Integrity flushed, looked at her hands locked together in her lap. “Well, whatever it is that you do, then.”
“We refer to it as 'expiring.'” She looked back up at him, glad to see that his features had relaxed, become more mobile and less plastic. “Since we are not truly alive, we can't die. We expire.”
“Oh.” As per usual, she felt totally stupid, especially since a quart of yogurt popped into mind. “So, you didn't expire?”
Seeing that she didn't understand, he elaborated. “No. It's almost impossible to cause a vampire to expire. As long as we can find most of the pieces, we can put 'em back together.”
Feeling increasingly uneasy, she asked, “And did they find all of your...pieces?”
He cleared his throat, averting his gaze, but she could see he was fighting to keep a smile back. “Yes, miss, I'm happy to say they found all of me. The rebels only had time to cut off my head.”
She grasped her bedspread reflexively. “They cut off your head?” She could hear the shock in her own voice. Her mind reeled. “Is that,” she gestured vaguely at his neck brace, “the only thing holding it on?”
Bowman couldn't keep a laugh from coming forth at that. “Now, don't pass out on me.” He reached up and unstrapped the brace from around his neck, revealing angry red skin held together with evenly spaced, thick, black stitches. He only held the brace open for a moment, then strapped it firmly back into place. Looking at her again, he said, “My head's not gonna fall off, if that's what you're worried about.”
She shifted forward, closer to him. “Why are you wearing the neck brace, then? Is your neck broken? You shouldn't have taken it off!” She found herself scolding him, remembered that his condition was her fault, and pressed her lips tightly together.
He responded, “The brace is just to hold everything in place while my muscles finish healing.”
Integrity made a noise between a cough and a grunt, the image of Bowman's severed muscles and tendons being held together by the same ugly stitches that held his flesh together looming before her eyes. She swallowed. Almost whispering, she asked, “Does it hurt much?”
He waved away her question. “When you've been alive as long as I have, pain tends to loose its sting.” Seeing the concern written clearly on her face, his tone softened. “Hey, now, don't you go worrying about me. I'll be back to my normal charming self before too long.”
She looked at the carpet. “But it's my fault.”
“It's not your fault.” His voice was almost angry. “You're not the fool that decapitated me.” When she still didn't look up, he said, “Besides, it's part of the job description. You can't be a body guard and expect to keep all of your extremities forever.”
“That's not funny,” she muttered, disgruntled that Bowman didn't appear to harbor a grudge against her. Can't he just be mad at me? I am.
“It wasn't meant to be.” She looked up, saw the confusion on his face, and realized that he'd meant what he'd said literally, not as an exaggeration or an attempt at humor. Would she ever get used to living with the undead? Being decapitated must be the equivalent of breaking a bone where she came from.
Є
Integrity knew that she was completely monopolizing Bowman, that she should offer him a polite way to leave. The problem was, she didn't want him to leave, and she wasn't selfless enough to say something she didn't mean in an effort to be social. If she said something that indicated he was free to leave, he would, whether or not he wanted to. It was just easier to keep talking so she didn't have to think about the fact that even Evan, reticent, withdrawn Evan, had stood to welcome Bowman. She pushed the errant thought away, unwilling to see any humanity in the man that made her an orphan.
She knew she was grasping at straws, that it wasn't a smart topic to broach, but she did it, anyway. “So, why do you still have stitches when,” she hesitated, then pressed on, “it happened so long ago?”
“Well, miss, when someone is decapitated, they generally take off the whole head.” She knew he was baiting her, purposely making her slightly uncomfortable, but not in a vicious way. “Skin isn't a very good support system, if you know what I mean. If the muscles stretch the wrong way, or tear apart, skin alone's not gonna keep a noggin in place.”
