by Lucy Auburn
Maybe Dan would've died either way.
Or not.
Still, I can't hate him. Someone he loved looked him in the eyes and begged for mercy. If Dan was anything like Eve, he would've figured out a way to do it himself, even if Mason refused. People desperate to die with dignity rarely give up when they hear the first no.
"You didn't know about the study," I tell him, because I have to—it's the most logical point to make, though I have no doubt it's one he's told himself thousands of times already. "Someone you loved asked you to do a terrible thing. He put a burden on your shoulders that anyone would've struggled with. So you took away his suffering the only way you know how—by doing what he asked."
"I could've said no," he argues, dark circles beneath his eyes and a tense line to his clenched jaw. "I didn't have to do it just because he wanted me to."
"And I didn't have to kill Jack. Here we are." Reaching up, I place a hand on his warm cheek. His eyes fall closed, and a single, solitary tear rolls down to splash against my fingertips. "I forgive you, Mason, even though you'll never forgive yourself. And I accept you. Flaws and all."
"You know what the most twisted part of it is?" He turns to kiss my palm, then takes my hand and moves it towards his scar, which brushes against my fingertips. "My weakness is the same as his was when he died: a poison in the blood, one that weakens and wounds me. Jack would've been cured, but I never will be."
"That's not true," I tell him. "Let me show you."
Drawing him to me, I kiss him and wrap him up in my embrace, reminding him of all the ways in which he's strong—and showing him how much I care.
I may not be ready to say it aloud yet, but I'm falling in love with Mason Kincaide.
Chapter 21
There's a card sitting in the middle of my bed when I make my way up to it, freshly showered after a very long, very satisfying hour of showing Mason just exactly how much I care about him. I'm using Killer's eyes—I don't quite have the coordination to walk up the stairs of Eve's loft on my own just yet. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be able to see the bright pink envelope sitting on top of the bedspread.
Curious, I pad over to the bed expecting to find some kind of sweet-yet-cheesy note from the man himself—he did just fuck me sideways, after all, and it's only polite for a gentleman to leave a calling card—but it's not from Mason. Holding it up to Killer's face and having him aim his vision at it reveals as much.
It's an invite to a date on Earth, from the ever-charming Wyatt Brown himself. The front of the card has an adorable illustration of an elephant, a giraffe, and a tiger. On the inside, he's written in clear, concise handwriting:
I like you,
You like me,
Let's go to the zoo,
And see a monkey.
(P.S. It's not supposed to be a good poem.)
—Wyatt
Smiling at his words, I towel off my hair, sit cross-legged on the bed, and pick my phone up off the bedside table. Wyatt's number is one of the few I have saved to it; the rest are my Conduits, professors, and Eve. For a moment that makes me sad—it used to be that I owned an old phone with a broken screen and only my mom's number was saved on it—but at least this phone came with video games, and without Jack's spyware installed on it to track my location and record my messages.
Yeah, there's a reason why I don't like using phones.
Having my voice assistant go through the messages, I find the tiny thread I have with Wyatt, which mostly consists of him reminding me when training started and a brief note at the beginning when he texted me to confirm his number. Holding down the assistance button so I can use voice control, I feel a brief flutter of nervousness in my chest, and wonder if this is what a crush feels like.
I shouldn't be this anxious about texting a guy I've already slept with, who I'm connected with by magical fate and know cares about me. Something about going on a date feels different from what we've done so far, though. Holding his hand in public might wind up ranking higher on the intimacy scale than having his actual, honest-to-god dick inside of me.
That says something about me, but I'm not going to dwell on it. Dictating a little message, I have the voice control read it back to me before I confirm send: What time do you want to go to the zoo? Your poem was lacking in detail.
Tomorrow, after class, 4:30PM.
I lick my lips. I have Emotional Class at 4:20, remember?
Fine, then we can go after hours. I'll break in through the front gates.
Chuckling, I ask him, Won't the lions and tigers and bears, oh my, escape if you do?
