by Fleur Smith
I hadn’t even reached our apartment door before I spotted the first evidence of the physical damage caused by the fire that had destroyed the life Clay and I had shared for barely a month. The blaze had blackened the hallway leading to our home, burning and blistering the graffiti on the walls. The fire I’d started when I’d been ambushed, bound and threatened by Clay’s sister, Louise, must have followed me as I’d tried desperately to flee the gasoline-fueled flames.
The sight was a reminder that while I had escaped with my life, Louise hadn’t been so lucky. She’d perished at my hand.
Pushing the potentially debilitating out of my head, I moved farther down the corridor. The door to our apartment was missing, and a blackened frame stood in its place. Police tape was the only thing that secured our remaining belongings.
I paused at the sight as the memory of the first time Clay led me through into the apartment rendered me motionless. Just as he had on our first “official” date, when he’d welcomed me into the warehouse in Charlotte, North Carolina the first time we’d reunited, he’d asked if I trusted him. Only unlike that first time, I’d answered without pause with an unequivocal, “Yes.”
The moment the words were out his fingers had closed around my eyes and, with laughter on both of our lips, he guided me into our new home. Even after he led me through the entrance though, he left his hands over my eyes.
“I can’t see,” I complained.
“You have to use your imagination,” he replied, pressing his lips to the back of my neck. “There’s nothing here yet, but over there”—he uncovered my eyes and pointed into the open space of the living area—“will be a sofa where I’ll make you mine at least twice daily.” He spun me in a slow circle until we were facing the kitchen. “And there’s the kitchen bench, where I’ll taste you every day.” He grabbed my hips and gently guided me to a closed door. “And through here”—he pushed open a door, revealing an old bed already in the cramped bedroom—“is the place where we’ll spend most of our time.” He spun me around, lifted me up, and carried me to the bed, nuzzling into the crook of my neck as he did.
Taking a deep breath to clear away the memory of a happier time, I tore through the tape and stepped inside. My heart beat loudly against my ribcage as I assessed the damage. The flames had ravaged the living room and kitchen of our apartment, destroying all evidence of the life Clay and I had shared for a few precious weeks.
Holding my breath to avoid breathing in the acrid smell of stale smoke and scorched dreams, I moved through the space without examining anything in detail. The charred frame of our second-hand sofa sat corpse-like in the middle of the living room. Every piece of furniture that had filled the place, most of it now destroyed, contained memories of Clay and me together. Of him wrapping his arms around me, and of sweet words whispered softly against bare skin. I touched the chain around my neck—Clay’s chain—a reminder of the love we’d shared. The words Clay had uttered after he gave it to me echoed in my head. “I’ve got everything I want right here. I don’t need any more good luck.”
The words were evidence of his love—the love that I’d destroyed when I lost control and let the sunbird take over.
When I stepped into our bedroom, I saw that it had largely escaped the flames. The space had provided a temporary sanctuary from the harsh realities of our world and held such precious memories.
Just being near all of the reminders of how it had been until so recently was almost enough to force me back to the hospital to find Clay and beg for his forgiveness. Only one thing stopped me. Nine words. Each whispered with so much hatred and venom it was almost impossible to reconcile the fact that they came from the same mouth, the same lips and tongue that had whispered sweet nothings to soothe my nightmares.
“If she doesn’t pull through, I’ll never forgive you.”
They were the last words I’d heard from Clay, and they circled around my head as a warning to run away. To flee the promises of the life we’d shared and that I’d destroyed because of what I was.
Unworthy of his love.
Unwilling to let the thought destroy me, or freeze me in place, I took a deep breath and moved to uncover the hole Clay had made behind the head of the bed. Reaching into the wall cavity, I breathed a sigh of relief when my fingers brushed across the plastic bag we’d stored our funds in. Because of the state of the apartment, and the fact that we’d had nothing of any great value, I didn’t know if any vagrants had ransacked the place while I was in the hospital. Nothing seemed to be missing though—my clothes were still in place and so were my sneakers.
Regardless, the small stash of cash that we’d left as well as the cards I’d had in my possession when I’d reunited with Clay—the ones he’d refused to use—were both in the bag and would give me a little freedom. After shoving the plastic bag into the bottom of my backpack, I changed into something more comfortable and pulled on my sneakers before forcing the scrubs into the wall space so they wouldn’t be in the open if the police or the Rain returned to the apartment. I would have taken them with me, but they would only take up valuable space in my bag. Then I collected my clothes, threw them into the backpack, and left the apartment again, confident it would be the last time I would share anything with Clay.
ONCE I LEFT the apartment, I pulled my backpack on and hit the road. Trying to blend into the streets as much as possible, I headed away from the center of town. The first drugstore I spotted, I stopped and used some of the cash I had on bandages and saline wash.
I walked as far as I could and put as many miles as I could between Detroit and myself before I finally stopped to actually assess and treat my injuries. By then, I was beyond fatigued and barely functioning.
