Everlasting

by Candace Knoebel

  I nod and follow after him across the lawn toward the Elder’s wing. My mind scatters, jumping from thought to thought as if I was crossing a river bed full of rocks. On the other side is the solution to what just happened, but at the thought of me fighting, something I’d never done in my life, I slip off, crashing into cold, harsh reality.

  I had really just harmed another Primeval. And what’s worse, it was punishable by expulsion.

  If Jaxen is good at anything, I sure hope it’s winning an argument, because if not, I may not ever see the day that my parents are returned to me.

  THE ROOM GAVIN AND JAXEN share is as meticulous and as barren as my room, and it’s only one door down from mine. It’s also structured the same, only there are two smaller beds rather than one big one. My eyes wander over the pillow his head must have touched. Everything stills inside of me. I’m all too aware of the bed and of him and of me. I’m all too aware of how I feel within his electrifying proximity.

  Jaxen’s on autopilot. He locks the door behind him and turns to the bathroom. He brushes past me, leaving a trail of his thrilling scent to follow. My nose lifts and my cheeks burn. My feet want to follow after him. They turn in his direction.

  Why am I reacting this way? Why is every nerve ending in my body sparking with anticipation? Because this has been a long time coming. For weeks I have watched him, wishing for a moment in time where I could be alone with him, even if just to talk. For weeks I have caught his eyes on me when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  My skin suddenly burns to touch air. I take my jacket off and rest it on the desk, my movements more cautious than ever. My heart has wings, fluttering and flapping against my chest, trying to break through its cage. I stand in a lone ray of white light streaming from the bathroom doorway. His lean frame forms a shadow at my feet, reaching out to me.

  “Come here,” he says, his tone low, husky. My heart flaps harder, wilder. He’s looking straight into the mirror. I want to be that mirror looking back at him, drowning in his eyes and words of want. His back is a mountain of lean, cut muscles. His fists are pressed against the counter, held tight and firm. Thick veins stick out from under his skin, just waiting for my fingers to trail over.

  I find myself just a step away from him, my heart hammering against my chest. I don’t know why. He’s helping me, nothing more, so why do I feel so lightheaded and flushed inside? Why does my skin crave for his touch, a touch that’s sure to come, even if full of innocence?

  He moves just enough to fit me in between him and the counter. I swallow down my nerves and stand in front of him, resting a hand against the marbled countertop to help stabilize me. I try not to notice the tension in his body, the way his eyes close when my leg brushes against his, the way he licks his lips when our faces come just a breath’s length away from each other.

  His eyes open, and he holds me with his gaze. He allows me to see past his titanium wall. In front of him, gazing into his endless, green eyes, I know I could fall at any moment, physically and emotionally, and this scares the hell out of me. I barely know him, yet, I feel like I’ve known him forever.

  He reaches behind me and turns the hot water on. He’s so close, so unbelievably close, my fingers almost slip out from under me. There’s no steadying my heart, no taming my breathing as he waits for the water to heat before wetting the towel. He lifts his other hand, and it hovers next to my waist like he’s waiting for something; a sign, an approval. I close my eyes, breathe in, and then his hand drifts down my waist where it comes to rest on top of my hip.

  My breathing stops, along with my heart. My muscles clench with want. I curse the material between my skin and his hand. I want to give in to whatever delirium has taken over my rational thinking.

  He gently pushes me back against the counter. The back of my legs bump against it, stopping me as he closes the distance between us. The way his body ever so slightly presses against mine ignites a flame inside of me, burning and aching for more of his touch. His hand lifts, slightly shaking, and then brushes the hair from my face until it comes to rest at the base of my neck. He’s a pyromancer, controlling and building the fire within me. The firmness of his grip sends heat to places I’ve never felt heat before.

  His eyes lock on mine. His other hand lifts, bringing the towel just to the edge of my lip where the cut is. I wince when he presses it against my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. Shut the pain off, I tell myself. I had during the fight without even trying. I open my eyes again and focus on the color of his, the deep evergreen color that displays wisdom. He’s looking down at my mouth, still wiping away blood. His eyes brush mine again, and then move to the cut on the side of my eyebrow.

