Romeo Redeemed (Juliet Immortal)

by Stacey Jay

  “Juliet?”

  Who else would it be, you monster? How many other girls have you buried alive this week? I dig my fingernails into my palms and let out a shuddering breath, shocked by how close the words came to leaping from my mouth.

  I can’t let him realize I know what he is. I must let him assume I’m still an innocent young girl and he my trusted confessor, for as long as possible. I must use his ignorance of my true experience to my advantage. It’s my only weapon, my only hope.

  “Yes, Father,” I say, trembling. “I am so afraid.”

  “Don’t be afraid, my child. I am here. I will stay with you and be certain you emerge from this misery.” He says the right words, but I hear the caution in his tone. He senses something isn’t right; I can feel it.

  I’m an Ambassador no longer, but there is something supernatural left inside me. I pull my knees in tighter, imagine myself a nut with a shell hard enough to protect my secrets.

  “Please,” I whimper, trying to think nothing but what I thought when I was in this place the first time. I am terrified that my duplicity will color my voice. “Get me out. Please.”

  “I can’t. I lack the strength. But Romeo will help me. He should be here soon. Unless …”

  “Unless what?” I sob, heart racing. This is it. Whatever he says next, it’s my clue as to how to avoid death in the tomb a second time.

  “Did you communicate with him, Juliet? After I left you with the sleeping draft?”

  “No,” I say without a second’s hesitation. It’s the truth. I spoke to no one after my final confession to the friar. I went to my room, changed into the blue gown I wore the day Romeo and I were married, said one final prayer, and took the poison.

  The friar grunts. A sound of dismay? Or disbelief?

  “I didn’t. I swear it. What has happened? Is he well?” I ask, knowing Romeo’s welfare would still be utmost in my mind, even now, when I am the one buried alive.

  After a brief pause, the friar says, “I don’t know. We were to meet at dawn on the road outside Verona. But when I arrived, he wasn’t there.”

  “What?” It’s a lie. Isn’t it?

  “I waited for several hours,” he says. “But Romeo never came. I asked about him at the tavern and on the plaza where his friends often stand idle, but no one had word. I sent a second messenger to where he said he’d be hiding, bidding Romeo to come straight to the Capulet tomb, but it has been several hours now, and … I fear something has happened to the boy.”

  “Oh no. No!” I bury my face in my hands, the tears coming easily. My mind and body are fragile, and I have plenty of things to cry about, though I couldn’t care less if Romeo has abandoned the friar.

  If Romeo has come to his senses in this new version of the past and fled the Mercenaries, it’s best for everyone. Well, everyone … except me. But I will find a way to escape. I must. Because even if Romeo is gone and the friar’s mission to convert another Mercenary has failed, he won’t set me free. He’ll let me die here. For his own entertainment, if nothing else.

  “I’m sorry, child. But there may still be hope. Perhaps—”

  “No, there is no hope,” I say, bitterness thick in my voice. My plan is half-formed and impulsive, but there’s no time for second-guessing. “He’s gone. He regrets our marriage. He told me so the morning after … The morning we …” I break down, sobbing hysterically. There’s barely enough water left in my body to make tears, but I don’t let that stop me. I weep as one betrayed, one violated in the worst way a lover can violate another. I weep as if Romeo has stolen my heart and tossed it onto the side of the road, a thing of such little value, it isn’t worthy of the space it takes up in his saddlebag.

  “Shh, shh, my girl. Surely you are mistaken. Romeo loves you. Truly. With all his heart and soul.”

  “No, he isn’t ready for marriage. He confessed it to me,” I say. “I thought he would come to his senses when he saw I was willing to tempt death to stay faithful to our vows, but …”

  “This is true, Juliet?”

  “It is.” I make a desperate sound—part scream, part sob, part cry of pain. “And I wish I could kill him for it!”

  I dissolve into tears again, but more quietly this time, straining to hear the friar’s response, wondering if he will take the bait. He’s been courting Romeo, believing Romeo to be, between the two of us, the most easily swayed to murder. But I could serve his purpose just as well—if I am willing to kill my soul mate, to slay Romeo and swear myself to the Mercenaries.

