He just continued to smile.
“Hmm…Tricky, aren’t you?”
“From time to time. So how does this work?”
Syrus played with the first marshmallow she gave him until it was mashed into a sticky pulp. She couldn’t really blame him for finding the consistency funny. When she tried to hand him a wire poker with a marshmallow on the end, instructing him to light it on fire, he just laughed and crossed his arms. It took her a while to convince him she wasn’t joking. He burned the first one down to nothing, lost the second one off the end of the poker, and nearly singed his eyebrows on the third as he tried to blow it out. Finally, she was able to help him complete a S’more.
“Okay. Now you’ve got to taste it. You promised.”
Forest watched amusedly as Syrus took a decent sized bite. His face went from initial shock to bemusement as he chewed. Then he smiled at her, sending her into a fit of laughter.
“What?” he asked, his mouth thick.
“You’ve got marshmallow stuck to your fangs,” she laughed. “Oh, if only a bunch of human girls could see you now! You’d ruin their vampire fantasies.”
He chuckled, licking at the goo on his teeth. “Yeah, why is that?”
“Well, I guess I could be wrong, but I don’t consider sticky fangs very sexy.”
“I was under the impression that you don’t find fangs sexy at all, sticky or otherwise.” He raised one eyebrow quizzically at her.
“I don’t,” she said quickly, brought up short. “Like I said, I was thinking about a human’s fantasy.”
“So humans know about vampires?” he asked seriously.
“Oh sure. I don’t think many of them believe that vampires are real, just myth. Their myths vary about lots of things too.”
“Like what? What do they think about us?”
Forest sighed. “There are so many ideas; I don’t know the half of them. There are scary vampires, sexy vampires, classic vampires, cliché vampires, hybrid vampires, vampires in space, take your pick. You can’t come out in the sunlight or you’ll burn to death. You probably know that that is true. Earth’s sun will kill you. There are some ideas that vampires are really dead, reanimated corpse stuff.”
“Eww. That’s gross,” Syrus interjected.
“Yeah. Let’s see, sleeps in a coffin, allergic to garlic, they know about silver. It goes on and on, and they keep changing their ideas. It really is just the fault of vampires crossing the portal and becoming so addicted to human blood that they basically go insane.”
“Sounds like it’s all great uncle Dracula’s fault.”
Forest laughed. “A lot of it is.”
“You’re the one who caught him the last time he tried to sneak through the portal, aren’t you?”
“Yup. Is he still mad about it?”
“Oh yeah he is! I try to avoid him as much as I can. He’s so annoying. And if he doesn’t get his fix of human blood every so often, he goes totally crazy. State events are excruciating with him, he always says the most embarrassing and inappropriate things. And he’ll drone on and on about the good old days in Transylvania, and when he does, the old accent comes back.”
Forest shrieked with laughter as Syrus wiggled his eyebrows theatrically at her and said, “You are a beautiful flower, my dear, come closer,” in an apt impersonation of Dracula.
Forest was amazed that she could laugh so hard. She hadn’t laughed like that in so long it totally escaped her memory.
“I can’t tell you how many movies have been made about him.”
“Really? Could you get some for me?” Syrus asked. “I bet they’re hilarious.”
“I might have a few in the basement. I’ll have to check.”
The fire crackled happily between them as Forest toasted another marshmallow.
“So, do you like working for Fortress?” he asked.
“Fortress just is. I can’t allow myself to have opinions about it, but I love being a traffic controller. It’s good to have the ability to have some status, and being on Earth keeps me out of Regian politics.”
“Is there anything on Earth like Fortress?”
“Sure. Some of them are secret and they all seem to be named with acronyms like, CIA, KGB, FBI, and MI6.”
“Have you spent any time as a spy?”
Forest laughed. “Not a real one. Some of what I’ve done in the past is similar to being a spy, I suppose. When I was first hired at Fortress, I had to take all kinds of aptitude tests; the results were not very flattering. I was given a very low ranking as a possible spy.” She was not sure why she had just told him that and wished she hadn’t.