Worth the risk if it means I get to kiss you again.
And here I'd thought we'd moved on to other, more serious things.
A long moment goes without voice control reading out a text in its robotic voice. I reach a point where I have Killer try to focus on the screen, though he doesn't like it; his eyes aren't made for this kind of close range human bullshit. I watch through KillerVision as a little bubble pops up, disappears, then pops up again.
Finally I get his response, read aloud to me by the emotionless dictation voice: I can come fuck you right now if that's what you're interested in.
It's not hard to translate the voice to Wyatt's deep and commanding growl.
I find myself shifting on my bed, acutely aware of how recently Mason was inside me, his fingers trembling as he brushed back my hair, his hips pushing me down into the cushions of Eve's sofa. He screwed me, went down on me, jerked himself to hardness, then flipped me over and screwed me again until I basically blacked out. It was heaven—especially coming from someone normally as gentle as Mason, who seemed determined to fuck me so senseless that I forgot ever having sex with any other man, especially his three closest friends.
That kind of jealousy, I can't say I particularly mind. If it motivates him in the bedroom, well, I'll take what I can get. The thought of getting Wyatt similarly worked up—of him grabbing me and holding me tight enough to leave marks for my other lovers to see—is enough to make me wish for a date after dark, somewhere private and intimate where he can have his way with me.
So I dictate a text back, Eve is returning from a mission soon. And your room isn't exactly private. Plus the arena is full. Maybe we should figure out a date that's not so... public, if we're going to do that.
And by that you mean?
Followed by another text: I want you to say it. Or text it. What do you want me to do to you, Ellen?
I can hear his voice saying the words, and get frustrated that voice control deadens the emotion. Feeling fed up with the whole dictation back-and-forth of this useless phone, made for people with vision and no one else, I hold down the assistance button and bark at it: "Call Wyatt."
The phone lady's voice says back, "Calling Wyatt Brown."
As I listen to the ring, Killer gets tired of hanging out near me and walks over to the dog bed Eve got him—inches of memory foam that just prove she doesn't hate him as much as she pretends—and curls up to take a nap, leaving me on my own. I run my thumb across the touchscreen of the phone, wishing it had some kind of tactile feedback, a way for me to get something out of it without the frustrating bullshit that is voice control.
Wyatt picks up after the third ring, saying, "W-well? Are y-you go... will you... say it?"
I can hear his frustration at having to speak, and find my heart squeezing at how mismatched our weaknesses are in this moment. Writing down his invitation, sending me a text—these are ways he can work around his persistent and magic-induced stutter. On the other hand, I can't type on my smartphone at all, and listening to someone else's voice reads his words sucks all the emotion out of it.
"I want you to fuck me," I tell him, trying to bury my frustration, because I know it's not his fault. "Wyatt Brown, I want you to hold me down, push my thighs apart, and fuck me with your cock until I can't see straight. Then I want you to make me kneel in front of you and suck you off while I use my vibrator to make myself come. I want to taste
you, and feel you, and have you inside every part of me again and again... just never make me text you with this stupid smart phone again."
He's quiet for a moment, then says in a low voice, "Th-that sounds ah-ah-mazing. I'm so-sor... I apologize about the note. It... m-must have been ha-ha... difficult to read."
"It was, but mostly for Killer," I admit, flopping back on the bed and reaching around on the comforter until I find the card with my fingers, its thick paper creased and embossed where the illustration is set. "He's been seeing for me all day. It gets old, apparently. And while Penny is perfectly willing to perch on my shoulders while people try to kill me, she apparently balks at being assigned errands for me. It's easier if I talk, I just wish there was some way for you to text me in return."
He's silent for a moment that stretches out so long I worry I've made him feel terrible about his weakness, or how it bumps up against mine. Then my phone says, in a male voice: Incoming text from Wyatt. Listen?
I say, "Yes."
We can talk like this. But we don't have to talk. Instead of talking, I could come over there, bend you down, and fuck you with my cock until you're blind.
