The Rising dr-3

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Hey, you,” I said. “Getting away from it all, too.”

  “Coming to talk to you, actually.”

  I kept smiling, hoping he’d smile back, but he just kept walking toward me, face unreadable.

  He was going to ask for answers. Had I thought about everything? Did I know what I felt for Daniel? Was I still “with” him or was that over now? It wasn’t over. I only had to look at him to know it wasn’t over. But how did I say “We’re still good,” when I couldn’t answer those other questions?

  “I never did thank you,” I said, desperately trying to deflect the coming questions, “for playing decoy back in Salmon Creek.”

  He shrugged. “It was the right move. Until I start shifting, Daniel’s got better defensive powers. And I know, no matter what happens, he’ll watch out for you.”

  I moved toward him. “He’s not the only one. I seem to recall you dropped from a helicopter for me.”

  “True. But the difference?” He closed the gap between us. “Daniel would have jumped from the helicopter for you. And you’d jump for him.”

  “I—”

  He put his fingers to my lips. “I’m not asking you to deny it or say you’d do the same for me. You’ve known him all your life. I’m still the rookie here. Which is why I’m going to make this decision for you.” He moved his fingers down. “I think we could have something. Really have something. But I also think, now that you know about Daniel, you’re going to wonder, and you can’t wonder if you’re supposed to be with me. You’re not that kind of girl. So I’m ending it.”

  “No. Please. I—”

  His fingers moved back to my lips. “Let me reword that. I’m stepping back. I’m still going to try to convince you I’m the guy you want. But I’m not going to do it by luring you into the woods for a make-out session. No more of that. Not until you’ve decided. From now on, I’m your friend, same as Daniel.” He paused, then lowered his gaze to mine. “And I hope—really hope—that no matter what you decide, I’ll keep on being your friend. Whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you, Maya.”

  I put my arms around him. “You won’t.”

  Once again, Rafe had done the right thing. The noble thing. Just as he’d let go of my hands to keep from pulling me out of the helicopter with him. Just like he had given himself up so we could get away.

  A few weeks ago, I’d accused Rafe of a complete lack of regard for others, when he’d chased the girls of Salmon Creek to find out who was the skin-walker. I’d been wrong. Big surprise. He wasn’t afraid to make the hard choices—even the life-threatening choices—for others. Breaking up with me wasn’t exactly on the same scale, but it was still a tough choice, and I wasn’t sure I could have made it.

  So, if I knew it was right, why did it hurt so much? Because I cared for him. Maybe even loved him. If it was love, why was it so complicated? Shouldn’t I just be able to look at Rafe and Daniel, turn to one, and say, “It’s you. I want you.” Was I being fickle? Or was I being selfish?

  I wouldn’t be selfish. I wouldn’t string them along. Until I got my brain—and my heart—straightened out, it would be as Rafe said. Friendship. With both. And if they both found someone else while I was making up my mind? Well, that was the chance I took. Rafe was right—I couldn’t be with one of them if I was still looking at the other, thinking “Maybe . . .”

  “Maya?”

  Daniel’s voice drifted through the trees. I got up quickly from the stump where I’d been sitting and wiped my eyes as he appeared.

  “Are you crying?” He stepped closer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I paused. “Yes, something. Rafe and I . . . We ended it. He ended it, I mean.” I took a deep breath. “He decided this wasn’t really a good time, with everything going on. It’s stressing us out and we’re arguing and . . . we just need to step back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He sounded like he meant it. When I looked into his eyes, I saw that he did. Fresh tears welled up and I brushed them away.

  “He’s right,” I said. “It hurts, but he is right. It happened so fast. Too fast. It just . . . got complicated. We need to slow down and get to know each other better.”

  He nodded. “Okay, well . . . I’d leave you alone, but I suspect you’d rather be distracted.”

  I managed a smile. “You know me well.”

  He looked around. “We have a whole forest to explore.”

  My smile widened a little. “We do.”