“Hmm…I bet it said something like ‘too volatile.’ Am I right?”
“Something like that,” she replied bitterly. “I don’t care. I never wanted to be a spy. Everyone at Fortress slots you as a spy if you are a Shape shifter. It’s just racial profiling.”
“Ah, well.” Syrus shrugged. “We are all victims of stereotypes from time to time, aren’t we?”
She narrowed her eyes. Yes, he would know something of that.
They were quiet for a while, and Syrus began twisting his wire poker between his fingers. Forest couldn’t bring herself to pick the conversation back up, and Syrus didn’t seem to care. She allowed herself to stare at him. His expression was blank like he had simply left his body and gone elsewhere. His lack of expression, coupled with his pupilless eyes, was unnerving. He seemed so far away. It was starting to grow dark and the firelight cast shadows about his angular face. The bone structure of his brow and cheeks was so sharp, so masculine, but his mouth was soft and full.
Syrus had a sense that Forest was staring at him. Over the last few years, he had become accustomed to being stared at by those around him. Now he was having a sensation that he couldn’t account for: his eyes hurt. It felt like his shut pupils were straining to open, to see. He had the feeling that a fleeting opportunity was passing before him.
Syrus smiled suddenly, making Forest startle guiltily. “You know, I was just thinking how very much I wish I could stare at you as openly and unabashed as you stare at me.”
Forest huffed. “If you could see, you wouldn’t look at me any longer than was necessary. I’m really quite hideous.”
“Well, that was a large complement. Thank you.”
“Huh?” Forest asked bewildered.
“Since you think ugly people are not worth looking at, you must think I’m devastatingly attractive. You’ve been staring at me for a long time.” He laughed when she made no reply. “Fascinating that you make no attempt to deny or contradict me.”
Forest was burning with embarrassment. She had to change the subject and fast. “How did you get all those scars?” she asked quickly.
“Training.”
“That must be terrible—” she said in a falsely sympathetic tone “—being well trained and never getting to really exercise your skills. I think I’d die of self-pity.”
Syrus refused to take the bait, he merely smiled at her. “I almost did once. No one thought I would pull through. But then, as you said earlier, I’m a narcissist. I love myself too much to just let myself die.”
There was another momentary silence, more uncomfortable than the previous.
“I’m not everything you accused me of,” he said quietly.
Forest had been waiting for him to bring this up. She was surprised that it had taken him this long to complain about her insults. “Oh?” she prompted.
“No. I am, unfortunately, some of those things, it’s true.”
“And you’ll enlighten me, no doubt, about which ones,” she said acidly.
“No. I hope in the course of this journey, you’ll find out for yourself and unwittingly form a better opinion of me.”
“I see. You must have a nasty opinion of me in return.”
“Not at all,” Syrus said seriously. “I have a very high opinion of you.”
“Why?” she demanded aggressively.
Forest felt
aggravated when he smiled at her again.
“Now, now, you can’t go asking questions like that and expect me to answer them. I’d embarrass the both of us.”
Forest was embarrassed anyway. She wished she hadn’t asked him why. She realized how stupid she’d made herself sound; like she didn’t deserve respect from anyone. She hoped that thought hadn’t occurred to him.
“Despite all my faults, would you consider being my friend, Forest?”
Forest couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d slapped her in the face. “I … uh…”
Syrus waited for her reply, one eyebrow raised.
“I don’t know how,” she finally managed.
Syrus laughed, not in mocking, but a release of his own tension. “Neither do I.”
“You really want to be my friend?” she asked seriously.
“I swear on my hair.”
“Well, that’s an oath I can take seriously,” she said emphatically.
“Would you tell me about your childhood, Forest?”