When I reached a crossroads, I briefly considered heading straight to New York and begging Aiden for sanctuary at his fae court. He had taken care of me once before after all, saving me from certain death when I’d given up on life. In theory, it was still possible to return to him, but he was beyond my reach this time. Even though I’d left his care with a blessing to call the court home again when I wanted to, I couldn’t. I didn’t deserve the luxury of care and acceptance. Aiden and his family had always treated me as if I wasn’t a monster. As if I’d deserved friendship. At the time, I’d believed them. I knew better now though.
I was a monster.
A killer.
A bitter chill raced through me before the sunbird burned it off.
I’d killed Louise.
I could easily kill Clay too.
To even consider fitting into the place of love and acceptance Aiden’s court was, I would have to admit to the evil that resided within me. I couldn’t in good conscience put their lives in danger by hiding the truth. I’d never believed I was evil before, but I had no other explanation for the death and damage I’d caused.
It was impossible to know how Aiden would react to my revelations, but if he understood just how dark I must be in my core—how much damage I could cause to his loved ones—he would surely turn me away. Seeing rejection in the eyes of yet another person that I’d cared about would finish me off. Even if he was able to look beyond the evil inside me, I didn’t deserve the forgiveness or love it would take to do that. They were concepts reserved for good people.
With my touch, I could destroy anything and anyone. I was better off alone, at least I couldn’t hurt anyone else.
I rubbed my fingers across the pendant around my neck. Ignoring the dove, which symbolized my death warrant, I traced the letters of Clay’s name engraved on the underside. It reminded me that my solitary life was penance for what I’d done to the man who’d once loved me.
A man who no longer existed.
CHAPTER THREE
BY THE TIME I reached Rolla, Missouri, the afternoon after I realized I needed medical attention, the infection in my arm was so severe that I doubted that I would survive even one more night. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t concentrate. I could barely stay upright for more than a few moments at a time.
Still, I reasoned with myself, it was a better choice than staying and allowing Clay, the man I had loved with all of my heart—the man I still loved—to discover I was awake and ready to face the full fury of his vengeance.
Even though I needed more than anything to find a doctor, the first thing I did was use one of the cards I’d stolen months earlier to book a motel room. When the clerk gave me an odd look, I made up a story about having a fight with my boyfriend while we were camping in the Mark Twain National Forest. About how I couldn’t spend even one more night out in the middle of nowhere with him.
The old woman gave me a cautious look over the top of her glasses.
Arranging my face into a smile, I added, “I just really need a shower and a bed for the night. Hopefully, a night alone out there will make him come to his senses.” I forced out a chuckle and hoped it sounded at least somewhat believable.
Dumping my bag onto the bed, I took a quick shower and washed off the grime caked on my skin. There was a small private hospital I’d seen signs for on the road to the motel, and I planned to be at least partly presentable before I arrived so that no one called the police. When I dressed, I left the wound uncovered. It was a risk, but safer than wrapping it back in a dirty bandage.
Clutching my arm to my chest, I stopped only when I spotted an ATM. I drained the remaining funds available from the plastic, tossing the card into the trash once I had.
I tucked the cash into my pocket, trying not to consider the fact that after the relatively small pile ran out, I would have to find another option for getting more money.
If only I’d paid more attention when learning this stuff.
A fresh stab of pain drew my attention to my worsening wound. A reminder that I really shouldn’t have left it for so long before seeking medical assistance, but part of me had refused to believe I could have escaped from the life-threatening situation of the Rain’s capture only to end up at the mercy of my body’s own defenses.
During the walk to the hospital, I struggled to stay upright. Despite my foggy head, and churning stomach, I made it eventually.
The hospital was relatively small. Only a few stories high. The sheer potential for questions and paperwork was enough to give me heart palpitations on top of my myriad of other symptoms. The thought was enough to force me to retreat away from the building, which loomed larger with the mere possibility of the dangers that might lurk inside the clinical walls.
While I assessed my best options for seeing a doctor, I leaned against one of the trees that ringed the parking lot for support. I couldn’t risk going inside the hospital, but I could try to get the attention of a doctor outside. I observed the lot, hoping to find someone who was just arriving or preparing to leave to help me.
To avoid suspicion and raising alarms, I ensured my hoodie was still in place over my distinctive multihued hair and held my wrist hidden as close against my body as I dared. I didn’t have anything to cover my lilac irises, so I could only hope avoiding eye contact would be enough.
I used the tree to hold myself upright, trying everything I could to hide the fact that I was swaying while I stood still. Even though I knew I probably appeared to be a drunken vagrant, I didn’t have it in me to care. This was the only way to get the help I needed as quickly as I could.
Eventually, a youngish man with sandy-brown hair tinted with highlights and slicked back with product stepped out of the hospital. I watched him as he said something to some nurses loitering in a group by the entrance to the hospital. His hospital employee badge was illegible from my distance, but I took faith just from the fact that he had one. Added to the fact that his suit looked well cut, possibly even tailored, I thought he was a good candidate to approach. Undoubtedly the best option I had.
I pushed myself away from the tree and set off toward him, hoping that my instincts about him being a doctor were right. Whistling as he walked, he pulled a key from his pocket and pushed a button. The lights of a silver BMW parked in a reserved spot flashed in time with a trill beep and click that indicated the car was unlocked. My pulse raced as I hoped his expensive taste confirmed my assessment. The hard part was next though, convincing him to help me off the books.
