Wrong Side of Dead dc-4

by Kelly Meding

He averts his gaze to the floor. He’s avoiding a topic, and I can guess pretty accurately who it’s about.

  “Just ask, Phin,” I say.

  He looks up, eyes meeting mine, curiosity in them. “Have you and Wyatt spoken at length about the time you were missing?”

  “Not in any great detail, no.” I plop down on the lid of my chosen trunk, predicting this to be a long conversation. “We hit the Cliffs Notes version of events for each of us. Kind of came to the conclusion that we both changed and we need time to figure out who we are before we try to be together.”

  “Is that really wise?”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  Phin sits down on the trunk opposite mine, his expression drawn, uncertain. “I’m surprised, I admit.”

  “Why’s that?” I have no energy to be snarky with Phin, so I settle on genuinely curious.

  “I’ve witnessed the depth of your love for each other. That you would both step away, rather than fight for it, surprises me, especially after—” He stops the thought.

  Well, I can’t have that. “After what?”

  “The second day of your abduction, Michael Jenner asked Wyatt if you were his chosen mate. Because you were owed a debt by the Assembly, that debt was extended to your mate.”

  Nervous butterflies set to work on my stomach. “Wyatt said he was my mate?”

  “Jenner made the assumption. Wyatt did not deny it.”

  “He’s too smart to deny it.” I’m rationalizing. As much as I love Wyatt, and probably always will, the future scares me. I’ve always lived one day to the next, not making plans for tomorrow. It’s not that I’m scared of commitment, I just don’t know how.

  Phin nods. “True. By agreeing with Jenner’s assumption, he was granted protection by the Assembly, as well as assistance in his search for you.” Something in his tone hints at more he isn’t saying.

  “But?”

  “I don’t believe Wyatt said it only for those reasons. You are his life, Evangeline. He was … broken without you.”

  I study the scrubbed cement floor between us, the words echoing in my mind. Rufus told me that Wyatt drank a lot during those few weeks, that he was cold to everyone. Wouldn’t talk to any of his friends. I know Wyatt’s temper, and I’ve seen his moods range from joy to rage to despair. I’ve seen him drunk, and I’ve seen him sober. We’ve both seen each other at our worst. I knew what my leaving would do to him.

  I just never imagined how badly returning would hurt him.

  “Broken people heal, Phin,” I say. “Unless someone keeps breaking them all over again.”

  He’s silent for a long moment. “You think coming back hurt Wyatt more than accepting your death did?” It’s simply asked, without rancor or accusation.

  “No, I’m pretty damned positive it hurt more. But I can’t change going with Thackery, and I can’t change the fact that I was rescued and proved not dead. And I know Wyatt.” Something tightens in my throat. “He probably thinks he deserves this. That he’s earned all this heartache and pain, because of the things he’s done. But he hasn’t. He’s saved so many lives, and all he can ever focus on are the people he’s failed.”

  Phin coughs. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re a lot alike.”

  “Indeed.”

  I wish fixing it was as simple as Phin made it sound. But people don’t just change twenty years of bad habits overnight. And I’m still carrying two heavy secrets, keeping them from him. If we’re together, it has to be all or nothing. As much as I want Wyatt, I owe him too much to do anything less.

  “Wyatt has something to live for now, Phin. He has the Watchtower and building up this new group, and that’s what he needs. Everything should go back to what it was six months ago when we just worked together. After we figure out who we are apart, we can start thinking about giving us another try.”

  “Because it’s what he needs,” Phin says.

  “Yes.”

  Something flickers in his bright blue eyes. “And what do you need, Evangeline?”

  A hug. A kiss from someone who loves me and means it. One night of peace when I don’t feel the weight of five hundred thousand lives resting on my shoulders. Respite from fear. So many impossible things, and all outside the realm of Phin’s abilities.

  I think back to Milo and his wrestling match with Marcus, and I realize there is one thing I can ask Phin for. “I need someone to help me train,” I say.

  He frowns. “Train?”

