by May Dawson
I should make him sweat, then convince him that I’ve forgiven him. Then they’ll all let their guards down.
“Let’s talk about it,” I agree. “Maybe we should all talk about it.”
“Maybe,” he says. He rises easily to his feet and offers me his hand. “Come on. I’ve got a medical kit in my dresser. I’ll patch you up.”
“It’s unnatural,” I mutter. Angels don’t need Band-aids.
There’s probably a lot we need. Therapy might top the list. But Band-aids? No.
But I give Julian my hand and let him pull me to my feet, even though it hurts to climb up. My head is aching.
“I hate feeling like this,” I grumble. I’m not used to it at all.
“Me too,” he admits as the two of us walk into the house. He unlocks the door beside mine, and I quirk an eyebrow at him curiously. He asks, “What is it?”
“We’re neighbors,” I say, jerking my thumb at the next room.
“Lucky me.” He pushes his door open for me and flashes me a bright smile as he gestures me in.
“Don’t smile at me like that,” I warn him.
“Like what?”
“That charming smile you offer all the girls that makes them throw their panties at you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Does my smile make you want to throw your panties, Eden?”
“Not at all,” I say, but it might be a bit of a lie.
“Then I don’t see the problem.” He grips my hips in his hands, and I frown at him, about to push him away, before he lifts me onto the edge of his desk. I grab the hard wooden edge with my hands.
He pulls his desk chair up and sits intimately close to me, pulling my foot into his lap. He props my shoe against his thigh as if he doesn’t notice the dirt, careless to anything but the wounds. I watch him, nonplussed, as his dark head bows over my leg. He sprays my skin with disinfectant, which makes me hiss, which makes him smile. But his hands are quick and tender as he cleans and dresses the small, deep puncture wounds left by those little winged monsters.
“Lincoln is avoiding me.”
He glances up at me. “Lincoln has never been good with his feelings.”
Someone knocks on the door, hard. It startles me, and then Everett shouts through the door, “Julian. Have you seen Eden?”
The two of us stare at each other, silently. The seconds tick on, making it awkward to reveal that I’m in here. Being with Ever exhausts me right now; the air between us is too full of ghosts and memories and my own wayward emotions.
Julian’s gaze seems to read my hesitation, as if my feelings are bare to him.
“Julian?” Everett demands.
“You’re not a very good student guide if you lost her, are you?” Julian calls back, a faint smile touching his lips. “What if she’s lost right now? Wandering the forest searching for berries or something—”
“Berries?” I mouth at him.
“She could be attacked by the Myrmidions.” Julian finishes, straight-faced.
“Why would she go into the woods?” Everett says. His tone is worried. “But, oh my god, I never told her about the Myrmidions.”
Julian’s mischievous smile slips across his lips as if he can’t resist it. That smile makes me want to burst out laughing, like we’re naughty children.
“Can you check the library?” Ever asks. “I’m going to look for her in the forest.”
“Will he get hurt?” I mouth to Julian. The thought of Everett wandering into the woods and being pelted by Myrmidions is amusing, but I don’t want the joke to go too far.
Not yet.
Julian shakes his head and mouths back, “They’re not bad if you know what to expect.” Then, full-voiced, he calls back to Everett, “I’ll swing by the library!”
“Now,” Everett orders. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”
I frown at that thought. Why?
Everett was part of the Lords of Havoc. They tried to break me and left me for dead. It’s a little late to try to keep me from getting hurt.
Julian’s gaze is intent on my face. He leans back in his chair, my feet still on his lap, our bodies intimately close together as he looks up at me.
“I think we need to talk about that day,” he says.
“You said that already.” Suddenly anger and shame sweeps over me, feelings that make my skin feel tight and hot as if my body can’t contain them.
I let Julian pick me up like he was some gallant knight. I put my arms around his neck. And that would be fine—if I’d been doing it to manipulate him.
Elliot thought Julian was his best friend, and Julian stood by while Elliot was torn apart. I can’t forget that. But I let Julian close to me, even laughed with him, not in pursuit of my grand plan but in a moment of tender-hearted foolishness.
I used to be prone to tender-hearted foolishness. I loved Ever, and Julian, and Lincoln.
But that was two years and nineteen bodies ago.
“What happened?” he asks simply.
His hands wrap around my calves and slide up and down absently. I want to yank away from his touch. His warm palms would feel good under different circumstances. For instance, if we were two totally different people in an alternate universe. Then I could even lean forward and kiss Julian’s soft pink lips above that stubborn jaw.
I don’t have a single memory of the day Elliot died. I stare at him, chewing my lower lip, debating what to say. He doesn’t know I have amnesia. That always feels like the biggest vulnerability I have—I don’t remember that day.
If they know I don’t remember, they’ll lie to me.
“I don’t understand why the Lords turned on us,” I say. “Can you tell me?”
He shakes his head. “I could never get a straight story about what happened from Richmond or anyone after.”
