by Kelly Meding
I frowned. “I’m serious, Phin.”
“You know I can take care of myself.”
“Against half a dozen boxers, yeah. What if sixty-odd Dregs decide they don’t trust you and want to turn you into osprey fillets?”
“Won’t happen.”
“You’re damned sure of your acting abilities.”
He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Actually, I’m more sure of my position within the Assembly. Call knows who I am, and no matter how many of his recruits are Therian, he won’t tempt the ire of the entire Assembly by killing me. Maiming, perhaps even some form of torture, but not death. Whatever his goal, this man wants support, not enemies.”
“Unless they’re Triads,” I said with a derisive snort.
“Yes.”
“We can follow you at a distance.”
“They’ll know, Evy. Whether they see you, hear you, or smell you, they’ll know someone’s watching.”
I wasn’t going to win the argument, and I hated losing. Phin was meeting Snow that afternoon no matter what I said. We couldn’t bug him, and we couldn’t follow him. I was out of options. “Okay, fine. Just promise you’ll be careful. I’m not sure of the specifics of this Aluli thing, but something tells me part of it is not letting the Agida die.”
Phin nodded, smiling again, but there was no mirth in his eyes. Just a hard determination. “I’ll be as careful as I can, I promise. Now if we’re done arguing in circles, I’ll go check on lunch.”
“Thank God. I’m starving.” My stomach grumbled at the mention of food. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. “Tell me it’s hamburgers or spaghetti or something—”
“You’re getting broth for now,” Wyatt said. “You haven’t eaten in a while, and we don’t want to shock your system.”
I groaned. “You’re cruel.”
“Only because I care.” The hand on my thigh went around my waist, and I leaned against his chest. Heard his thrumming heart, so strong in my ear. Inhaled his scent—clean and masculine, but missing that hint of cinnamon. Must be a soap or aftershave he’d not had access to since leaving the hospital.
Phin had left at some point, closing the door almost completely.
I nuzzled a little closer, calmed by Wyatt’s embrace. So much had happened, and so quickly, it felt like a month since that night in First Break. What we’d thought was our last night together. I’d wanted so badly to be with him then, and couldn’t. I’d wanted to say I loved him the way he loved me, and couldn’t. He’d said he understood, which amazed me, since I hadn’t understood. I still didn’t understand.
His fingers combed through my long hair. “You should rest up while you can,” he said, breath tickling the top of my head.
“I’ve been sleeping for a day, Wyatt. I’m not tired anymore.”
He laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest and into mine. “Okay, then consider that my thinly disguised plea for a short nap. Not all of us heal like you.”
I pulled away so quickly he jumped. “Am I hurting you?” I felt like a fool, finally noticing how pale he still was.
“No, you didn’t hurt me.” He reached out and brushed a lock of hair off my cheek. “But ibuprofen helps only so much, and my back aches like a son of a bitch.”
I scooted around him, toward the wall side of the twin bed, dragging the blanket with me. My legs barely protested, the only real pain coming from my knee. I lay down on my left side and opened the blanket up to Wyatt.
He accepted the invitation without a word, stretching out next to me. I poked him gently until he rolled over to his left side, and I snuggled up against him. I felt the bandage beneath his shirt, the beat of his heart through his back. It was a complete reversal from the last time we’d “slept together.”
I draped one arm across his waist, and he twined his fingers with mine. I lay awake for a while, listening to him breathe, wondering if this was all we’d ever have. Quiet moments of recovery, scattered among skirmishes and double-crossings and the threat of impending war. One hour of peace every couple of hellish days.
My body had craved his touch since the moment of our first contact six days ago. This new body that I was still trying to understand, full of sensations and memories I had to reconcile with my own. It made my attraction to Wyatt as exciting as it was terrifying. I wanted to love him, but I didn’t know how.
And I still couldn’t convince myself it was worth it. He had died that night at Olsmill, and it had shattered me. What if, the next time, death stuck?
Wyatt grunted softly, and I loosened my grip, unaware I’d held on so tight. “What is it?” he whispered, voice raspy with sleep.
“Nothing.” I kissed the back of his neck. “You rest.”
“Hard to if you keep doing that.”
I smiled and kissed the same spot, just below his short hair. “Doing what?” I asked, and planted another.
He squirmed, his breathing a bit erratic. “I mean it. And the fact that you’re practically naked over there isn’t helping.”
I ceased teasing. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
No, it’s not. But thanks for trying.
He drew my hand up and kissed the knuckles. I settled my head back against the pillow, holding him. Glad to have him for a while.
And for a while, it was enough.
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday, 3:37 P.M.