I rushed to move between him and his car, blocking his escape.
“Help me, please,” I begged, allowing tears to flood my eyes as I moved my arm away from the shelter of my body. The effort of extending my arm almost toppled me off-balance, and I staggered in place.
Even though he was probably used to seeing the worst injuries, the doctor’s lip lifted in disgust as he looked at my wound—perhaps because of the state of the infection—but he’d hidden it by the time he met my gaze. His eyes were kind as he assessed me, but his next words made my heart plummet. “The emergency department is on the first floor. Someone there will be able to help you.”
“I . . . I can’t go in there,” I sobbed. Reaching out my hand, I gripped my fingers around his cotton shirt and held him carefully, hoping he’d assume my heat was purely a result of the infection in my arm. “My . . . my husband . . . he . . .” I broke down in tears.
I’d planned a few alternate stories to help sell my inability to enter the hospital, and I hoped that I’d selected the right one based on my quick judgment of the doctor in front of me. The car, the tailored suit, his hair, and his perfectly manicured nails had all made me assume that money would be a primary motivator for him before I had approached him. The soft set of his eyes as he watched me holding my arm and swaying on my feet made me think that it was possible he might have gone into medicine with a nobler purpose as well—one which I fully intended to capitalize on if I could.
“He’s a cop and . . .” I looked down at my arm and released what I hoped was a believable, gut-wrenching sob. The grief over my recent losses that I’d been holding in—a constant presence that I had carried with me since I left Detroit—bubbled to the surface. I hoped it gave me an air of credibility.
The doctor frowned, his eyes flashing with rage as his gaze assessed the wound on my arm again. “He did this to you?”
I sniffed and allowed a few more tears to streak my cheeks before nodding. “He told me that he’d find me if I ever tried to leave him,” I wailed. Part of me worried that I was pushing the story too far, but the doctor’s attitude toward me appeared to soften by the second, and he shifted his stance closer to me. “He’s tracking my—” I sobbed. “—my cards and social security. I just know that if I go in there that he’ll come after me.” I took a few deep breaths before wailing, “I can’t let him find me.”
Even though I’d fabricated the story, there was enough truth in it—enough fear and sorrow in me—to make it realistic. Clay had proven before how effective he was at tracking me when he’d turned up on my doorstep in Charlotte. Back then, he’d found me for a wondrous purpose. Now, I was squarely on his personal “wanted” list.
“If she doesn’t pull through, I’ll never forgive you.”
I tapped into my fear to fabricate my story and hoped my sorrow was believable enough to convince the doctor of the truth in my lie.
Across the parking lot, a car door slammed.
My heart leaped, and my muscles contracted. I twisted in place to scan the area for danger. My breathing sped, but I tried to get it under control again as I turned back toward the doctor.
“I’m sure we can find someone to help watch you,” he said. “We’ve got security—”
“No!” I cried, cutting him off. “I can’t. Just the sight of a man in uniform is enough to . . . to . . .” I burst into tears. “Please! I just—” I paused as a wave of heat and nausea washed over me. “I just need some antibiotics. I can pay you.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the stash of bills I’d withdrawn from the ATM. He glanced over his shoulder, and I worried he was going to alert someone to what I was trying to do, but when he looked back with greed in his eyes, I figured it was to ensure no one was watching our interaction.
; He curled my fist over the money I offered. “Put that away,” he hissed. “You’ll get me into serious trouble trying to do this out in the open.”
“Please?” I begged again after hiding the cash back into my pocket.
He sighed. “Okay, I’ll help you. But you have to promise to get help from a proper shelter soon. I’ll give you the details of one nearby. All right?”
I nodded. “Thank you, so much.”
“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
His car chirped behind me as he locked it again. Once his back was turned, I rushed away back to the relative safety of the thin ring of trees. If he brought security back with him, I would be able to disappear before they spotted me.
My worry turned out to be unwarranted. Just as he’d promised, he returned a little over ten minutes later with a small box and a fresh set of bandages. After leading me to the trunk of his car to give us some semblance of privacy, he gave me the box of antibiotics and some instructions on when to take them. Then he carefully cleaned the wound with saline, applied some cream, and redressed it.
“These dressings need daily changing,” he said before giving me a list of instructions. “I’d like to see this again in a few days to be certain the infection is clearing. Can you come back here on Tuesday?”
“Okay.” I sniffed and gave a curt nod—even though I had no intention of returning. I would stay the night in the hotel and then disappear once more.
“Have you got somewhere to stay in the meantime?”
I nodded.
“Somewhere safe?”
Instead of answering him, I pushed the money toward him again. “Thank you so much for your kindness. I’ll never forget it.”
“I really shouldn’t have. It’s highly unconventional.” He folded the notes and slid them into his pocket. His demeanor told me it wasn’t the first time he’d accepted a bribe for something not entirely legal. “I’m sure you understand that if anyone found out about this, I could be in serious trouble.”