Biting my lower lip, I try to think of a response. All that comes out is, "But I want to go to the zoo."
Wyatt chuckles. He texts me, Let's go to the zoo then. Afterwards, I'll teach you about the birds and the bees. Plus a few other, kinkier things.
I have to laugh a little at what the dictation voice sounds like, but at least it lets Wyatt get entire sentences out without struggling or stuttering. As I tell him, "Tomorrow, then. During classes. I'll skip them just for you... but promise me you'll find a private place for me to teach you that it's not birds and bees fucking, it's you and me."
Oh, I know just the place. It'll be a surprise. Count on it.
It can't come soon enough—and neither can I.
I stroll to our meet up at the front gates to campus, where the wide path leads out into a sparse forest of trees. The trees look different from Killer's point of view. They have a sort of looming, eerie creepiness that I never saw before.
One perk of being a consultant for the Shadow Fold is that I got my own transportation stone—though it has limits. It'll at least summon the Cain Doors so Wyatt and I can go on this special date of his without having to jump through a bunch of hoops first.
As long as I'm not trying to traipse around the world murdering people, the secret underground society of assassins that I report to will let me leave on excursions. What a trip that is to think about, but at least it means I don't have to try to wheedle Grayson out of his transport stone in order to go out with his best friend. While things are reaching a kind of equilibrium within our group, I'd still rather not do that. Especially because Grayson is just as likely to seduce me into more mind-blowing sex so I forget the date, as he is likely to pout about handing over the transport stone.
While I have a moment to myself, waiting for Wyatt, I motion for Killer to go explore and do his business. It's awkward hanging out in his eyes while he shoves his nose into bushes and lifts a leg to piss on trees, so I break away from our connection for a moment. The darkness is unsettling, as always, but I remind myself that I still have so many other senses.
And I'm no weakling.
Tilting my head up, I reach my awareness out towards the sky and the upper branches of the distant trees. There are birds here on campus—the pocket dimension may not have much, but it's not empty. Brushing up against their minds, I find a flock flying in formation and borrow their eyes for a while.
Everything looks different from above.
It's like seeing out the window of a plane, but so much more magical. The little figures on the ground, including me, look so small. Tree branches weave together and shake hands like old friends. Clouds are just droplets of water and vapor all around me as air currents buoy me by my wings.
Seeing Wyatt walk through the gates, I reluctantly let go of the birds and let my awareness seep back into Killer's eyes again. He joins me just as Wyatt gets close enough to reach down and pat the top of his head with a broad, gentle palm. Killer leans towards him, giving me a closeup view of the top of Wyatt's leg.
"So." I lick my lips, staring in the general direction of Wyatt's warmth and presence. "Shall we get this thing going? The lions, tigers, and bears are waiting, after all."
In answer, Wyatt stops petting the dog and takes my hand. The world unspools around me in a riot of colors. Killer sighs in abject disappointment at having his favorite head-petting human taken away from him.
Wyatt says, "Let's go to the zoo."
I laugh a little, the sound surprising me. It's not that it's funny—it's just that, for the first time in a long time, I'm feeling alive with joy and wonder.
I'm going on a date with one of my maybe-probably-totally boyfriends.
Grabbing the transport stone, I activate it and watch as it crumbles in my hand. In the same moment, Cain's golden glowing doors appear before us, their scrollwork and carvings a reminder of the bodies we left behind us to gain the powers we now use.
Magic is born of blood, after all. It requires death as a sacrifice. The doors, in all their glory and power, won't let a single one of its chosen assassins forget that.
We walk to the steps together, Killer at my hip. He's wearing a harness I got for him, one with a bright red badge across his chest, so people will realize he's a seeing eye dog and not a pet. Of course, I'll only need to use his eyes when Wyatt isn't holding my hand. But having him with me makes me feel a little less dependent, a little more capable of doing things on my own. He gives me an independence I didn't realize I would crave until something vital was taken from me.
