“Come on,” Will murmured, his voice soft. “We have to go back to the school.”
“Where’s Depogare?”
“I made him promise me he’d get Ethan,” he said. “He wasn’t as banged up as you were, but he was still …” He let his voice trail off. “That could be the ruin of him. Let’s just hope she pulls through.”
“I—” Her voice caught in her throat. She wanted to bury her face in Will’s chest, but she stopped herself. She didn’t feel as though she deserved that comfort. Not after what she had done. “I should have let him grab her body. I don’t know why—”
“If you hadn’t acted, he would have been taken,” Will told her as he started to move. “We all would have. Depogare wouldn’t have been able to use his gifts, not after what he saw. Not after what Jane did. He was too distracted, too hurt. You saved us all, Sophie. You acted fast and saved us all.”
Sophie kept her mouth closed. She didn’t agree. But her head was throbbing, and she couldn’t find it in her to argue. At least not right now.
Sophie needed twenty stitches, but she and Will had made it back to AckPec without further incident. Depogare returned first, and had to be physically restrained so he didn’t go out and find Jane’s body. Ethan assured him that he would do everything within his power to get her back and to save her life. It was why Sophie was informed by Dr. Kessler that if Jane was brought in during the middle of stitching her up, Jane would be the priority. Sophie would survive; Jane might not.
But Jane didn’t come. At least not during Sophie’s stitches.
Will grabbed a pair of his jeans before meeting her at the nurse’s station, and once Kessler left, he went over to sit next to Sophie on the exam room table. Without speaking, he reached over and took her hand within his. It was rough, calloused, strong, and protective. It was warm and caring. It showed that he was there for her, no matter what. That she could count on him and rely on him and know that no matter what they went through, he would always be there for her. She squeezed his hand as though her life depended on it—and, perhaps, it did.
She had nearly died out there. Bullets were zooming past her, trying to hit Will because in their mind, they saw him as common, unworthy, replaceable. It didn’t matter that they were soldiers, men trained to fight; targets were different when they moved, when they had faces. Their aim was Will, but they nearly hit her in the process. They wanted to keep her alive for the same reason they wanted Jane alive—they wanted to run experiments and they wanted to breed her with Michael and study their offspring. Calvin betrayed them all; Dianna betrayed them as well. Was anyone else in their pockets? Did anyone else have a hidden agenda?
She hadn’t seen anyone familiar. Then again, she hadn’t really been looking.
What was going to happen now? Now that Jane was dead? Gone? Left to rot? Her family wouldn’t get a proper burial for their daughter, and it was all Sophie’s fault.
“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be okay,” she told Will. Her voice wasn’t defensive; merely, she stated her desire without intention.
She could feel Will shake his head. “I’m not,” he assured her. “It’s not going to be okay. But I’m going to be here for you, no matter what.”
Sophie turned and buried her face in Will’s shoulder, and cried.
34
“Daryl.”
He looked at her with black eyes at half mast, hooded with both sleep and sorrow. She stood at that damn window in that damn dress, looking at him from over her shoulder as the sun shone down on her, wrapping her up in its light. The rays caused her hair to turn even brighter, bringing out the yellow and red, softening the brown. He could see her eyes clearer, as well. They were a forest green, with a ring of gold, a halo of blue. She had a little bit of everything wrapped up in her, didn’t she?
And now, she was gone.
“How can I be gone if I’m standing right in front of you?” she pointed out, giving him a smirk.
“This is a dream,” he told her, his Southern accent causing his words to mumble together incoherently. Somehow, Jane knew what he was trying to say. Somehow, Jane always knew. “You’re not real.”
“A dream is still real even if it doesn’t play out in your reality,” Jane pointed out in that obnoxious way she had about her when she believed she was right and refused to allow any sort of argument against the fact. “Shakespeare wrote to keep his feelings alive, you know. The greatest gift you can give someone is immortality, even if it’s not with breath. Those sonnets he wrote have survived centuries, which means his love and his hatred and all of his feelings have survived. Survival equals life, Daryl. Your feelings, your memory keeps me alive.”
“You’re dead, then.” He said it as a statement rather than a question. Why get his hopes up when logic told him her being alive was all but impossible? There was no use being in denial about it.
“Who said that?” Jane asked. She turned toward him completely now, her shoulders rolled back, her chin tilted up. She looked radiant, confident, every word that Daryl didn’t know how to say. She glanced down at her body. “I don’t feel dead, do I? I don’t look dead. I look perfectly, one hundred percent alive.”
“Of course you do,” Daryl replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “This is my dream.”
“How do you know we’re not sharing a dream?” she asked, raising a challenging brow. “For someone as intelligent and as clever as you are, Daryl, you’re not that bright.”
“I watched as you jumped into the path of the bullet,” he said. “I watched the look on your face once it pierced your skin. I saw it leave your body. I saw the blood, the pieces of your insides. I saw you die, Jane. How could you be so stupid? Why would you save me?”
She gave him a coy smile. He hated it. “Why not?” she asked. “Do you believe you aren’t worth saving?”
“Is this turning into a lesson in psychology?”