  In order for me to do either, he must set me free. And when he does, I will find a way to safety. I can do it. If I keep myself surrounded by people, he won’t have the opportunity to kill me. Mercenaries won’t reveal themselves in a public place. They prefer to conduct their business—and their torture—in private.

  “It is a sin to even think such things,” he finally says.

  “I don’t care.” I summon as much passion as possible, though my body shakes with exhaustion. “I don’t!”

  “Juliet, quiet. You will hurt yourself.”

  “No. I will hurt him. Find someone to lift the stone. I will hunt him down and—”

  “Silence.” The sudden hatred in his tone makes me flinch. “I feel you, girl. I feel your lies.”

  My skin goes cold. “Wh-what?”

  “Where is he? You know where he is,” the friar hisses. “And if you want to live to see another sunrise, you will tell me. Now.”

  I cringe, wishing I could seep into the stone beneath me and disappear. Because I have nothing to tell him, nothing but a scrap of a nightmare that threatens to dissolve completely if I examine it too closely.

  But it’s all I have. My only chance.

  And so I make another confession to this dark priest. “I’ve seen Romeo in a vision,” I whisper. “He’s betrayed you. Nurse is making him an Ambassador.”

  TEN

  Ariel

  I’m half awake, half asleep, floating in that in-between place when you’re awake enough to know you’re dreaming but asleep enough that the dream seems real. I’m with the beautiful boy on the hill again. This time we’re alone, lying side by side, holding hands, bare legs tangled in the tickly grass. The sun is warm on our faces and the air is sweet and fresh, and I’m so happy, I’m not sure I’m capable of being happier. I want to stay here forever, on this hillside, our little piece of heaven.

  Or hell.

  The man in the robe, and his giant, bloody fingers, flash through my mind. I remember the way the ground opened up and pulled the boy under. Fear tries to break through the bliss. I know I should warn him, but my lips won’t move. I’m frozen, mesmerized by the feel of his toes curled around my calf. I’ve never touched another person like this, so easy and relaxed, but sensual at the same time.

  I wonder if this is what it’s like to have a lover, and my belly flutters.

  I tell myself it’s just a foot and a leg, not that big a deal, but my body won’t listen. My skin hums, and my insides melt as his thumb rubs back and forth across the back of my hand. I hold my breath, praying he’ll roll over and kiss me, press me into the grass with his weight until we’re even more tangled up in each other and I forget that terrifying things exist.

  “I love being with you,” I whisper. “I never want to leave.”

  “I love you.” The words make me roll my head his way. When I do, I’m not surprised to see Dylan’s eyes in the boy’s face. My mind is mixing them together. The boy’s hand feels like Dylan’s too, and his voice is the same husky mumble. “I do, you know. Even if I don’t know it yet.”

  I smile. “You’re a dream.”

  “Am I?” he asks, a twinkle in his eyes. “Maybe you’re the dream.”

  “I don’t care who’s dreaming, as long as we never wake up.”

  “Agreed.” He shoots me a look that makes me shiver, and I suddenly can’t wait for him to come to me. I roll over, my hair spilling around his face as I find his lips. I kiss him, and he moans into my
mouth as his hand slides down my back, lingering at my waist, squeezing my hip, making me wish I were brave enough to let the need I feel when he touches me lead the way. I want to pull my soft, gray dress over my head while he looks up at me from his place on the ground and decides what part of me he’s going to—

  “Ariel? Are you awake?” A distant voice echoes across the mountain.

  The dream world goes fuzzy around the edges. The grass and sun fade away, until there’s only the black behind my eyes. I expect to feel sad to leave the boy, but it’s hard to feel sad when I’m so warm and my blood is rushing so fast and I wake up to find Dylan’s lips on mine.

  Or I guess my lips are on his.