Integrity smiled weakly, slightly nauseous. Nice going, stupid. Pick a different topic. She grimaced good-naturedly. “That's gotta suck. I still don't think those guys really needed to do that.” She would have continued, but Bowman made a sound like he was spitting on the floor. In fact, she thought he might have actually done it. He muttered something under his breath, almost growling. “What is it?” she asked, hesitant. Here it comes. He's going to blame you. As he should.
“Those pigs ambushed me. Only way they could've gotten the best of me. Stinking cowards.” A frown was etched into his face.
Wanting to somehow make it better, Integrity said the first thing that came to mind. “I'm sure Ben didn't want them to do that to you.”
He snorted, still scowling. “Hate to break it to you, but he did it himself.”
“What?” Integrity felt a weight pressing on her chest. “No, it couldn't've been. Ben's not like that.” She was almost pleading, could hear it in her voice.
Bowman's frown shifted, turning from anger to displeasure. “Surely you've figured out by now that we're not a gentle people, Integrity.”
Bowman had never spoken her name before. It made her feel increasingly uncomfortable, as though she were getting a dressing down from her father. She became defensive. “I know you guys aren't gentle, but that has nothing to do with Ben. He may have lived here, but he's still not a vampire.”
Bowman shook his head slightly. “Listen here, my girl.” His voice had dropped, and he sounded more cajoling than scolding now. “I don't know what malarky he filled your head with, but Ben is a vampire and has been for many a year.”
Integrity felt herself shutting down, locking out the lies that the inhabitants of Westmarch were once more throwing her way. She shouldn't trust Bowman. Stiffly, she stood and moved toward the door. “I think you should go hang out with the boys. I've kept you too long as it is.” Her voice sounded robotic, emotionless. She didn't care. All that mattered was that he leave.
“Uh-uh, no way, little miss.” Bowman levered himself out of the chair, walked over to her, and pointed her back to her bed. Neither moved for a moment, then he said, “You owe me. Sit. I'm not through with you.”
Integrity couldn't argue with him. She wouldn't have talked to Bowman so long in the first place if she hadn't been so grateful that he didn't hate her. If all he wanted in return was for her to listen to his lies, she would. She'd done it before, often enough. She sat down once more, back straight, facing the guard.
“Now, why is it that you're defending that son o' pestilence?”
Integrity clenched her jaw before she responded. “That 'son of pestilence' is one of the best men I've ever known. You know nothing.”
Bowman snorted derisively. “And I suppose you've come to this wonderful conclusion in the, what, fifteen minutes you've spent with the man?”
“I've spent far more time with him than you have,” she spat back, letting anger creep up inside her.
“And when would that be?” Bowman's confidence that he was right painted his words solidly.
Anger muddying her thoughts, Integrity responded smugly, without thinking, “How about the times he came to my room while you were on guard duty?” Almost instantly she felt guilt for revealing this information, though she didn't know why. Still, it felt like a betrayal of Ben and left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“Oh, really?” Bowman replied sarcastically. “And how exactly did he manage that one? He was in jail, you were in a room with one entrance, blocked by both myself and Paul. Does he have an invisibility cloak?”
“There's more than one entrance to that room,” she returned. She watched as the pieces slid into place, disbelief spreading across his features.
“The win
dow?”
“The window.”
Bowman shook his head, looked vaguely toward the floor. “How?” He was muttering under his breath, obviously thinking out loud. Frustrated, he said again, “How?!?”
“He climbed the sides of Westmarch. The stones aren't even.” Bowman's head snapped up to look at her again when she spoke. She felt a twisted pleasure at having to explain something to someone when she was the one almost always in the dark. She let the silence stretch, savoring the feeling.
“You're telling me that he climbed the side of a castle, four stories high, and you still think he's a mortal?” Bowman started laughing, the first time she had heard him do so, and seemed to loose control more and more as he continued. She flushed, angry and embarrassed.
“Anyone could do it!” she rejoined.
“Oh, have you?” He continued laughing, knowing the answer to his own question. “Oh, that boy has played you. What else did he fill your head with?”