  “I overheard your dad saying they need to stake out a place for your house. Away from the town, since he’ll be in charge of the forest again. You guys will pick a place and your mom will design the house again. Kenjii will come tomorrow and . . . Did I hear Fitz is coming, too?”

  I nodded. “The people at the wildlife rehab center think that’s best. Apparently, although he treats us like his personal servants, he’s lonely there, and they don’t see any hope of reintroducing him to the wild.”

  “He’s used to you guys. This might not be his forest, but he’ll make it his. And so will you.”

  I looked around. It was nothing like the temperate rain forest at home. It looked different. Smelled different. Even sounded different. But when I closed my eyes, I could feel the draw of it, just like in Salmon Creek. Daniel was right. It would be my forest someday.

  “What do you say we start looking for a building spot?” he said.

  “Dad will want to pick one.”

  “Right. And do you really think if you say ‘I want my home here,’ he’ll ignore you? Face it, Maya—you’re spoiled.”

  I smiled.

  “So come on,” he said, backing up. “Lets go find the perfect spot.”

  “We aren’t supposed to go out of shouting distance.”

  “So if we did, that would be wrong. Irresponsible. Immature.”

  “It would.”

  “Well, I think we’ve earned it.” He started backing up. “Race you?”

  “To where?”

  His smile broke into a grin, blue eyes glittering in the twilight. “Anywhere.”

  He turned and ran. I laughed and ran after him.

  EPILOGUE

  Eight Months Later

  WHEN ASH ENTERED THE kitchen, I noticed. He didn’t make a sound as he crept in. Maybe I caught his scent, but I still wasn’t good at distinguishing that. I just knew he was there. And I knew why he was there. I continued cutting sandwiches until his hand slipped around me, heading for the pile. A flash of the knife and the hand vanished in a volley of curses.

  “Watch the language,” I said. “You know house rules. That particular word is not permitted, on pain of laundry duty.”

  “It’s the pain of having my hand sliced open that I’m worried about.”

  He eased around the island, still eyeing the sandwich pile. I waved the knife at him.

  “Wait two minutes and you can make your own. I’ll even leave everything out . . . for you to put away.”

  “I want half a sandwich. We’ve got a million kids coming to the party. No one’s going to notice one half missing.”

  “Still working on your math, huh? It’s twelve kids, plus Annie.”

  “Feels like a million,” he grumbled as he settled onto a stool.

  “Then don’t come.” I handed him one of the sandwich halves. It was slightly mangled, from a poor cutting job.

  “How would that look? Me skipping Daniel’s birthday? It’s an insult.”

  “He’d understand.”

  Ash only grumbled some more. He wasn’t big on crowds—and to him, a dozen was a crowd—but he’d go, for Daniel’s sake. When he reached for another half sandwich, I threatened him with the knife again.

  “No one’s going to miss—”

  “They aren’t for the party. Daniel and I are releasing the rabbits later, and I’m bringing food.”

  “So it’s a picnic?”

  “Right,” I said, packing the sandwiches into the box.

  “Just the two of you?”<
br />
  I gave him a look. “We’re releasing the rabbits.”

  “With a picnic. For two.” He leaned over and lowered his voice. “I’ve got a couple of beers in my room if you want—”

  Dad walked in. Ash sat up fast and took another bite of the sandwich.

  “What’s up?” Dad said, looking from me to my brother.

  “Ash has beer in his room. He was offering me some.”

  Ash’s eyes narrowed.

  “What kind?” Dad said as he opened the fridge and took out a pop can. “If it’s Labatt’s, I’ll buy one off you. I’m all out and I’m not going to town until Tuesday.”

  Ash mumbled under his breath. He hadn’t quite figured my parents out yet. If they didn’t complain about the beer, he thought they were just accommodating him, treading carefully until they were comfortable enough laying down stricter rules. Which was true, in a way, but only that, when the time came, Dad would insist that if Ash wanted beer in the house, he had to keep it in the fridge, not hide it in his room. And if they caught him with anything stronger before he was nineteen, there would be trouble.

  I started cutting up brownies. When Dad reached for one, Ash said, “Watch it. She’s quick with that knife. Those are for her picnic with Daniel.”

