not with Steven in the truck.
But rather than take the hint, Merc snorted, holding up his hands and shaking his head slowly. “I just wanted you to know that—”
“Mercer.” I growled, so angry that I knew I was getting ready to say more than I should, but I was unable to stop the inevitable train wreck from happening anyway. “You want the truth? Then here it is on a goddamn silver platter. I handed you my soul, and you shoved it and me aside. For four damn months.” I held up four fingers.
He grimaced, but I wasn’t done. He wanted to talk? Fine, it was my turn to lead this little tango of words, and he was going to get an earful.
“And after that stint that Clarence pulled with you and Nox, I thought maybe, maybe you’d finally turned the corner—”
“Scar, you don’t under—”
“Stop.” I held up my hand, glaring hotly at him. “No. You don’t get to do that. You remember telling me that? Cuz I do.”
His lashes flickered, and he scooted back on his seat, rubbing his palms down his pant legs. The fine hairs on his broad forearms were standing up, and I scented the call of the wolf inside the man, but I didn’t care.
I just didn’t. Not anymore.
“Listen, whatever James and I are or aren’t, it’s none of your business, it’s mine. So let’s just”—I softened my tone when Steven began to squirm beside me—“try to get through this night without killing each other. For his sake.”
He turned his face to the side, but not before I caught the flash of neon glow. He was pissed. Well, guess what, buddy, so was I.
Turning the music higher, I pointedly ignored Merc for the rest of the drive. By the time we pulled up, I was feeling marginally better, but my head was aching.
I had fed just before James left, so it wasn’t the lack of blood causing it.
It was the fact I hated fighting with Mercer even if he totally deserved it right then.
The night sky shone with thousands of stars, literally glowing brighter than I’d ever seen. There was a comet storm that night, causing silvery flashes to streak brightly past my periphery. Veilers in costume walked by. Many were vampires, dressed like gothic Victorian-era ladies and gents with their big puffy skirts and corsets, elegant hats and veils pinned on, blood-red lips stretching in broad smiles.
Actually, come to think of it, I doubted those were costumes for most of them. We vamps tended to live a long time. I sometimes envied the ones who’d been around a while, who seemed to have a better handle on their hot tempers than I did.
By monster standards, I was pretty much a baby. Just barely twenty-one when I’d been killed, I wasn’t even fifty by human years yet.
I didn’t often like to hang around my kind, but Steven liked Veiler watching, and that night was supposed to be for him. I closed my eyes, exhaling heavily. The scent of bergamot filled my head, making me feel drunk.
I heard Mercer’s heart beating. It was steady but forceful. I heard the way he curled his fingers into his pant legs over and over, smoothing out the scratchy blue-jean fabric before clenching down tightly again.
I kept telling myself I had every right to be upset and put out with him, but Mercer had always been my particular brand of poison. Strong as I tried to be, I could never resist him, especially when he was trying.
Flicking a glance down to Steven, who was still trying his damnedest to catch flies with his mouth wide open, I pretended not to feel Mercer’s heated gaze searing straight through me.
Silence stretched like a taut bowstring between us, making me squirm on my seat, clench my thighs together, and tell myself that the bundle of raw nerves devouring my stomach right then had nothing to do with him. But that was a lie, all of it.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, and I tensed up.
Still angry. Still hurt. I was still so damned furious that it brought bloody tears to my eyes, causing them to burn and heat up. I swa
llowed hard.
I could wake Steven up, leave the truck, and slam the door behind me.
Instead, I did what I always did when Mercer decided to give me the time of day. I became weak and needy. I looked up at him, not trying to hide my miserable tears, letting him see just how much he’d wounded me.
His face crumpled, and his fingers stretched as though he wanted to reach for me, but I gave my head a slight shake.
“Thank you,” I whispered brokenly.
With anyone else, I shielded my heart, never letting on just how much things hurt. In my world, to show emotion was to show a feeble character, to show anyone that they’d hurt you was to expose yourself as less than worthy or capable. Among shifters, that was a weakness that could get you dead as a doorpost.
Mercer wet his full lips, and my heart thumped so erratically in my chest that even he must have heard it because his eyes suddenly shot down and then up.
“You’re still feeding on shifter blood, aren’t you? Almost exclusively.”
I cocked my head, trying to suss out if there was anger or resentment in his tone, but I heard none of those things, just casual interest.
That was the first time we’d talked for real in ages.
“Yeah. I have.”
Even though he had a Viking’s beard, I could see the stiffening of his jaw. He wasn’t stupid. He would know who I’d fed on. Technically as a vampire, I wasn’t allowed to feed on shifters unless given approval first. That was part of the treaty signed after the great shifter war, and no shifter in their right mind would ever give approval, right? Well, not entirely. James actually kind of liked it. He’d probably die before ever admitting that, but he was a wee bit on the kinky side. The man had a fetish for vampires. Not that I blamed him—I was pretty hot.
I almost smiled, thinking about him, until I remembered he’d basically dumped me. The asshat.
“He’s gone now. What do you usually do in his absence?”
I hated to admit that this kind and thoughtful Mercer could so easily obliterate four months’ worth of heartache by simply acknowledging me, but I was weak like that.
I shrugged. “Humans, when I can.”
Me and You and a Ghost Named Boo Page 3