  My heart feels like it could drift away at any moment with all the fluttering. There’s such a gentleness about him, a kindness that has yet to be shown, and yet, here he is, showing it to me, to someone who had brought this upon herself.

  “Thank you,” I say after I find my voice again. There’s so much heat between us, and still too much space. I want to be closer. I want to try him out, to try whatever this is out.

  “Don’t thank me,” he says after a moment, his low, deep voice stirring me like a pool of melted chocolate. “I’m doing what any respectable person would do. You did the right thing, though I wish it had been me pounding his head in instead.” His eyes flash to mine again, and they’re brighter now, deeper.

  “He hurt her.” I can barely get the words out without trembling in anger again.

  “And he will be dealt with as soon as I talk to Mack.” He sounds just as angry, just as hungry for a fight. He puts the towel down and lets go of my neck.

  If I could summon the courage I had in the dining hall, I’d pull him back to me, but I stand here, doing nothing as he walks out of the room. What are you doing? I ask myself. He’s off limits. Taken. Claimed.

  But I can’t deny what’s there, what I see in his eyes, what I feel deep down no matter how badly I want to lie to myself.

  He comes back in the room with a small medical box and sets it down on the counter. He flips it open and shuffles through the contents. “You know, based on what I saw, I think we can skip the basics and go straight into the real training.” He looks up at me. “If you want, of course.”

  “Yeah,” I say, biting the inside of my cheek. I take it as an indirect compliment, as one Hunter respecting another.

  “How did you do it?” He moves to stand in front of me. He carefully places a butterfly band aid over the cut on my eyebrow, his lips so close to my eyes. I can see the fullness in them, the smoothness just waiting to be kissed.

  “Do what?”

  “How did you get past the force that prevents novices from using their powers outside of the classroom?” He drops his hands and takes a step back, looking at me. He’s really looking at me, like I’m more than the average person, like I’m not someone he needs to save.

  I shrug a little and think back to the incident. “I’m not sure, really. I felt it trying to stop me, so I pushed it back. I was too dead set on beating Chett down.” Just saying these words fills me with a sense of regret. Though I felt Katie had been righted, I still knew it could have been handled better.

  “It was impressive,” he admits. He rubs at the dark stubble on his jaw line, glancing down at the floor. “You’re far stronger than Gavin and I thought.”

  I want to smile, to indulge in the compliment, but I can’t. The guilt of my decision outweighs the pride in being strong.

  “I shouldn’t have done it.” I hate saying it out loud. I hate admitting I was wrong, especially when it felt so good at the time.

  “No, you shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “You confirmed to everyone that you’re more than a dormant. The rumors will spread of your strength, of your capabilities.” My eyes drop to the floor. There’s an odd pattern in the marble that almost looks like a butterfly if you look from the right angle. His hand brushes against mine, and I jump. When I meet his gaze, his lips are formed into a perfect crescent
that shines in the darkness. It’s the second smile I’ve seen in a matter of hours. I think I’m charting new territory with him.

  “You’re in rare form. You’re smiling again,” I say softly, enjoying the feel of his touch as his hand continues up my arm.

  “I am,” he agrees. The way he’s looking at me steals my breath and sends my heart racing for the finish line; so much passion, so much longing. His hand stops on my neck, gripping me with a gentle firmness. “I’ve never encountered anyone like you, Faye. You’re strong and brave and true. You’re intoxicating, and you don’t even realize it. And you’re making it impossibly hard to resist you, to resist whatever is happening between us.”

  “So then why try to?”

  As if awakened by my words, he pulls me against him, his eyes roaming over my lips. I let myself touch his chest, enjoying the way his heart pounds like mine beneath the soft material of his shirt, almost as if we are one. We stand there, not moving or speaking, just being. He leans forward, tilts his head, drops his eyes to my lips again, and I think he’s going to kiss me. I will him to. I need him to.

  But then the door in the other room bursts opens, stealing away a moment that never really had hope to begin with.

  “Brother,” Gavin shouts.