  He’s lying on the couch, and I’m halfway on top of him, our legs entwined, his hand at the small of my back, my hand sliding under his shirt. I feel his bare skin hot against my fingers and break off the kiss with a wobbly breath. The room is dark, and a few feet away the credits are rolling at the end of Carrie. We must have fallen asleep.

  “Are you—”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I’m awake.”

  “But you weren’t a second ago.”

  I pull my hand from under his shirt, my face so hot I’m afraid I’ll catch fire. “No. I wasn’t.”

  He smiles. “You were sleep-kissing.”

  “I guess.” I’m hyperaware of how close we are, but uncertain how to gracefully disengage. If only I had more experience waking up on top of a gorgeous boy. Or more experience being this close to a member of the opposite sex, period.

  “I know,” he says. “I kept saying your name and you didn’t answer, and then …”

  “Then what?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

  “Tell me. Or I’ll be even more embarrassed.”

  “You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tight when I try to pull away.

  After a moment, I relax. His body feels too good to fight, and beneath the awkwardness, there is an unexpected … familiarity. We fit, Dylan and me. “Please, I want to know.”

  “You bit me,” he says, voice husky. “Just a little bit. On my neck.”

  “Ohmygod.” I glance down to see the faint imprint of teeth marks on his skin, and humiliation steals my breath away. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—with that light in his eyes that tells me I’m not the only one who thinks we fit together very nicely—that makes it hard to breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not.” His hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt.

  “You can bite me anytime.”

  “You like being bitten?”

  “I like anything you do to me.”

  Oh my. I lick my lips. “I was asleep. I’ve never bitten anyone before.”

  “So you don’t think you have any latent sadistic tendencies?”

  I let out a shaky laugh as his hands slide from my waist to the base of my ribs. “You sound disappointed,” I murmur, my mouth drifting closer to his.

  “Well …” His wicked grin makes my nerves sizzle. “I told you I liked it rough, didn’t I?”

  “Excuse me?” comes a shocked voice from the kitchen, killing the joking response on my lips. My mom. She’s home. Oh god!

  “Ariel? What’s going on in here?”

  I peek over the back of the couch and try to look innocent as I subtly unwind my legs from Dylan’s. “Hi, Mom. You’re home early.” I sound guilty, and the way Mom’s arms are crossed and her fingers are digging into her yellow scrubs isn’t a good sign.

  Beside me, Dylan drops his feet to the ground and tugs his gray T-shirt back around his waist. A quick hand through his hair, and no one would guess he’s been doing what we’ve been doing. If only I could say the same. I can feel my hair fuzzing around my head, and my lips are still hot and puffy. My mom doesn’t date much, but I’m sure she remembers what a girl who’s been making out looks like.

  Oh man. This is going to be bad. What do I say? How to explain what she heard?

  I pull in a breath, but before I can speak, Dylan stands and circles the couch with an outstretched hand. “Hi, Mrs. Dragland. I’m Dylan. Ariel and I went out last night. Sorry I didn’t come inside to meet you before.”

  Mom takes his hand, but she doesn’t look happy about it, and ends the shake after a barely polite second. “I remember you, Dylan. You’re the one who got my daughter drunk and let her walk home by herself.”

  “Yeah. I … messed up.” He ducks his head. “I got worried when Ariel wasn’t at school. That’s why I came by to check on her. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and let her know how sorry I was.”

  “And she obviously forgave you.” Mom’s brow arches in my direction. I stand, debating whether I’m feeling brave enough to cross to the other side of the room.

  “I had to crawl on my belly across your kitchen floor, but it was worth it,” he says. “And your floor’s a little cleaner now, so …”

  He smiles, but Mom is not amused by clean-floor jokes. I gather my courage and hurry around the couch. “It’s my fault,” I say. “I was lonely after being by myself all day, so I asked Dylan to stay and watch a movie. We were watching Carrie and fell asleep.”

  “You sounded like you were asleep,” she says, reminding me I come by my sarcastic streak honestly.