“Richmond wouldn’t tell you why?” I demand. Rage tightens my chest. I thought surely Richmond had to convince my friends to beat me to death or to simply turn their backs. But he didn’t even have to justify it, apparently. “Wow, I guess our friendship really meant a lot to you.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowns. “Richmond ran after that. All the Lords did. When we came back, the police had taken over the safe house.”
“When you came back?” I scoff. “Did you take a break from watching me bleed out and run out for coffee? Maybe some FroYo?”
He stares at me, and then suddenly his eyes brighten with understanding, although his face is troubled. “Eden, we weren’t there.”
“Oh?” I cross my arms over my chest, and it takes all my force of will not to kick him in the chest. He’s so close to me, so vulnerable. “Where were you?”
He’s lying, he’s lying.
The five of us used to be almost inseparable.
My chest is so tight I feel like I’ll burst. But I force my hands into my lap, my shoulders sinking. My face relaxes back into the pretty near-smile I usually wear.
From the look on Julian’s face, he sees me re-arranging myself. No one usually gets a glimpse of me without the mask anymore, and I hate myself for slipping. It makes me want to hurt him. It makes me want to hurt myself more.
But despite the troubled look on his face, he goes on. “Richmond sent us on a mission to pick up weapons. He said he needed you and Elliot there. It seemed weird, but.” He shrugs. “You know Richmond was weird sometimes. We didn’t see that coming. We never… we wouldn’t have left you if we’d known.”
It feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.
I stare at Julian, refusing to believe him.
For the last two years, I’ve believed the men I used to love murdered my brother. If they didn’t, then that changes everything.
But I can’t just believe it. I want to believe it so badly it hurts, when Julian looks at me with those dark, worried eyes.
“Prove it to me,” I say.
“How do I prove it to you?” he asks, frowning, but then he nods. “I’ll figure something out.”
“We were all criminals, Jules. I wouldn’t hold it against you.” The cynical smile that comes to my lips is another mask, and it feels comforting.
So does the lie.
He rakes his hand through his dark hair, tousling it. It’s a sexy move, especially when his face is colored with passion across his high cheekbones.
“We would never just abandon you and Elliot,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.
But Julian’s always been an even better liar than I am.
He must realize that, because he thrusts his hand into his pocket, frowning out the window.
“I’m going to show you,” he promises.
“Okay,” I say agreeably. I don’t feel agreeable at all. I head for the door, but for some reason, I stop in the doorway and turn back, taking in the room at a glance. His drawings and photographs cover the walls, large and small prints mixed together into a pleasant wallpaper; his room is simple, but far more homey than mine next door.
Most of all, though, it’s the handsome boy who leans against the glass that draws my gaze.
My heart is beating too fast as I close the door between us.
Chapter Nine
I escape to my room to hide from all the guys, but that would be more satisfying if there was anything in my room. I had no books, no phone, nothing.
When I walked in, there was something more in my room than there had been before. It felt like reverse thievery; someone had snuck into my unlocked room and left a pillow, sheets, and a comforter on the bed. They were a helpful addition to the only other things I ‘owned: a permanently blood-stained dress, the uniforms hanging in the closet, and the P.T. uniform. Two sports bras. Five pairs of underwear. No one could accuse the academy of excessive generosity with taxpayer dollars, that was for sure.
This room was just too depressing. I decided to go exploring and visit the library, since Julian had said he’d check there looking for me. But when I jogged down the steps into the cool evening air, I heard someone walking toward me, and I turned just in time for someone to grab my arm.
I looked up, ready to kill whoever had just dared to grip my wrist like that, and looked right up into Everett’s angry face.
“Where have you been?” he demands. “You missed hand-to-hand training. Esther is looking for you.”
“Esther sounds very scary,” I say. “Someone borrowed one of my books and flung it into the woods. I was chasing it down so I missed class.”
“How did that go?” He pulls a face, and something about a ridiculous expression flashing across his perfect features is sexier than it should be. “I forgot to warn you about the Myrmidions. They don’t like it if you ‘trespass’ near their home, and they’ve got a nest right behind our house…”
“So I learned,” I say. He’s still gripping my wrist, the two of us intimately close, and heat washes through my body. I can’t even tell if it’s anger or desire that floods my senses, making me feel alive, so full of energy that it’s almost unbearable, that I feel like I might fly apart.
I reach up and pat his cheek condescendingly. “What else have you forgotten to tell me?”
Something flares in his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me, Eden? We haven’t talked much lately.”
I flash back to sitting up on my elbow, in bed with Ever. The two of us had excited arguments about politics and theology—which is a pretty immediate subject when you’re the child of an angel. Even when we agreed, we’d find a way to fight. But the two of us always enjoyed that. And we’d always made up. I remember the diffused morning lighting his face as I straddled his lap, my hands sliding down his hard pecs, and the way he’d grinned up at me, so unlike his angry expression now.
I yank my wrist out of his grip. “Yes, that seems to be going around. Do you talk to Julian and Lincoln?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
Interesting. The three of them would be stronger as allies. “The last time I saw you all, you were best friends. What happened?”