  “Yes. Even before Thackery, I never managed to get this body into peak physical condition. But it needs to happen, especially now, and I have all the time in the world.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. I don’t have a clue what he’s thinking—the things he’s weighing. Finally he speaks. “All right. When would you like to begin?”

  I don’t wear a watch. I have no idea what time it is and don’t really care. I flash him a bright smile. “How about right now?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Friday, July 11

  It should be easy, and it isn’t. I’ve done this move hundreds of times in the past. Emphasis on past, I guess, since my sixth attempt at a spinning roundhouse kick ends the same way the first five did—with me flat on my back.

  “Fuck!” I slap my palm on the mat to put a little power into the word. My frustration level is topping out. Ten days of training has put a little muscle back on and increased my flexibility, but my coordination is shit. Granted, Chalice Frost didn’t seem like the most acrobatic chick before she died, but this is ridiculous. Like riding a bike that won’t let me take off the damned training wheels.

  Phin looms above me, his face upside down. He’s been my dutiful teacher since the day I asked for his help, in between his duties to the Assembly and assisting Astrid in readying our tactical squads.

  The squads have started patrolling, getting out and making ourselves known. The Triads have expanded, is the word on the street. We’re feeding the existing fear to create a new reputation for the Watch. The challenge has been folding five active Handlers, sixteen Hunters, and a dozen trainees into the ranks of existing vampire and Therian volunteers with as few issues as possible. Matching up temperaments and skill sets is like a chaotic game of Memory.

  Or sudden-death overtime.

  “Again?” Phin asks, reminding me of my aching back.

  “You’re a sadist.” I sit up fast, nearly clipping his chin with my forehead. “I used to be able to do this without thinking.”

  “You used to be an entirely different person.” He circles around and offers his hand. A quick jerk and I bounce up to my feet, sore and a little sweaty. “Again?”

  “Fine.”

  The seventh time is not the charm, but it is my lucky number. As Phin yanks me back to my feet once again, his phone beeps from its place on the floor. He retrieves it. Checks the message while I stretch a little.

  “I’m needed in the War Room,” he says, frowning. The War Room is what we call the conference area in Operations—which means something’s up. Something that doesn’t include me because Phin grabs his shirt on the way out the door.

  Terrific.

  I snatch a towel from the stack in the other room and dry off as I amble out of the gym, unsure of my destination. Maybe a shower. But a shower will only relax me, and I’m warmed up, keyed up, and eager to do something, dammit. I haven’t been out in the field in what feels like forever. More than almost anything, I hate feeling caged. Although the Watchtower is a far cry from a tiny utility closet in an abandoned train station, it’s starting to feel just as claustrophobic in terms of my freedom.

  Maybe I can talk someone into doing a little two-man patrol. I need out.

  After I change into jeans and a T-shirt, I nearly smash right into Milo at the living quarters entrance. He’s in regular clothes rather than his patrol outfit, but he’s definitely on his way somewhere.

  “Hey, sorry,” he says.

  “Ar
e you heading into the city?”

  He blinks rapidly. “Uh, yes?”

  “That wasn’t a trick question, Milo.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m taking Felix into the city for his appointment with a pain management specialist.”

  As soon as he speaks, the object of conversation hobbles around the corner and into view. Given the horrific injuries he sustained weeks ago at the claws of a genetically engineered hound, Felix looks good. He’s upright and mobile, even if he manages to hide the pain he’s in constantly because of nerve damage. He’ll probably never go out on patrol again, but Astrid agreed to let him come in as an Operations communications coordinator—which is a fancy way of saying he monitors our phone calls when we’re out. It isn’t what he’s used to, but he’s here with Kismet, Milo, and Tybalt. His family.

  I envy that through all of the drama and injuries of the last few months, the four of them are still together. My heart aches for Jesse and Ash, and for the closeness I once shared with Wyatt.

  “Hey, Evy,” Felix says, offering a pained smile. “You gaining weight?”