  “Daniel?” Dad said.

  I put the brownies into the box. “About five-ten? Blond? I think you’ve met him.”

  Dad and Ash exchanged a look.

  “Been spending a lot of time with Daniel lately,” Dad said.

  “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Daniel since I was five. Stop. Now.”

  “I’m just saying. You know how I feel. Daniel—”

  I brandished the knife. “If you say he takes care of me again, I’m going to have the Nasts open a time portal and send you back to the nineteenth century, where I’m sure you’ll be much happier.”

  “What’s wrong with saying he takes care of you?” Ash said. “Are we supposed to want you dating a guy who doesn’t?”

  “Not answering that,” I said as I headed for the stairs. “I need to get ready. Ash? Touch the food and I won’t take you for a driving lesson tomorrow. Dad? Touch it and I’ll make you take him for a driving lesson tomorrow.”

  Dad backed away from the counter. Ash scowled. I laughed and continued upstairs.

  Ash, Kenjii, and I walked into our “town.” Badger Lake was the name of it, imaginatively named after, well, the lake in the middle, which was really more the size of a large pond, but no one was getting technical.

  It was a Saturday, but construction crews were hard at work, as they had been since the frost broke. Everyone who’d come to Badger Lake with us had a house now, and several of the community buildings were done. More houses were going up, for families who’d moved into trailers or were coming soon—town support personnel, mainly. They were Cabal families, those with special skills that the Nasts deemed worth the security risk.

  While most of them performed regular town duties—nurses, teachers, security, even a shopkeeper—they all had special skills, too. Skills that would help us grow into . . . well, I’m not sure. Deadly assassins? Super spies? Crack mercenaries? Or just really good, multi-talented Cabal employees. They weren’t saying, of course, but from the type of instructors we were getting, it seemed to be leaning toward the first three. We had three experts in fighting skills alone. I was starting fencing lessons Monday, a skill they deemed suitable for a cat’s fast reflexes. Somehow I doubted they were training me for the Olympic team.

  Did we balk at any of that? No. If they wanted to make us super soldiers, we were happy to take their training. And, someday, use it to get free.

  A couple of the new houses were for new kids. One was a Project Genesis subject they’d tracked down, with her mother. Rachelle Rodgers was a fire half-demon that Chloe and the others had known. The other house was for someone from Salmon Creek who seemed to be showing signs of powers. They weren’t telling us who it was yet, in case they were wrong. They were in talks to bring in Chloe’s father, too. Her aunt had been in contact with him, mostly to stop him from looking for her. Now that we were with the Cabals, there was no need to worry about that, so Chloe had seen him for the first time in six months and they were talking about bringing him to Badger Creek.

  Ash, Kenjii, and I walked along the main street, dirt now, though they’d already paved the road into the town. Daniel and Corey lived on the edge of the lake nearest that paved road, next to the main community building, where Chief Carling had her office.

  As we walked, someone hailed us. It was Antone. He came around his house, hammer in hand, Moreno trailing behind, beer in hand.

  “Ah, Daniel’s party,” Antone said, waving at the picnic basket and wrapped gift. “Say happy birthday to him for me.” He shifted the hammer to his other hand. “So, we’re still on for Sunday dinner?”

  He looked anxious, as if he expected us to back out. We’d been doing Sunday dinner every other week for six months now, but I think he kept expecting us to make excuses. We didn’t. It wasn’t an easy relationship. Maybe it never would be. But Ash and I understood how important this was to him, and even if we’d never be a family in the way he’d dreamed of, we’d be something.

  I assured him we were coming.

  “If it’s still warm, we’ll eat on my new back deck,” he said. “Which I hope to have done . . . if someone exchanges his beer for a hammer.”

  “Hey, I have two hands,” Moreno said. “So, kiddies, are we still on for our dysfunctional family moment? Lessons at the range next week?”

  “Wednesday after school,” I said. “We’ll be there.”