The chicken broth went down easily, and I managed to negotiate for three plain crackers. Wyatt was kind enough to eat his ham sandwich in the hallway, out of sight and out of scent. We were in the process of some steady hobbling around the bedroom, with me in Jenner’s bathrobe, when Phin popped back in.
“I have to leave,” he said.
I nodded. “As soon as you know something—”
“I’ll call.” He left again before I could reply. Saying “Good luck” would have been redundant anyway. I had to trust him. Stabbing aside, he’d kept his promises. I just hated being left behind.
“Think we can get these bandages off?” I asked Wyatt. “It’s hard to know if my knee can bear weight with it wrapped up so tight.”
“Yeah, go sit.”
He retrieved a pair of scissors from the nightstand while I plunked back down on the bed. The bandages kept my legs almost completely straight, and I was eager to make sure the bones had healed right. If they hadn’t and something went down tonight, I’d be hard-pressed to help.
Wyatt knelt in front of me and raised my right leg so that my heel rested on his thigh. Inch by inch, he cut through, revealing pink skin mottled by the tight pressure of the bandages. Up past my knee to where it ended mid-thigh. I flexed, feeling only a little pull as taut muscles started to loosen. I bent the knee, twisted the ankle, and put my foot flat on the floor.
“So far, so good,” I said. “Left leg.”
He repeated the pattern, and on the surface, my left leg looked the same as my right. I moved my ankle first this time. Then lifted, bending gently at the knee. No pain. I bent it farther, drawing my thigh completely to my chest, stretching out the calf and thigh muscles. He stood and stepped back, offering his hand.
I ignored him and stood up. The gentlest twinge crawled through my left knee, but it didn’t buckle. No more aching, no more pain.
“Well?” Wyatt asked.
“Good as new.”
“Just don’t push yourself too hard.”
I couldn’t help it. I started laughing.
He scowled. “What?”
“Don’t push myself too hard? You realize you’re talking to me, right?”
“You mean telling you to be careful is like teaching a cat to read?”
“Exactly.”
He started laughing along with me, and the euphoria felt great. A release of tension and worry I hadn’t had in a while. It started in my gut and spread outward, from toes to fingertips. Tears trickled down my cheeks. I laughed so hard I lost my balance and flopped onto the bed, gasping for air.
“You need to laugh like this more often,” Wyatt said, sitting next to me.
I tried desperately to sober myself. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re beautiful when you do.”
That worked better than a bucket of ice water. The giddiness disappeared, replaced by embarrassment at his compliment. He wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of his hand. Traced a finger down to my chin. Tilted my face up. I gazed into smoldering eyes that sparkled with love. His mouth drew down toward mine, warm breath whispering over my lips—
A sharp knock on the door took that warmth away, and we both looked up. Nothing happened. Supposing they were waiting for permission, I said, “Come in.”
Michael Jenner stepped inside wearing baggy blue jeans and a brown T-shirt, with white socks on otherwise bare feet. The picture of comfort was so far removed from the uptight lawyer I’d met twice before. He even smiled, and it made his face look ten years younger.
“Ms. Stone,” he said. “You look well.”
“Almost a hundred percent.” I still leaned into Wyatt, and it was obvious what we’d been attempting. Wyatt, for his part, also remained where he was, unashamed at being caught. If anything, he drew closer to me, almost protectively. He obviously didn’t trust Jenner much.
“Your healing abilities were not exaggerated.”
“Yeah, they come in handy once in a while.” I cleared my throat. “Thank you, Mr. Jenner. For this.”
He nodded. “I may have hidden it, being not my place to influence the Assembly, but I did believe you. I do believe you. I only hope tonight’s audience swings in your favor.”
“Tonight’s audience?” My heart sped up, anticipating his response.
“You’ve been summoned to appear before the Assembly of Clan Elders to present your case.”
I very nearly leapt across the room and hugged him. Only the vaguest notion of propriety reined me in. “When?”
“One hour. I’ll drive you.”
I shot to my feet; the briefest needle poked my knee. “Does Phin know?”
“I only just received the call, and Phineas is required elsewhere. He’ll be absent from the Assembly, but his opinion is well documented and shall be voiced again by me.”
“Do you think I can convince them?” Good God, was I doubting myself in front of Jenner? Seeking his approval?
“You speak with passion, Evangeline. Like humans, Therians are guided by our emotions. We’re more alike than you think.”
I was beginning to see that and more. I was also beginning to see how the Therians were a threat to other races. With larger numbers and more diverse personalities than vampires or goblins—and with distinctly less political power than the Fey—Therians were an uncontrollable element. They rarely attacked humans, so were rarely hunted by the Triads. And we knew next to nothing about them, as I was quickly learning.
I also hadn’t forgotten his fairy-tale riddle, and, with gratitude and confidence spilling all over the room, it almost seemed like the right time to ask. Would he give me the answer? Probably not. Maybe after the Assembly ruled in my favor….