  Jaxen jerks back, letting me go. He leaves the room without looking back. “In here,” he says, walking back in with Gavin.

  “Whoa,” Gavin says after looking me over. “Someone got into it, and I think I know who.” He’s eyeing me down, wiggling his brows with a proud smile plastered on his mouth. “Word has spread even outside of the Academy. Damn, cell phones.” He shakes his head. “So, what’d ya do, little kick ass?”

  I’m still trying to catch my breath when Jaxen answers, “She got into it with another Hunter. Beat his ass down. He’s her friend Katie’s Hunter. The asswipe hit her before dinner.”

  Fury flickers in Gavin’s eyes. “He what?”

  “Yeah,” Jaxen says, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s one of the Carter’s kids.”

  “The Witch-haters?”

  “Wait...so the rumor is true?” I ask, feeling the ground slip beneath me.

  “The Carters are one of quite a few families who don’t hide their distaste for Witches and the proclamation set in place. They blame Witches for having to share power. They give us Hunters a bad name,” Gavin says.

  “And, unfortunately, the thought process has trickled down the gene pool. It’s an ongoing issue that we’re all aware of, but not allowed to speak of,” Jaxen adds, his eyes on the ground.

  “If you ask me, it’s going to get out of hand. One of these days, the Witch-haters will rise up the same way Mourdyn and his Darkyn Coven did. I can feel it,” Gavin says, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Jaxen nods. “Hopefully we won’t be around when that day comes. We have to tell Mack. Get him to cut her some slack.” He’s talking about me, but still refuses to look at me.

  “Most definitely,” Gavin agrees. “I’m going to give him a call before the other Elders find out she’s here and come for her.” Jaxen nods, and then Gavin leaves the room, leaving us all alone again.

  My throat clenches and my stomach has a weird twisting pain in it. I know the moment is gone. He’s gone back to hide in whatever hole is gaping in his heart, but I still have this small inkling that I can bring him back, that I can go for that third smile. I’m still standing in the bathroom, and he’s at the door, his back to me. I can tell he’s nervous by the way his back is rising and falling at a rapid pace.

  “Jaxen?”

  “You can sleep in my bed, and I’ll take the floor,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “That’s it?”

  He still doesn’t turn, doesn’t speak.

  I wait a moment longer, willing him to say something, wanting him to see that I’m safe ground, that I’m trust worthy, but he doesn’t. “Fine.” I shove past him and kick my shoes off, tucking them under his bed. I crawl onto the mattress, pulling the blanket all the way up to my face. All at once, I’m surrounded by his electric, musky scent, and I can’t separate my rage from my disappointment. I can’t separate rationality from irrationality. I can’t separate his pain from my pain.

  What’s with him? One minute he’s hot, the next he’s frigidly cold. I have to remember that he has a Witch, a Witch who has access to his thoughts, a Witch who clearly has feelings for him.

  I wait, hoping that maybe he’ll say something, anything, but I hear him shuffle out of his shoes. He pulls a sheet off of Gavin’s bed and steals a pillow, and then drops it in between the beds. How can he sleep after that? I roll over, staring at the wall. My eyes sting and my head pounds.

  I don’t know how long I stare, moving from thought to thought, but eventually I hear Gavin creep back into the room. He climbs into his bed without a word, probably assuming we’re both asleep. I shut my eyes, refusing to spend another second on him, and somehow, someway, drift off into sleep.

  I’M RUNNING DOWN THE HALL to my parents’ room, sure that if I can make it in time, I can stop whomever is trying to take them. Their screams pierce down the hallway, wrapping around my heart and throat, constricting my breathing.

  “I’m coming,” I yell desperately, but deep down I know that I won’t make it in time. I know that I am too late. I’m always too late, one step behind, a dollar short.

  I trip over something, feet away from their door, and slam into the ground. I scream out in horror when my face lands in a puddle of blood. An arm; I tripped over an arm. I turn my head slowly, not wanting to see but knowing I have to look, and find Katie’s arm sticking out of the doorway to the bathroom.

