He looked at her. "Kira, stay here and stay hidden. Keep Tristan and yourself out of sight, and whatever happens, do not join in the fight. If what you say is true, and you really are falling, we cannot risk it."
Luke's eyes bored into the side of her head, focusing hard on her response. "I'll do what you say."
Almost, she thought to herself, almost.
"Then there is nothing more to discuss. Let's go." He stood up, rolling the parchment paper back into its original tube, before striding from the room. Her grandmother stepped after him, light on her old feet.
Luke turned, but paused, looking back at her.
"How much am I going to hate whatever you're planning?"
"Not much," Kira said, her lips popped open, widening of their own accord. She wasn't just saying goodbye to Tristan, she was choosing Luke once and for all. Because she loved him, because he was her best friend, and because she refused to take away Tristan's newfound peace, his second chance at life. "In fact, you'll love it."
Luke brought his eyebrows together, tilting his head and plumping his cheeks to the beginning stages of a grin. Excitement was brewing on the other side of their bond. A sort of hope had sprouted in the corner of his mind but there was also confusion as to what had started it, a sense of doubt. "Then why won't you tell me?"
"I'm waiting for the right time," Kira said, using her fingers to push his chest toward the door. "And two seconds before a big council meeting isn’t it. Go." Kira nudged him again, thinking for a second that his indecision was cute, in a totally lovable and easy way.
She kissed him quickly, barely brushed his lips, but still a warm tingle flowed slowly down her body. He leaned down for more, but Kira turned him around and pushed again. Didn’t he ever listen? She said it wasn't the right time.
Luke took a second look and ran a hand through his messy yellow locks. Then with a slight shrug, a sign he would let it be, he followed her grandparents out the door.
For a moment, all Kira could appreciate was the fresh air, the clean scent, the almost complete absence of sugar filling her nostrils. The conduits were gone. She had made it through her first interaction in Sonnyville. And she could control it, at least a little, enough to see Luke again before the fight. Because that would be the right time, finally.
Realizing she hadn't moved, Kira peeked out the curtains, following Luke's movement down the block and around the corner.
Go time.
Kira spun. "Tristan?"
"Yes?"
She looked over toward his voice. He was still at the table, sitting quietly and sipping his tea. The black hairs her fingers could trace by memory were in disarray, slipping over his eyes, messy in a way that could only look good. Those lips, ones that had once traced their way down her body, were flushed, hot from the tea. His skin was smooth. His forehead unmarred with concern, despite the chaos that had been surrounding him the past couple of days. And his eyes, brown, but not plain, a rich warm chocolate laced with caramel. She could lose herself in those just as easily as in the deep blue sea that was once in their place.
He would never be her Tristan again. But he was still Tristan, still someone she would always love and could probably love again.
"Kira?" he asked, confused at her prolonged stare.
She had intended to tell him that Pavia would be dropping in, but different words tumbled out. "What do you want to do when you grow up?"
He smiled, tilting his head in surprise. "I'm not certain. I feel like an adult already."
"But you're not," Kira said, sitting back down at the table. "You're only seventeen. Heck, you're younger than me now. You have an entire life ahead of you." And he did. He had an entire human life, a new life not plagued by his past, because he didn't really have one, not a long one anyway.
"I have always loved art, so I suppose something with that."
Kira smiled. "That sounds perfect for you." She looked at him again, imagining age lines along his perfect face, maybe a pair of glasses perched on the rim of his nose. An art history professor, she could see it perfectly. All the girls in his class would come for office hours, gossip about him as soon as they walked out the door. But he would be good at that, history and art. They had always been his favorite things.
"What about you?" he asked.
"A chef, I've always wanted to be a chef." And she could be one, Kira realized, if she could split her powers. If she became a Protector, her life wouldn’t be totally ruled by her powers, by vampires chasing her down.
Kira had a choice.
And she realized something she had never thought of before—Tristan deserved one too. He deserved to decide his own fate. She couldn’t bear to see that haunting look return to his eyes, to watch him retreat into the recluse he had been before they met—the one who never let anyone get close, never let his walls fall. She loved him too much for that.
But it was his life—his choice.
"Do you want to remember, Tristan?" Kira asked softly, staring down at her fingers rather than at him.
"Yes," he said. Kira sucked in a breath. "And no." She exhaled. "There are things I wish I did remember, things like you, but there are other things too. Watching this entire town prepare for a fight against the thing I used to be, hearing how they attacked you before, how they attacked your mother, it makes me question who I became. And if it was a bad person, who did bad things, I don't think I want to know that that part of me exists."
"You were never a bad person," she said and looked up.
"But I did bad things…"
Kira didn’t say anything. There was no denying the truth in that statement.
"I fought in two battles during the Civil War. In the first, I was so frightened that I never fired my weapon. I was saved only by luck. And in the other, I shot a man in the shoulder. I was so overcome with shock that he had time to fire back, wounding me, and I fell. That is my last memory before waking up next to you, and I can live with that. Some might say it was cowardly, but I would rather be named a coward than a killer."