“Would it work if it was?” Her smirk deepened. “Come on, Daryl. Answer the question.” She made her eyes round and big and puppy-like. “Please?”
Daryl looked like he wanted to argue. He didn’t want to focus on something that didn’t exist, especially when he knew Jane wasn’t really in front of him, in the spectacular dress, standing before him like a golden angel. But this was the only way he could have her, and he didn’t want to give that up just yet.
“My life is not worth saving if it means you die,” he told her, matter-of-factly. “General Arbuckle was right about one thing. Your importance to our species and acquiring knowledge nobody else knows about quis … that rests in you.”
Jane rolled her eyes. “That’s bullshit, and you know it,” she replied, and her tone left no room for argument. It was good to know she hadn’t changed, not even in death. She was still annoying and frustrating, and the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Be real with me, Daryl. No one else is here. Do you genuinely think you aren’t worth saving?”
He clenched his jaw, and averted his eyes. “I have one brother in Atlanta,” he mumbled. How was it that she seemed to be the only person who knew how to decipher what he was saying? How was it that she seemed to be the only person who understood him, from the inside out? “Besides him, I’ve left no legacy. I’ve traveled from place to place. I’ve lived my life for centuries. You are young and new. You have so much life to live and you threw it all away. For me.”
“Oh my goodness, Daryl, if you, out of everyone I know, start playing the victim, I’m going to smack you,” she told him. “You’re better than that, and you know it.” She stopped, giving him a soft smile. “Daryl, you are worth everything to me. I would do the same thing again and again if I had to, just so you’d believe it. Just so you’d be alive.” She grinned. “You know, one of these days, you and I are going to laugh about all of this.”
“So you are alive?” He hated that his voice sounded so hopeful, his eyes now fully wide and awake. He rolled to his side to get a better look at her, his eyes never leaving
her face.
He knew her body well—at least, this version of him did. And his hands were already itching to get reacquainted with her curves, her flesh, once again. Just because she was dead in reality didn’t mean he couldn’t be with her in this one. Perhaps God did exist, and he had a paradise on earth, even with his immortality. His eyes descended to her neck, and his lips curled up, as though he remembered kissing her there, making her shudder and flinch and gasp his name.
“I never said that.”
She took a step toward him, her own smirk deepening. Before he knew it, she reached behind her and pulled the tie so her dress fell to the floor and she was wearing nothing underneath. His breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t help himself; he took her entire body in. It was a sight for sore eyes, the way water was to a parched man. She was a light in a tunnel, the North Star, a candle in the wind. His only hope.
“Then,” his voice croaked out, “what are you?”
She was gone. She was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. Nothing could change that, not even this dream. It was a heartless, crazy, wild dream and he both adored and hated every single minute of it. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this dream. He wanted Jane back. His Jane.
“I’m here,” she told him. “Look at me, Daryl. Please.”
He picked his black eyes up so they locked with her green ones, and he nearly let out a chortle. It hurt to gaze upon her, yet he could not say no to her.
“Do I look dead?” She took his hands and placed him on her hips. “Do I feel dead? Why do you think I’m dead? Are you just searching for another excuse not to be with me?”
“Of course not, you little fool.” It was harsh, it was mean, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth if they tried. His grip on her skin tightened though, as if he was afraid of letting her go. He couldn’t let her go. Not again. “I would kill to have you back here with me.”
“I’m right here.”
“You’re not.” He shook his head but pulled her closer to him so her thighs grazed the side of the bed. “This is a dream.”
“Yes.” She nodded once. “Let’s enjoy it while we’re here.”
Daryl was silent, unsure how to respond.
“You were right, lubimaya. About everything. I miss you. I’m torn up because you aren’t here with me. I don’t want you gone. I want you to come back. Please. Come back.” He didn’t realize he was crying until the tears started to roll down his cheeks. “I need you.”
“Daryl.” She cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand and took a seat on the side of the bed. Her eyes locked with his. “Your problem is that you don’t enjoy what you have in front of you. You don’t enjoy the moment. I’m right here, in front of you. Naked, practically on top of you. I don’t know how much clearer I can get. I may not be with you in reality, but I’m here now. Let’s enjoy it. Let’s not worry about everything else.”
“I ... I miss you, Jane.”
She kissed him hard, on the mouth.
“I love you, Jane. I should have told you sooner. I wish you … I wish I could have held you. I wish … I wish I could have kissed you in real life. You’ve ruined me for everyone else, Jane Cabot. What am I going to do now?”
She smiled at him, albeit sadly. “You’ll survive,” she said.
When Depogare woke, his eyes were wet. His heart shot through his body, like he swallowed glass and the shard was no traveling through his body. He had woken up, and Jane was still gone. He clenched his jaw and forced himself into a sitting position. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do today.
“You’ll survive.”
Jane’s voice careened through his mind, forcing him out of his stupor. He would survive. He had to. He didn’t have a choice. He was still a professor. He still wanted to see to the repercussions of Jane’s death. He would do whatever it took to keep going. Even if it killed him.
As such, Daryl did the first thing he could do in order to survive. He got out of bed and headed to the shower.