Forest hated to admit to herself that she was touched. No one ever asked her about her childhood, not even Kendel. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“What are your parents like?”
“Dead,” she said shortly.
“Dead?”
“My mother died during my adolescence. And my father is alive as far as I know, but he’s dead to me. I don’t even know who he is, only that he is an Elf of some rank.” Her voice was completely devoid of emotion.
“Do you think your father knows about you?”
“Oh, he knows about me all right. The only thing he ever did for me was force my mother to send me to the Academy. He was determined that even his shameful bastard would have the best education.” Forest threw a marshmallow violently into the fire. “I guess he meant well, but I wish he never would have taken any notice of me at all.”
Syrus was listening, but when she mentioned the Academy, he remembered something Redge had said about her. “So that’s how you know my cousin, Leith.”
Forest’s insides went cold. “What?” she asked deadly quiet.
“You know my cousin, Leith. You must have met at the Academy. He spoke of you to my guard, Redge. I thought it odd that you two should have occasion to know each other. Now it makes sense.”
“What did Leith say about me?” Forest asked through clenched teeth.
“Oh, I don’t remember now. It was something nice though, a complement. Something about your eyes, I think.”
Forest realized that Syrus didn’t know anything, but she felt like she was going to erupt regardless. All she could do was run away.
“Forest? Forest?!” Syrus called confusedly at her retreating back. He carefully walked around the fire and followed her back to the house. “I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?” he asked as he closed the front door behind him.
“No. I’m tired and I want to go to sleep now. You should do the same.”
“Okay,” Syrus said confusedly. “Thank you for the evening. I enjoyed it.”
“Good night, Syrus.” Her voice was harsh, and she practically sprinted away from him to her room.
“Good night,” he said quietly, sure she hadn’t heard him.
She leaned against her door after she shut it, breathing heavily. She’d had to get away from him and his questions. She didn’t think they could be friends. Friendship was built on knowledge. Knowledge was too high a price. She couldn’t afford it. So Leith was his cousin. Just when she was starting to think Syrus was half way decent.
Forest got ready for bed quickly. She was so tired her muscles were rubbery in some places, knotted like macramé in others. She listened at her door for a few moments to see if she could hear Syrus moving around. Silence. Because she thought it best to still consider him her enemy, Forest opened her door a crack to better hear, before turning out the lights and crawling into bed.
An hour later, Forest’s eyes were cinched shut but her brain refused to stop whirring like a computer that had been left on too long. She never had any trouble falling asleep, and it wasn’t like Syrus was making too much noise—he wasn’t making any. She wasn’t even thinking coherent thoughts about him, but his face haunted her. Time lumbered on in a slow agonizing dirge as Forest fought to shoo him from her mind and drift off to sleep.
Syrus sat on the edge of his bed again, half meditating. He was tired, but his irritation would not allow him to relax. He could feel Forest all the way across the house. His door was cracked open just like hers, and because there was no other noise in the house, he was able to hear her breathing faintly. She was not asleep. His muscles constricted every time she sighed or rolled over. He had never been so physically aware of another person as he was at that moment, and it was maddening. He knew he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any woman, and he was incredulous of his own desire. He didn’t even have a mental picture of how she looked. He had been trying to make one up but was so far unsuccessful. The tones and nuances of her voice were clear in his head and he had been conjuring it for a while, listening to her speak inside his mind.
He was desperate to know why the mention of Leith had set her off. What kind of history could illicit such a strong and immediate response? Leith had obviously mortally offended her. Syrus needed to distance himself from any association to Leith she might draw. He figured that wouldn’t be too hard. He wasn’t at all close with his cousin. He didn’t have many occasions to meet with him. His opinion of Leith was vague.
The night continued to mature, and Syrus was acutely aware when Forest finally fell asleep. He listened to her breathing as she slipped deeper and deeper. He waited. When he knew she had achieved a level of sleep that she would not wake from easily, he made a decision based purely on instinct and frustration. He’d had a very weak moment earlier in the night when he considered reaching for his flask of human blood and taking a small drink. But he knew that would have been utter folly. He wouldn’t have been able to do it without making some cry of pain. It would have woken her. So he did the only other thing he could.