Spit flew from her mouth as she growled back, “You would say that. That's what you all want me to believe, that Ben's one of you, but I know he's not!”
“And what other wonderful evidence do you have to that end?” Bowman had finally stopped laughing, though an irritating grin of superiority spread across his features.
Shooting to her feet, she moved across the space separating them, grasped his forearm, shoved up the sleeves of his suit jacket and dress shirt, then gripped his bare skin as hard as she could, watching white spread under her grip in the perfect outline of each of her fingers. “He's not cold! That's not exactly something you can hide.” She almost threw his arm back at him, but caught herself just in time and let it drop instead. She moved back to the bed and sat again.
“Feeding can do that. A simple fix.”
Striving to calm herself and be more rational, she responded more calmly this time. “And how would a prisoner get access to blood? Glegnar's not the most accommodating man.”
“How does the same prisoner gain the freedom to come and go from his cell at his leisure? Wouldn't that be the much more difficult task?” Bowman's smirk remained solidly in place. “Ben obviously accomplished that feat, if he did indeed visit you in your quarters.”
“Oh, he did, frequently,” she spat back, trying to hurt him, to break his infallible security. “He's the one that took me from our hideout, too.”
“I know that all too well.” Bowman tugged pointedly on his neck brace. “I'm not likely to forget who decapitated me.”
Integrity shook her head, could feel angry tears building in her eyes. She swallowed, her Adam's apple feeling like a lump of chalk, telling herself she would not cry under any circumstances. “You don't know him.” Her voice was softer now, not as angry or demanding.
“No, miss, I may not 'know' him the way you do, but there's someone here who knows him far better than anyone else could.”
She grunted. “Who, Evan? I guess you're going to start telling me the same bull about him and Ben stalking me and teasing me. Please.” She rubbed roughly at one of her eyes, as though she had something in it.
Bowman looked serious now. “I don't know what all that's about,” he said, all sounds of mirth gone from his voice. “All I know is what everyone at Westmarch knows.”
“And what's that?” She was weary now, though she tried to hide that from him.
He shrugged, frowning slightly. “It's a known fact that, for the past century or so, the son of Dagnus and Evan have been close compatriots. What they did in their spare time, and whether or not that included you, I can't say.”
“Whatever.” She stood again, moved to the door, opened it, then stared at the guard pointedly. When he didn't stand, she said, “Don't you have somewhere to be? Something to do?”
Bowman stood, bowed at the waist, and exited her quarters. She shut the door behind him, leaned her forehead against it, and sighed.
CHAPTER SIX
Integrity struggled with her emotions and the information that had been given to her. She wanted to be angry with Bowman, to dismiss his words out of hand, but she still felt guilty that he had been beheaded as a direct result of protecting her. The man deserved to be treated with respect, at least. She puzzled through the long night, trying to find a solution to her problem. The only one she came up with was not comfortable: she needed to ask Someone who knew the answer.
Integrity had rarely thought about God since she had been brought to Westmarch the first time, and she felt ashamed when she realized this. God had been part of her everyday life at home, but she had almost shunned Him here. She felt like she would be hypocritical if she sought His guidance now.
Early that next morning, she woke to the sound of someone entering her room. She hadn't been asleep nearly long enough, and she groaned in protest as she shoved herself up on one arm, wanting to tell whoever it was to go away. When she saw Paul and Bowman, she was taken aback. She'd been certain after she'd basically kicked Bowman out the day before that he wouldn't come back any time soon, if at all. Finally, she croaked, “What are you doing here?” She rubbed at her eyes, propping herself against the headboard.
“You're out of shape, lass. Didn't you practice defense at all while you were away?” Bowman's voice was softer than she had any reason to expect, but he obviously meant business at the same time.
Integrity took offense at his words. “Well, I'm sorry I don't have a six-pack, but I didn't see any reason to try to achieve the impossible.”
“If you lay around all day, it will be impossible,” he rebutted.