As he stares at me, pain flares through his eyes. He doesn’t mask his feelings nearly as well as Julian or Lincoln, he never has.
“The last time I saw you,” he says softly, “I kissed you when we said goodbye.”
His gaze drops to my lips, just for a heartbeat, then flicker back to my eyes, but it’s enough to tell me that he’s remembering what it used to be like to kiss me. Maybe he can feel the phantom press of my lips. I know every time I look at his mouth, I remember what it felt like against my skin.
“Things change, Eden,” he says. “Now I wouldn’t attempt such a thing without assuming I’d lose a body part.”
“Oh, do they ever,” I say lightly. “I was headed to the library. Is there anything I should know first? Any monsters lurking in the stacks?”
“No monsters, and not a lot of the kind of books you like.” His lips quirk to one side. “It’s not a very impressive library. Maybe they don’t think these reprobates read much.” He waves his hand airily, taking in the whole academy.
“I recall you not reading much either.”
His lips turn up at one corner. “Well, I am admittedly a reprobate.”
A few Nephilim come out the doors to the house, and the two of us step apart in one quick move as if we’d rehearsed it. His grip burned on my skin, and yet now that he’s not touching me, I feel suddenly cold.
“Maybe people change,” he says.
“Maybe they do.” But I doubt anyone changes for the better. We start off innocently enough as children, self-centered but wired to love with full-hearted energy, too. From then on, the world kicks us around, denting and chipping our hearts until the love leaks out and there’s nothing left but a shell.
“Come on, I’ll loan you something of mine if you need something to read,” he says.
Where Everett Kane is concerned, I have to admit to being full of curiosity. “Lead on.”
He leads me into his room. It’s spartan like mine, a big room with two wood-framed windows looking out over the quad. The room seems too large for its meager furnishings: a bed and a desk and a dresser. He’s got a rickety little bookcase, just three shelves, packed with rows of paperbacks doubled up, one row in front of the other.
“This is the saddest bookcase I ever saw,” I say as I crouch in front of it. I tilt my head to read the titles on the battered paperbacks.
There are a lot of familiar titles; there are all the literature books I loved as a kid and told Ever about, even though he’d never read them. Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. I remember telling him the plots of those stories, describing them in detail because somehow, in his weird, deprived childhood, Everett never read them. His parents were never the type to read him bedtime stories.
I glance at him, curious why he chose these books. He sits on the edge of the bed, his lips pressed together, his face perfectly neutral.
I settle onto the floor, sitting cross-legged, so I can get a better look at the titles. There are several poetry books, but mostly, there are novels. Les Miserables. Hard Times. A Christmas Carol. I run my finger over the gold letters on the spine of A Christmas Carol, then pull that book out of the case. I gave it to him our Christmas together. I told him that it was the easiest Charles Dickens book to read—starter Dickens.
I flip open the cover, expecting to see the note I wrote him, but the inside leaf is clean. He probably had to leave everything behind when the police stormed the safe house. But he went out and found another copy at some point. Why?
My heart is suddenly pounding. I know every title on this shelf. Everett went out and bought every book I ever told him about.
“Did you actually read these?” I ask.
He smiles without looking at me. “Every one of them. I know you think I’m sharp as a hammer, but I do read.”
> “You didn’t, once upon a time,” I say, turning back to the books. They’re packed tightly together, and I work out a copy of A Clockwork Orange. I remember lying in bed, telling him about this one, about how the British and American versions are different. Americans delete the final chapter. Everett laughed at how angry the whole thing made me. But even when he was laughing at my quirks, it never felt mean—he had adored me and I knew that.
As I’m flipping to the last chapter, I glance up at him.
He leans back onto the bed, cocking one arm beneath his head. It’s such a familiar move that it makes my heart race. How many times did he put his arm like that and look up at me, a sexy smile lingering across his lips?
My heart hurts, and suddenly I can’t be here anymore.
I jump to my feet, and he sits up onto his elbows, looking startled by my sudden reaction.
“I’ll take this one.” I’m already headed for the door. “Thanks, Everett.”
I close his door very quietly because I don’t want to slam it. I stumble into my room and close that door too quickly, as if I’m running away from something and I have to close the door before the monster follows me in.
But of course, the monster is in here with me.
It always is.
Chapter Ten
Eden
The next morning, I take my breakfast to a different table than the one where Ever and I sat yesterday. I don’t want him to think that he has to sit with me. I find a spot in a sun-soaked corner and sit with my back to the room, staring out the windows at the lush green campus. It’s jarring how beautiful it is.
I’m startled by the shadow that falls over me, right before Everett hooks the chair across from me with his foot and pulls it out. He sits in the same motion as he sets his tray on the table.
I glance up at him, and my heart stutters, the way it always does. “You don’t have to sit with me anymore. I can find my way around.”
“Good morning to you too,” he says. “When you’re so fucking cheerful all the time, how could I resist the chance to spend a little time basking in your sunshine?”