"You're neither," she said gently. "You're a good person." You opened my eyes to love, she told herself silently, you made everything seem somehow possible, and I will always love you for that even if you don't remember it.
And she would. Even as her love for Luke grew, a small part of her would always belong to Tristan.
Kira pulled out her phone and scrolled down to Pavia's name. She couldn't delay any longer. It was time.
"Hey, Kira. What's up?"
"Where are you guys?"
"Close. We're hanging back until we get word from you. Nothing's started yet, right?"
"No, this is about something else. About something we spoke about earlier, back in Charleston, by the marsh…"
"Oh?"
Kira waited for her to understand. She didn’t want to say it out loud, to alert Tristan.
"Oh." Realization dawned. "Oh, that. What about it?"
"We need to do it now, before the fight. I need to know that he'll…" Tristan squinted at her, listening in, and Kira gulped down the words. "That everything will be okay, you know, in case the worst happens."
"The worst being you die or you become an original vampire and kill everyone?"
Kira rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. "Really?"
"Just asking."
Kira felt the smile and shrug through the phone. "Either."
"On a scale from one to ten, ten being you turn into a vampire, what are the chances of me becoming a human after all of this?"
"If you keep teasing me? Eleven."
"All right, all right, ruin my fun. How do you want to do this?"
"Do you remember that secret tunnel Luke mentioned? Its entrance is right out at the end of the road, I'll text you the address. Just follow it until the end, and I'll be there waiting."
"Done," Pavia said, and then paused, holding her breath in a way that made Kira know there was more to say. She waited. "Kira," and there it was, the voice of the Pavia she liked,
the honest and caring one, not the shielded, sarcastic one.
"Yeah?"
"You are sure about this right? I mean, once it's done, there's no going back."
Kira looked at Tristan, running her eyes over his face, over the open and waiting expression, the unguarded eyes.
"I'm sure."
"Good, I'll see you soon then."
Click.
It was done.
Chapter Fourteen
Kira paced around the dark cellar, thoughts spinning over the all too many outcomes that the end of this fight could have. But there would be one definite outcome. Tristan would be okay. He would finally feel whole for the first time in over a century.
Now if Pavia would just get here a little faster. Kira had tried calling her, but a secret underground tunnel wasn't really ideal for cell reception.
She scanned the room again. No light bulb and she didn't want to go down the road of using her power, so she strained her ears listening for Pavia's footsteps. But the only footsteps she heard were her own.
Okay stop, Kira told herself and slowed her shuffling feet. Tristan was upstairs reading the history book Kira had given him back in the hospital. Yes, that's right—reading a history book for fun. Sure, he missed out on a few decades of his life, but still. But that's Tristan, Kira thought—half-smirking just like he used to do.
A scraping noise started behind her, like stones protesting against one another.
"Pavia?" Kira asked into the void. Who doesn’t have a working light in their unfinished basement? Oh right, conduits.
"It's me," a voice said roughly. Oh it was Pavia all right, a slightly ticked off Pavia at that.
"Are you okay?"
"No, thanks for asking. Has anyone be down there in the past, I don't know, hundred years? I'm a walking cobweb." Kira rolled her eyes—Pavia was probably just angry she wouldn't be able to twirl her hair very easily.
"Come on, the lights work upstairs."
"Wait." Pavia reached out her hand, landing it perfectly on Kira's forearm because of her enhanced vision. A few weeks ago, Kira would have jerked away from the touch. But now she really felt like there was nothing to hide—no memory of hers that Pavia hadn't already seen. "Don't you want to hear what's going to happen first?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the process of removing his memories."
Kira shrugged. "It's not just like, poof, you don't remember anything?"
Pavia's eyebrow raised, Kira knew it from the tone of her voice. "No, it's not just like poof."
"Oh," Kira said, her body suddenly felt heavy. She turned around, looking for the steps somewhat lit by the crack under the door and sat down. "So what happens?"
"Well, I've only done this a few times before, but those memories have already been in the person's awareness, so I just had to erase them. I can't really explain how, I just make them dissolve into nothingness, just make them fade out. But in order to do that, I need to make Tristan remember. I need to break down the wall."
"So he'll remember everything?" Kira asked softly.
"Yes."
Her hands rose to rub at the spot between her eyes, calming the anxiety that was quickly strengthening.
"For how long?"
"I can't say for sure. I'll work as quickly as I can, but it'll be at least ten or fifteen minutes before the entire process is done."
Ten or fifteen minutes. Ten or fifteen minutes to say goodbye? To kiss? For him to yell? To hate her for ending things between them?
Or would it be worse than just that? Ten or fifteen minutes for one hundred and fifty years of memories? Kira would just be a blip on the radar—one happy thought in the sea of despair that would pour out of him.
She gulped but then nodded. "If that's the only option, then we have to do it."
"Lead the way," Pavia said, so Kira stood and walked up the stairs, trying to remember that in the end, it would be better for him. It would be worth it.
She noticed Tristan before he did her. Kira couldn’t miss the black hair popping over the edge of her grandparent's floral couch. He was right where she had left him—feeling totally safe in her care, totally trusting that Kira would never betray him.