  “What?” Antone looked at Moreno sharply. “Guns? You are not teaching them—”

  “They asked. Well, Ash did, and God forbid Miss Maya should miss out on anything.”

  “I just want to be ready in case you ever pull a gun on me again,” I said as we resumed walking, leaving them to argue it out.

  Climbing a cliff side. After a birthday party. Zooming up alongside Rafe as our friends cheered us on. It all felt very familiar. How much changes . . . and how little changes.

  When we mentioned we wanted to rebuild our climbing wall, Antone said they’d get a construction team on it right away, recreating exactly the one we had in Salmon Creek. Which was more than a little creepy, really. So we insisted on doing it ourselves. I’d noticed footprints in the soft earth between our building sessions, telling me they were coming out to check our work and make sure it was safe, but they said nothing, just left us to it. Which was, so far, Sean’s approach to us in general. He’d supply whatever we needed and he’d happily do things for us, but he seemed even more pleased if we did them ourselves. They wanted independent-minded, self-directed, capable young adults. And that’s what we planned to be.

  So now I was throwing a seventeenth birthday party for Daniel, just like he’d thrown my sixteenth one for me. And we were in another forest, climbing another wall. Rafe was beside me, for the final race, and as we climbed, it was just like the first time, me looking over, seeing his grin, feeling him there, swearing I could hear the pounding of his heart, spurring me on.

  The same. Yet not the same.

  Something had changed between us in the last eight months. I’m not sure when it started. There seemed to be no start. Just a gradual . . . change. I looked over and I saw him and his grin made my heart beat faster, but it was a different kind of beating. It was adrenaline and excitement and happiness. Nothing more. Maybe that’s all it had ever been. Maybe I’d misinterpreted. Sometimes I wonder if Sam was actually right, and what Rafe and I felt—that crazy whirlwind of emotion—really had been just animal attraction. Like calling to like. The thrill of meeting another skin-walker, hormones twisting it into something else, something my brain mistook for love.

  Or maybe it had been something, and with nothing to feed the flames, they just cooled and, eventually, extinguished altogether. We’d decided to back off and be friends, and there’d been a time, i
n the first few months, when I’d be with him and I’d want more, and I could tell he wanted more. But then those times came more rarely, until I could look at him now and see a friend. Just a friend. And I could tell he felt the same when he looked at me.

  How did I feel about that? A little sad, I think. Part of me mourned what we’d had. It had been so new and so raw and so thrilling. And then, when it faded, it left me feeling . . . a little frightened, I guess. How can something that strong disappear so easily? No, not disappear. Mellow. Morph. Change into something good and real, but still, not the same, never again the same. I’m happy with what we have, but I do grieve a little, for what we had.

  “Maya! Come on! He’s gaining on you!”

  I looked up and the sun hit me square in the eye, setting me blinking. Then a head moved in front of it. My spotter. The guy making sure I didn’t fall. The guy who would always make sure I didn’t fall.

  Daniel grinned and it was like that sunlight hit me again, and I faltered.

  “Hey! No! Keep going! You’ve gotta show him who’s still top cat around here.”

  Rafe yelled something up. I didn’t quite catch it, just kept staring at Daniel’s grin, feeling tiny firecrackers igniting in my gut.

  This had changed, too. My feelings for Daniel. Or not so much changed, as slid from the darkness and into the light.

  I loved Daniel, and it wasn’t a BFF kind of love or a brotherly kind of love. It was real and it was wonderful and it was absolutely terrifying, because the more I accepted it, the more I started to wonder what he really felt for me. Was it anything even approaching my feelings? I had no idea.

  When I looked up at Daniel, I didn’t feel what I’d felt for Rafe. It wasn’t that consuming, blind, must-be-with-him-now need. It was a different need, more grounded, just as intense, stronger even, in its way. I wanted to get to him. Just get up there, feel his arms around me, inhale his scent, hear his laughter, and be with him. I wanted to grab my picnic basket, say good-bye to all our lovely-but-temporarily-inconvenient friends, and take Daniel for myself, someplace quiet, where we could be alone and . . .