  If I was any other kind of a girl, I’d slug him for such a thing. As it is, the observation is a compliment. “A little, yeah. One of these days I might even be able to do a roundhouse again.”

  “You always seem to manage anything you put your mind to.”

  “Mostly.” I clear my throat. “Listen, you mind if I tag along with you guys today?”

  His eyebrows furrow. “You want to come to my doctor’s appointment?”

  “Not particularly, no, but I need to get out of here. I haven’t left since I first arrived—Phin hasn’t signed off on me being fit for patrolling—and I’m going a little stir-crazy.”

  “I hear that.”

  “No one’s going to wring my neck for taking you into the city, are they?” Milo asks.

  “I doubt it. No one ever said I couldn’t leave, I just haven’t yet.”

  The guys exchange a look.

  “Come on,” Felix says. “We’ll get some burgers or something afterward.”

  Considering the diet of lean protein, complex carbs, and vegetables (weight gain without inducing high cholesterol was apparently the point of such a diet) I’ve been on since my abduction, the idea of a juicy hamburger with the works and a pile of crispy fries makes my mouth water. It must also affect the look on my face, because Felix laughs.

  The walk from the living quarters to the parking area isn’t unusually long, but Felix is red-faced and sweating by the time we reach the corridor outside Operations. He accepts silent help from Milo, draping his arm across the slightly shorter man’s shoulders and leaning some weight on him. To the former Hunter, the show of weakness must be almost as painful as the nerve damage causing it.

  Milo has the keys for Kismet’s Explorer, and he helps Felix climb up into the passenger seat. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I glance over my shoulder.

  Marcus is watching from the entrance to the parking area. He nods at me, then turns and walks away. I stare at the vacant spot where he stood just a moment ago, confused.

  “Evy?” Milo asks. “You okay?”

  I shake myself out of it. “Yeah, fine. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  * * *

  The appointment is at 4:30, which means the schedule is already backed up by about an hour. The fact that the doctor’s office is in a wing of St. Eustachius Hospital next to the Emergency Room has me on hyperalert. Two of the staff members here once saw me as a frozen corpse, and I don’t need the recognition. Not to mention that, the last time I was here, Felix lied to my face about Wyatt being attacked by a were-cat and then utterly failed at kidnapping me.

  Unfortunately, we can’t discuss these amusing anecdotes out loud in a waiting room full of normal people here for their own appointments. So we trade magazines and stare at the news program playing on the room’s only television. As far as mundane tasks go, it’s oddly refreshing.

  Felix is more restless than I am, and I don’t know him well enough to guess if it’s physical pain or hospital memories. Forty-five minutes past his appointment time, he leans a bit toward Milo, who’s sitting between us, and whispers, “You know what this feels like? It’s the same damned waiting room.”

  My ears perk, but I don’t look up from the article on fall fashion tips I’m trying to pretend I want to read.

  “The day you guys brought Lucas in and were waiting for word,” Milo replies.

  “Yeah.”

  “The Hunter Kismet was involved with?” I ask. Two heads swivel in my direction, two pairs of eyes wide and curious. “Um, girl talk.” Something occurs to me. “Shit, tell me you both knew.”

  “We knew,” Felix says. “We’re just surprised she told you.”

  “If it helps, she told me right before I went off with Thackery, so she probably didn’t expect I’d repeat it.” My intention is humor, but the words don’t come out that way. They’re almost sad. And now that the topic is open, I crave the conversation. “How long did you know about it?”

  “Tybalt and I suspected for a while, but the way she acted when Lucas died kind of proved it. We told Milo about it a while after.”

  Makes sense. “He was a good Hunter?”

  “One of the best. Great physical fighter, quick thinker. He never judged you, no matter your past.” Felix falls silent, withdrawing the way one does when memory overcomes you, his face shadowed with grief.

  “You and Tybalt didn’t judge me, either, when I showed up,” Milo says.

  Felix’s entire body seems to flinch, and I suddenly feel like an intruder in a private conversation. “I did,” he says. “I was awful to you those first couple of weeks.”