But she couldn’t think of it like that. He had said so himself—he didn’t want to remember. He wouldn’t be able to live with it.
She swallowed.
"Tristan?" His head bobbed, but his eyes were still focused on whatever words he was reading. "Tristan, Pavia is here."
He sat up higher and twisted his head around, following the sound of Kira's voice.
"Good morning," he said, smiling and shutting his book. "I thought you were all staying outside the wall."
"We were," Pavia said, stepping past Kira, farther into the living room. "But I thought of something that might help Kira fight, might help us win." She stepped closer to the couch, looking both innocent and guilty at the same time.
"What?" He stood, looking at Pavia to hear the response. Contact broken, Kira was finally able to step closer, to feel free of the scrutiny that lived only in her head. But she had to stay strong, for him.
"Kira can tell you," Pavia said, nudging her head in Kira's direction. Tristan turned, presenting his back to Pavia, and before Kira even saw her move, white hands gripped Tristan's scalp and his eyes went blank, completely devoid of life. His entire body stopped moving, a puppet with no master. Someone else was in control.
And then a spark.
A hint of something returned.
"Kira?" he said slowly. A lopsided smile stirred on his lips—just wide enough to show he was happy but small enough to hide the fangs that were no longer there.
"Tristan," Kira said, her voice wavering. Was it really him? Was he really back?
He jerked his head forward, but Pavia held it steady, refusing to let him out of her grip. She couldn't lose contact with his skin.
But that didn't stop him. His hands whipped up, gripping Kira's cheeks, pulling her closer, until their lips were molded together. Kira sighed into his touch, letting her hands slide up to grasp his strong shoulders.
He pulled her back, eyes wide and grin even wider. "You saved me, you turned me human, oh god, how did you, for days I've just wanted to tell you how much I love you."
He tugged again, bringing their mouths back together, forceful, like a drowning man who needed water. Kira obliged. It was the last time this would ever happen after all, the last time Tristan would remember all of the nights Kira would never be able to forget.
"How do I remember?" he asked with a voice colored by wonderment. "How did I ever forget?"
He stroked her cheek, lightly running his thumb from her lips all the way to the base of her earlobes—strips of skin that remembered his touch. His eyes drank her in, scanning every inch of her body, remembering it as belonging to him. Kira leaned into his palm, trying not to let the brimming tears fall down her cheeks.
He brought her close again, this time kissing every inch of her that he could—quick pecks landing on her nose, her chin, her forehead, any wisp of open skin he could find. And then he started laughing. Tears did start falling, but they were ones of happiness. And Kira let hers out, a mix of joy and sadness, selfish love and selfless love. Now that he was back, she wanted him to stay, wanted to rip him from Pavia's hands and end it.
She put her palm over his, holding his warm skin to her cheeks, drinking him in through watery eyes. Oh god, she had missed him.
But then Tristan stilled.
Kira's heart stopped. Was it already over? She never said goodbye.
His grin retreated. His lips closed, pressing tightly together. The light in his eyes faded, turning dark. The chocolate clouded over, like a shadow had fallen. His knees wobbled, so did his eyebrows. The hands on her face began to tremble—a shake that traveled up his arms until his entire body was vibrating.
"Tristan?" Kira asked.
His palms slid from her cheeks, landing lifeless at his sides.
Kira look
ed at Pavia. The vampire was staring straight ahead, looking beyond Kira into something otherworldly. She was reliving everything with Tristan, inside his mind, working through it. What was going on?
Tristan's lips fell open. His eyes widened, viewing some horror Kira didn't understand.
In the same moment, his knees gave out, his hands shot up, gripping the back of his neck, and a wail erupted from his entire body. A scream that didn't sound human, didn't sound possible, as though his body were being ripped apart, or maybe it was his soul shredding to pieces.
Tristan fell.
Pavia, still holding onto his head, dropped too, and Kira followed, pulled down by her heartstrings.
She hugged him, trying to control the shakes wracking his body, but nothing worked. The cry had stopped, leaving only silence, but it was almost worse, an absence not only of sound but also of the man.
His eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving only whiteness visible. His limbs jerked left then right, shifting up only to slam down to the ground. Kira was flung to the side as his body continued to twitch uncontrollably.
Another scream pierced her ears, tearing his vocal chords with its strength. It puttered out into a whimper, then a panting breath, and then words.
"No, no, no," he repeated, in a low voice, a barely there whisper. "What am I, no, stop, no, don't, I can't," Tristan continued, his voice getting louder. His left hand balled into a fist, slamming into the ground over and over with each word, bloodying his skin and the wood beneath it.
"Tristan." Kira reached out, tried to touch him, to comfort him. She couldn't watch him fall apart anymore. She knew what was coming, what would happen if he remembered, but watching him break right before her eyes was too much.
She touched his hot skin, burning flesh that felt as though a fever had quickly spread along his body. Her fingers were rejected. He twisted away from her touch, staring at her as if she was someone else, someone he refused to look at let alone touch.
The Complete Midnight Fire Series Page 74