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m too embarrassed. I look down at the floor and squirm my toes into the carpet, wishing I had my shoes on. I’d feel so much less vulnerable with shoes. And maybe a sweater, and a suit of armor with a Mom-glare-deflecting force field.

  “We just woke up,” Dylan says. “We didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

  “My definition of wrong and yours might be different, Dylan. I’d like you to leave, please.”

  “Okay.” The hurt in his voice makes me want to strangle my mother. Why is she doing this? In front of the first boy who’s ever dared step foot in the Freak’s house?

  “Is it okay if I pick Ariel up for school tomorrow?”

  “I’ll take her to school.” Mom shoots another narrow look my way. “If she’s feeling well enough to go, of course.”

  “Oh … all right.” Dylan takes a step toward the door, but then turns back to my mom with a sigh. “Listen, I know you’re angry, and I know you probably heard us joking, and it wasn’t the kind of joke a mom wants to hear, but I care about Ariel. I really do.”

  “I’m sure you do.” The condescension in Mom’s voice makes me cringe.

  If she keeps treating him like a little kid, I’m going to die. Or wish I were dead if I get too angry. I can’t handle another episode tonight, not two nights in a row, not after this beautiful day that has me dreaming things I’ve never dared to dream before. Dylan doesn’t think I’m a freak. He knows about the screaming things and all the rest of it, and he still kissed me and held me and acted like I was a normal girl. Maybe I can be normal. With him.

  If my mom doesn’t ruin everything by laying down the parental law the one time I don’t need her help.

  Instead of backing away, Dylan steps closer. “I’m sorry we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, Mrs. Dragland, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to prove that I’m good for Ariel. I promise I would never do anything to hurt her.”

  Mom’s brows draw together, but she doesn’t say anything right away. I can’t decide if that’s a good sign or a bad one. Usually she’s pretty quick with a comeback. Maybe she’s actually thinking about what Dylan said. Or maybe she’s thinking about how long it will take her to grab my grandfather’s .22 from her closet. Dylan has danger written all over him. But then, that’s part of what I like about him.

  What I more than like …?

  No. It’s barely been a day since I found out about the bet. I’d be an idiot to trust him completely. Even when he’s saying the right words, there’s something off in the way he says them. I don’t think he’s lying, but I don’t think he’s telling the whole truth, either. I want to know what he’s hiding. What he’s
holding back when he’s been so open about other things. His honesty was painful today, but even the story about his brother didn’t break through that final wall between him and the truth.

  Still, when he looks my way, I don’t see anything false in his eyes. He wants to be with me. And he wants it badly enough to stand and talk this out with my mom when it would be so much easier for him to walk out the door.

  “That’s a big promise, Dylan,” Mom finally says. “Especially for a seventeen-year-old boy.”

  “I’m eighteen,” Dylan says, a daring hint of playful in his tone. “December baby.”

  Mom doesn’t smile. “I’m sure you know what I mean. Sometimes we hurt people without meaning to, especially when we’re young.”

  “I know. But I meant what I said.”

  Mom considers him for a moment before nodding, just once. “All right, but we’re going to have some ground rules.” She turns to me. “No company if you’re supposed to be home sick. Got it?”

  I bob my head. “Yes, Mom. Sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

  “And from now on you have a midnight curfew on weekends and eleven on school nights,” she says. “I talked to the girls at work, and that’s the time their teenagers have to be in, so don’t tell me I’m being unfair.”

  I nod again, so glad that she’s not going to forbid me to see Dylan, that I don’t even stop to think about what’s fair or unfair.

  “And if it becomes an issue,” she says, “I expect you two to use birth control. Birth control pills and a condom to protect against disease.”

  Oh. My. God.

  My eyes squeeze closed, and my heart shrivels like a shame-scorched raisin. If I didn’t know what embarrassment was before, I certainly do now. How could she? Right here, right now? In front of Dylan?

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dylan mumbles. He’s staring at his feet, his face bright red. Great. Now he’s mortified too. I shoot Mom a wide-eyed “What in god’s name are you doing!” look.