  “Because your best friend had just dropped dead in front of you from an aneurysm, Felix. I mean, after I came out.”

  The simple way Milo says it, especially in front of me, is astonishing, and it leaves no doubt as to his meaning—and it’s an answer to a question I’ve been unable to articulate for a while now. Since the hounds attacked the cabin all those weeks ago and I started wondering …

  I have no idea what my face looks like, but it catches Felix’s attention. His raised eyebrow, in turn, gets Milo to look at me. “Dude, not judging,” I say to Milo. Then to Felix, “But if you had given him a hard time, I’d have to punch you in the head retroactively.”

  Felix grins, and it brings a lightness to his pain-pinched face. A nurse arrives and calls him to come with her. Milo helps him stand, then waits until he shuffles off with the nurse before he sits again. Deciphering emotions isn’t really my strong suit, but I’ve had some very recent experience in the realm of unreturned feelings.

  “Does he know?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

  Milo laces his fingers in his lap and asks, “Know what?”

  I resist rolling my eyes. “How you feel, dumbass.”

  “About what? Felix and Tybalt are brothers to me. I’d do anything for them.”

  “So not what I meant.”

  He heaves a put-upon sigh. I’m not letting it go and he knows it. “It doesn’t matter, Evy. It’s my problem.”

  “Problem?” The description throws me a bit.

  “Yeah. I let myself fall in love with my very straight partner, so it’s my problem.” He finally turns his head and glares at me. “Can we talk about something else now, please?”

  “Okay.” I fully intend to change the subject. Instead, I add, “I’m really glad he didn’t die.”

  Milo blinks, then smiles. “Me, too.”

  After finally leaving the hospital with a pain med prescription for Felix, we settle into a booth at a nearby greasy spoon called McHale’s and each order the biggest, greasiest burger on the menu. They come with heaps of fries, pickle spears, and free soda refills. It’s nice, pretending to be normal college-age kids for a while—even though we are anything but—and I love every moment of it.

  It’s after nine o’clock before we unanimously agree it’s time for our trio to r
eturn to the Watchtower. We settle the bill and tumble into the street, walking slowly out of some unconscious need to make the trip home last as long as possible. The Explorer is parked a block away in a public lot.

  We’re closer to downtown than to Mercy’s Lot, so I’m not actively looking for Dreg activity. It just seems to pop out of nowhere and ruin my night.

  Four individuals at a bus stop catch my attention, and not in a good way. Two guys and two girls, all about our age, and all sporting telltale silver streaks in their hair. They hang off one another like couples in lust, but they’re hunting. Watching.

  And about to board the bus pulling to a stop in front of the signpost.

  “Fucking hell,” I say. “Halfies, two o’clock.”

  Milo and Felix go instantly rigid, one word putting them on high alert. We’re only a quick sprint away, and Felix shocks me by taking off first. It’s an awkward gait, more limp than run, but Milo and I don’t catch him before he’s up the bus steps behind the Halfies. We climb on after him and dump change into the meter.

  The Halfies have clustered near the back, standing in the crowded rear and hanging on to the ceiling bars. There are no empty seats in front, so we mirror them and stand. I angle so I can watch them without being obvious. A surge of adrenaline has my pulse pounding, my blood flowing.

  I didn’t come out tonight looking for a fight, but by God, I’ll enjoy this.

  Halfies aren’t like the other nonhumans. They don’t get equal consideration. They’re uncontrollable abominations, and they’re always considered “kill on sight.” Or in this particular instance, “kill when not in full view of a busload of people.”

  Milo has his cell out and is texting someone. Probably Kismet, so she knows what’s happening. I catch Felix’s eye and mouth “Weapons?” He shakes his head no. Then he mouths, “In the car.”

  Shit.

  The bus rattles along to the next stop. Several people board and disembark, but the Halfies stay put.

  Milo puts his phone away. “Kis says Marcus’s squad is nearby. He’s going to intercept and follow the bus until they exit. She says don’t engage unless necessary.”