35
Will brought Sophie up to his flat that night. He led her to his bathroom and drew a bath for the both of them. Though he didn’t have candles, he turned off the lights and stuck in one of his nightlights; they guaranteed he wouldn’t run into anything in the dark. From there, he slowly changed her out of the dress she wore—God, she looked like a vision with it on, but he highly doubted she would ever wear it again—and then removed his tuxedo. Perhaps they would burn the clothes once they had finished, a symbolic form of release.
Right now, he turned his attention to leading Sophie back to the porcelain tub and easing her in. He didn’t have any bubble bath, but he took his body wash and poured some in with the water so they could get both clean and bubbles simultaneously. It would have been more romantic to prepare, he knew, but nothing could have prepared him for this.
Doctor Kessler informed the two of them that she required twenty stitches and suffered a small concussion. He looked at both Will and Depogare as well, since Brielle asked for the night off. He had assumed she was going to help Jane, but after he found out what happened, he was glad she hadn’t been a part of that. Luckily, Will and Depogare fared better than Sophie, so besides stitching up Will’s thigh from the bullet—skimming the side and missing important arteries—it was a check exam and then a release with the instructions of getting sleep and relaxation for the next two weeks, no exceptions.
Will wasn’t sure how he felt about losing Sophie. He hated himself for the fact that anything had happened to her. The only physical entry had been on his watch … because of him. But she was back. She was right here, with him, in his arms.
Was it selfish for him to be grateful to have her when Jane was gone? Was it wrong to thank God for her survival when Jane hadn’t survived? Perhaps. But, to be frank, he didn’t care. She was here and she was with him, and he would thank God every day because of that. How could he not?
Sophie would blame herself, of course. For Jane. Sophie made the call to go. She pulled Depogare away from retrieving Jane’s body. She might not ever forgive herself for it. But it was the right call. If she hadn’t acted fast, Depogare would either be killed or kidnapped, Will would definitely be dead, and Sophie …
Will didn’t want to think about what would have happened to Sophie. From what the general said, she would be forced to breed with Michael, produce offspring to be experimented on. She would be exposed, completely vulnerable. She would suffer. She would be poked, prodded, and everything in between. She would be stripped bare, until she didn’t even have her soul—her very essence that made her Sophie. And there was no way in hell Will would ever allow that.
Not while he was breathing. Not ever.
He slid into the water behind her. The tub itself was small, so unless they manipulated their bodies in a specific position, they would be nothing short of uncomfortable. He didn’t care, though. He had to be near her, it was important for him to be near her.
When she felt him behind her, she leaned back. Her head fit perfectly in the crevice of his shoulder, and she felt some of the tension ease out of her body. The water was also perfect; a bit hot, but not unbearable. She wanted to wash the blood away. She needed to get clean. Will’s arms wrapped around her waist and his palms were flat on her stomach. She had no idea how his injury wasn’t affected by the water or by the weight she might unknowingly be putting pressure on, but she was glad of it. He was strong, too. Maybe it would rub off on her.
“New Year’s is tomorrow,” she murmured to no one in particular.
It was well past two in the morning, but today was the last day of the year. Fireworks would go off, kisses would be given, resolutions would be written … Today marked ending, tomorrow marked beginning. Sophie had no idea how things would end, no idea how things would begin. She was currently caught in the middle, and she wasn’t sure what her next move would be. If she wanted to move at all.
If she learned anything, she knew that things were constantly changing. E
verything was in a state of motion and couldn’t be stopped. Things happened in a blink of an eye. Choices were made, consequences resulted from those choices, and feelings were thrown up in the air. Life was fleeting but eventful. The good passed, the bad survived, and maybe there was a lesson in that. Maybe survival meant being ruthless. She had survived by being ruthless, hadn’t she? And Jane had died jumping in front of that bullet.
“Why would Jane do it?” she asked before she could stop herself. She glanced at Will with her sapphire eyes over her pale shoulder. Her cheeks were touched with pink. “Sorry. We don’t have to keep talking about it.”
“No,” Will said, shaking his head. “Talk as much as you want, Soph.”
“I’m just trying to understand …”
“I know.” A pause. “But don’t beat yourself up over it. You may never understand. That doesn’t mean you condemn yourself to a purgatory trying to figure it out.”
“I don’t even remember seeing her move,” Sophie muttered, trying to remember, trying to piece everything together. “I remember the shot. I saw the general point it straight at Depogare. The pop,” she flinched as the sound reverberated in her head again, “the flash. I don’t remember Jane jumping in front of Depogare. I just … Maybe I didn’t see it. I saw Calvin drop. Heard his skull crush when it hit the floor. And then I saw Jane keel over. We don’t even know if she died, Will. But I made us leave. We should have grabbed her body. Depogare was going to …” She shook her head. “I keep going over and over it again in my head. I don’t know why I left her there. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Hey.” His grip on her tightened and he pressed her closer to him. “Hey.”
“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be okay, Will. It’s bullshit. We all know it. Please.” Her voice got caught in her throat, and she forced herself to push through. “Jane is gone because of me. Nothing you can say is going to change that. I love you, but please don’t bullshit me.”
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