“Trust me, it's impossible. I am a card-carrying member of the Abs of Flab fan club, and proud of it.” She itched her scalp, then said, “Besides, you're not exactly in any condition to spar with me.” Even at her best, she'd never come close to beating Bowman in a pseudo-fight; with a neck brace and his stiff movements, however, she felt confident that, even in her current state, she could take him. She almost hoped he'd want to spar.
Bowman tugged at his neck brace, and said, “No, I'm not in sparring condition. That's why I brought him.” He gestured at Paul.
Suddenly, Integrity wasn't so apathetic about the thought of fighting today. She'd feel guilty hurting Bowman, even though she wanted to win, but Paul was an entirely different story. Besides, he was downright scrawny compared to Bowman. This could be fun.
She shoved the blankets down toward her feet, swung her legs over the side of her bed, and moved toward the door. “Let me change and brush my teeth, and I'll be ready to go.”
As she left the room, she heard Bowman snort and mutter to Paul, “Her morning breath was her best defense.”
Є
Integrity was hungry, but she refused to let that distract her as she blocked another of Paul's blows, barely. He was a much better fighter than she had anticipated. While Bowman excelled in the power behind his attack, Paul had speed on his side, and Integrity wasn't prepared for that. He'd gotten in several stinging hits before she'd raised her guard sufficiently.
Paul hadn't wanted to strike her, at first. When she'd hit him for the first time, she had held nothing back, and Paul and Bowman knew it. That didn't mean Paul was doing the same, which irritated her, though she had to admit that she should be grateful for his reticence—she wasn't eager to learn just how hard he could hit.
As he swept her feet out from underneath her, she landed with a grunt. She shoved herself back to her feet, and grudgingly admitted, “Nice one.”
“Wake up!” Bowman barked at her. “It was obvious he was going to use a sweep. You have no excuse to end up on your butt! Get it together!”
Even as her trainer barked commands at her, the fight continued. She was growing winded far too quickly. Dang it, I am out of shape. She blocked another blow, then stepped back and held up one finger before bending over and propping herself on her knees, breathing heavily.
“Really? Really.” She glanced up to see Bowman fuming, then dropped her head once more when she saw that neither man was advancing. “It's
been five minutes!” he continued to rant. “What did you do there, eat bon-bons and butter by the stick?”
She stood up again, sticky with perspiration. “Well, there I didn't have to defend myself. They didn't feel any need to make me fight.”
He shook his head, as though knowing it would be pointless to argue with her. “Be that as it may,” he pressed on, “if you do any fighting in the near future, it will be for your life, not for the entertainment of others, so quit making excuses.” Bowman turned, shoved the armchair out of his way, and slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone with Paul. She ached to sit down, but didn't want to show weakness.
“Can I get you anything?”
Jerk's not even panting, she grumbled to herself before saying, “Would you knock it off and quit acting nice to me? I know you don't want to help me.” Her anger lost its oomph when she had to gulp for air mid-sentence.
Paul's “servant” face dropped away. “Look, I don't know what your deal is, but I don't hate you, and it is my job to get you what you need. I'm sorry if that upsets you, but that's what I'm going to keep doing.”
“Well, you're fired. How's that?” She wiped a hand across her brow.
“Nice try.” He actually smiled, the smile that she remembered so well from when he had guided her through the castle on their tours, the smile she had considered to be that of a friend. The smile that she no longer trusted. He continued, “You're not my boss.”
“I order you around, but I'm not your boss?”
“Yep.” The smile again. “And it's not going to do any good to keep poking at me. I've decided to kill you with kindness.”
Integrity felt as though she'd been shoved unexpectedly. Without actually making the decision to speak, she said, “So you admit you want to kill me?”
“In the worst way,” he said in mock seriousness, then laughed and left her room without looking back, completely at his ease. She wanted to hit him in the back of his confident little head with a pillow. Or something harder.
At the door, he turned back and looked at her expectantly. “Well?” he said. “Are you coming?”
Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series Page 5