Reaching the doors, we each grab a handle and open them wide. Killer stretches forward and sniffs the air as a gust of wind from the other side blows through. Walking past the threshold, we find ourselves standing on the sidewalk opposite the massive gates to the San Diego Zoo.
I whistle appreciatively. "California? I've never been."
"It's a great zoo," Wyatt says, sounding boastful. "They have conservation programs and some amazing exhibits. This is the best zoo in America if you ask me. But you don't have to ask me—we can just go inside."
So we do. There isn't any fanfare at the front gates when I motion Killer through, a short traffic leash attached to his harness; no doubt they've seen hundreds of service dogs. While he may not be perfect in his training yet, my Emotional Affinity makes it possible for me to keep him at my side, calm and quiet, for at least the duration of a date.
Afterwards, I'll let him run around the forest outside campus and roll in deer poop as a reward for all his hard work.
Dogs gotta dog, after all.
On the other side of the ticket gates, once Wyatt takes my hand and I can use my eyes again, a humongous zoo with beautifully paved paths unfolds in front of me. We head towards the Urban Jungle first; giraffes are one of my favorite animals to watch. The way they lean their heads and necks forward as they walk makes me chuckle every time.
As we walk, strolling through thongs of families and couples alike, I tell Wyatt, "I'm glad you suggested this. I'd almost forgotten there was an outside world to visit."
"It's easy to spend so much time at Cain University that you forget all about this." He motions around us with his free hand, encapsulating everything from the people laughing to the birds singing in the trees and the bears in the distance, rolling around in the dirt behind their exhibit walls. "Sometimes I feel like an endangered animal in a cage. They certainly treat us like zoo animals. Especially right now—if it weren't for your foresight deal with the Shadow Fold, we wouldn't have even gotten to do this."
I consider it. "The administration is just afraid that Brutus presents a real threat to us. And they're not exactly wrong."
"Are they afraid for us or afraid of us?" Wyatt raises a pessimistic brow in my direction. "They may not say it in so many words, but it's clear that they think if we're given too much free
dom we might very well use it to kill again."
His words are a stark reminder of everything we've both done—and the things I don't know about him. Mason has told me about his first kill, and I witnessed evidence of Grayson's first hand; even Levi has made offhand remarks about the abusive lion tamer he took out. But I don't know anything about what led Wyatt to be at Cain University.
It's impossible to imagine the gentle hand holding onto mine ever raised in violence and anger again an innocent person.
So I'm certain it had to have been self-defense of some kind. Or a tragedy, like Eve's story about the little girl. There's no way the man strolling with me through the zoo, smiling at small children and watching the animals with soft eyes, killed someone in a fit of rage.
He definitely never cut a body up into pieces and stuffed it into a suitcase, of that I'm certain.
"We're almost to the giraffes," Wyatt says, as we spot them around a bend in the path, their heads bobbing up above everything. "It looks crowded."
"People love those doofuses. I include myself among those people. I mean—their long necks, their weird bodies, those graceful legs? I'm not a conspiracy theorist, but I one hundred percent believe giraffes are aliens dropped off on our planet by some other sentient species that didn't want them anymore."
Wyatt throws his head back in a deep-bellied laugh that reveals the long, brown curve of his throat. His laughter is infectious, and by the time we reach the giraffe exhibit I'm giggling too. Even Killer snorts as if he's picked up a bit of our laughter.
We watch the giraffes and makes up stories about them. Pitching his voice low and high, Wyatt imitates them, pretending like two of them are quarreling roommates who can't agree on what TV show they should watch. He makes jokes until my belly hurts from laughter, the free-flowing sound of his easy speech a balm to my frayed nerves.
From there we look at the rhinos, elephants, lions, and pandas. The maned wolf looks like something Tolkien wrote about; the eagles are bigger than I imagined, the stretch of their spread wings truly frightening. Further down the path, hippos roll in mud, and tigers lay about, yawning and stretching like their smaller house cat cousins.