The incantation was uttered almost inaudibly, over and over, until he achieved some results, slight thought they were. The pain was not much this time, more of an ache. He felt the usual amount of disorientation as he stood up, seeing blurry flashes of the room he was in for the first time. Nothing was clear. He was only able to see silhouettes and shadows unless the thing he wanted to see was right in front of his eyes. This was his most guarded secret.
Syrus moved silently through the dark house to Forest’s door. He stood just outside her room for a few minutes, just listening to her breathing. He pushed her door a fraction of an inch, seeing if the door would creak. It didn’t. He pushed it a bit more and cringed as the hinge moaned quietly. Forest shifted but slept on. He only needed to open it a little bit more to pass through. He hesitated, feeling despicable, like some kind of thief. He would have changed his mind about what he was doing, but he really didn’t want to do anything. He just wanted to look at her. Even though what he would see was not her true face, he didn’t care. He had to have a mental picture of her. Whatever he saw would suffice.
The door made no more attempt to tattle on him. Syrus moved to stand by the side of her bed, finally getting his first look at her. In spite of the blurriness of his vision, his heart clenched painfully, his lungs seized, and he found himself on his knees, literally. Winded and furious. It wasn’t fair! Never had Syrus felt such injustice. It didn’t matter to him this wasn’t her true face. What mattered was that everyone else could see her and he couldn’t. He’d lived his whole life and never seen such fierce beauty. Her features were sharp and delicate at the same time with the most perfectly shaped set of lips he had ever seen. His own began to burn with the desire to kiss her mouth. Her hair was long and curly of what looked like a rich warm brown, but he couldn’t trust his eyes enough to know the color. Her hair spread over her pillow like a vast net and hung off the edge of the bed. And he was clutch
ed by a desire so strong he couldn’t even stop to consider how great a risk he was taking.
With a greater amount of reverent delicacy than he had ever shown anything before, Syrus lifted a handful of her hair and brought it to his lips. His eyes rolled back in his head involuntarily. His insides churned like an ocean storm, violent, tumultuous, and senseless. He almost woke her on purpose, just to see her eyes. He had to see her eyes. He had to!
Syrus moved like a flash of shadow from her room and back across the house. He had teetered on the edge of reckless stupidity and had no other choice but to run, or jump off the edge. If she would have woken to see him there, kissing her hair, he had no doubt she would have killed him unceremoniously. He deserved it.
His weak sight was growing weaker by the second and it would soon be gone again completely. He stretched his body out on the bed, feeling tired now, at last. The imprinted memory of her beauty lulled him into a sweet and peaceful sleep. No matter how much longer he lived, or if his sight was ever fully restored, she was with him now, imprisoned inside his mind, where he would never let her go.
Chapter Seven
THE EASTERN Regian mountain range was vast and brutal, twisting through the countryside like a vengeful snake with a spine of broken axe blades stabbing the sky. The first row of mountains to the west served as the werewolves’ garden fence. Behind it, at the base of the mountains, lay the suburbs of The Lair. The Lair itself was carved out of the stone face of the largest mountain in all of Regia. It was a city, homes of stone stacked atop homes of stone, with a deadly road winding around and up to the very top where the penthouse of the pack leader perched, protected and defiant.
Under the rule of their current leader, Philippe, the wolves had tripled their territory and greatly multiplied their numbers. Within the mountains, they had unofficially formed their own country. As their power grew, so did their opinion that the Vampire king had no right to rule over them. When the vampire prince had been assassinated, Philippe had doubled his efforts to prepare the wolves for a full takeover of Regia. The time was close at hand.
Forbidden Forest (The Legends of Regia) Page 8