  I shove the door the rest of the way open and find her lying in a large pool of her own blood. Bruises and welts cover every inch of her skin where blood does not. “Katie, no!” I cry, pulling her into my lap.

  More screams come from my parents’ room, this time earth-shattering. I look down at Katie, my heart pounding and my arms shaking, and carefully lay her back down. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. I turn back to my parents’ room, running for them. I have to save them. I have to fix what I have done.

  My hand reaches for the handle. Just as the door swings open, I see it. Blood. It covers every surface. I collapse, a scream ripping from the depths of my soul.

  I wake sitting up in bed on the edges of a scream. Frozen fingers of fear are wrapped around my throat, choking off my words, my thoughts. I struggle against the force holding me down, preventing me from saving the ones I love, until I realize it’s Jaxen holding me. He has his arms wound tightly around me, pressing my face against his warm, bare chest.

  “Faye, wake up. Please wake up,” he says. It’s the pleading in his voice that prompts realization in the back of my mind. It was just a dream. Katie isn’t dead. My parents may still be out there and okay. I have to believe this. I have to cling to these thoughts.

  His grip around me lessens, but he doesn’t completely let go. “I’m awake.” My voice is hoarse and my throat feels raw.

  Gavin’s sitting up in his bed, studying us both with a focused gaze. He shuffles inside his blanket when he realizes I notice him and turns away from us. I become all too aware of Jaxen’s strong arms and the way mine are pinned perfectly beneath his, the way my face rests calmly against his hard, yet comforting chest, listening to the quieting beats of his heart, the way his chin is resting against the crown of my head, as if we always did this in the morning.

  And yet, I do nothing to stop it from continuing.

  Jaxen pulls back to look at me, his hands still resting on my shoulders. There are purple circles under his eyes, and his dark hair is matted to the left from the position he must have slept in all night. I grip the sheets, willing my hands to stay put, and focus on his eyes. I want to lose myself in the profoundness of his eyes, dance within the way he’s looking at me; like I’m precious, like I mean something to him.

  “Are you all right? You were screaming bloody murder. I couldn
’t wake you.” He sounds just as tired as he looks, and it tugs at my heart.

  Reality, a cruel harbinger of truth, crushes away the daze I’m in. I swallow once, then twice, searching for my voice. I know I should turn it off. I should avoid what I feel because it will do nothing but weigh me down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to let go of the fear I felt in my dream. It was so real, so…possible.

  “I was dreaming about Katie and my parents. There was so much blood.” My voice breaks off at the word blood. I can barely contain the urge to scream and cry. They’re out there somewhere, with someone, possibly hurt. “Why hasn’t Mack said anything about my parents yet? It’s been two weeks. They should have some idea by now.”

  His face fills with pain. “I don’t know if I should be the one to answer that question,” he says slowly. He pulls me back against his shoulder, almost hugging me, and then lets me go to stand. I watch vacantly as he pulls his sheet off the floor and tosses it in the laundry basket.

  “Who should tell me then?” I ask, trying to stay focused on the subject, even though my mind is telling me to get up and keep going, to keep training, to push it away.

  “We have to meet with Mack in an hour,” Gavin answers for Jaxen. His head’s in his armoire, pulling out a fresh uniform. “He can explain everything.” He stops and turns to look at me, wearing a grave expression. “He also wants to talk about the incident last night.”

  I almost wince from the memory. Mack wants to see me. Great. He probably thinks I’m nothing but a trouble maker, a rule breaker. There’s no way he’s going to put up with me now that I’ve gone against his advising. I lift my hand to my mouth, chewing away my non-existent nails, while Gavin makes his bed. He and Jaxen play a quick game of rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets the shower first.

  Gavin wins by rock beating scissors.

  He disappears into the bathroom, leaving me alone to my thoughts and with Jaxen. I’ve stared so long at the intricate pattern on the blanket, my eyes begin to blur. Jaxen offers me a glass of orange juice, but I pass. My stomach feels like an acid pit. There’s no way OJ could help. He sits across from me, the bed creaking under his weight, and plunges a heavy hand through his hair over and over again. He’s pulling and tugging while I continue to chew what little nails I have left.