An awkward silence had settled on the room. It was my turn to speak, but I had gone off into la-la land. I said the first non-riddle-related thing that came to mind. “I’m going to need clothes.”
Jenner’s gaze flickered to Wyatt, who stood and opened a dresser drawer. Inside were neatly stacked and folded jeans, tops … Wait.
“That’s the stuff I took from my apartment,” I said, thunderstruck. “How’d it get here? I left that bag in the stairwell at the factory.”
“Phin found it last night,” Wyatt said. “He went back to see if he could track the gremlins to their new location, but no luck. The bag we tossed because it stank to high hell, but the clothes washed up.”
“What about the photo and laptop?”
He pulled the next drawer. Acrid air drifted up, and I peeked inside. One item on top of another. The photo was facedown, but I had memorized the image the first day I saw it. As I stared, heart swelling with gratitude, a thought struck me. Something I’d been missing recently without realizing.
“Wyatt, do you still have the ne—”
He dangled it in front of me, the silver cross flashing in the room’s lamplight. I hooked the chain around my finger, amazed at my attachment to the simple trinket. Part of it was Chalice’s love for her dearly departed best friend; part of it was my own fondness for the man I’d known for just a few days. It was the only physical object in my life with a sentimental value.
“I’ll let you dress,” Jenner said, and bowed out of the room.
I put on the necklace. My fingers tangled in knotty hair. I knew I’d been sponged down and smelled pretty clean, but my hair seriously needed washing. I doubted the Assembly would care about my appearance; I just despised greasy hair. I changed into clean clothes without much thought to Wyatt’s presence, choosing the nicest of the pieces that I’d grabbed. Black jeans, white tank top, and button-down short-sleeved blouse. I braided my hair into a long rope and secured it with a piece of medical tape, in lieu of an actual rubber band. And once again, I was reduced to the same blood- and soot-stained sneakers. That just couldn’t be helped.
The woman who stared back at me from the dresser mirror was rosy-cheeked and straight-backed and no longer a stranger. She’d still surprise me for a while, but I was comfortable in her skin. In my skin.
Wyatt shuffled up behind me, and I met his gaze in the mirror. “Nervous?” he asked.
“Not really. Why?”
“Because you never used to look at yourself so critically right before meeting someone for the first time.”
“That’s because I never used to care how I looked. I cut my own hair, remember?”
His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What’s changed?”
“What hasn’t?”
He slid his hands across my back and up to gently squeeze my shoulders. I leaned into him, against his chest, seeing us side by side for the first time. My brown hair and brown eyes to his black hair and black eyes. The light smattering of freckles on my nose to his five-o’clock shadow that never went away. Almost matched in height, and now much closer in age.
But below the surface of this new body, I was still an insecure, twenty-two-year-old orphan with anger-management issues and a foul mouth. I’d never felt as comfortable in Wyatt’s arms as I felt at that moment, but I feared where acceptance of that comfort—screw it, of that craving—might take us.
We’ll see where the day takes us. It had skated us close to this edge so many times—a thin border between accepting and denying—that I wanted to scream. Or to laugh at the hilarity of it all. I had a man beside me who admitted to loving me, wanting me, and I’d been given a second (third? fourth?) chance to be with him. And all I could do was stare mutely into a mirror and wonder what the hell was wrong with me.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Wyatt asked.
I barked laughter. “It’ll cost you at least a dollar.”
“Worth it.”
“I’m thinking we should go.” I spun in his arms and put my palms on his chest. His hands slid to my waist. We drew together at the same time, mouths finding each other in perfect sync. It was a gentle kiss, without the fervor of lust or need, but I still felt it in my toes. The touch and taste of him, the smell of him in my nostrils. The soft stroke of his tongue against my lips, and the way my belly quivered when his fingers pressed into my hips.
“For luck,” I said when we parted.
“Think we need more luck than that?” he asked, arching one eyebrow suggestively.
“I think it’ll tide us over. Come on, Truman, we’ve got a date with some shape-shifters.”
Michael Jenner’s house turned out to be a two-story condo in a new development ten minutes’ drive outside the city, tucked several miles west of Parkside East. Nearly in the mountains that bordered that side of the valley. He drove a Cadillac, which didn’t surprise me in the l
east, and he coasted along the winding roads like a practiced race car driver. Fast turns on sharp curves, as though exhilarated by the speed and danger.
I was enjoying myself and the view from the front seat, but Wyatt had a death grip on his door. He sat behind Jenner, at an angle from me. Every time I cast an amused smile his way, he’d glare.
As we closed in on the city, the whispering tendrils of the Break sparked brighter, and I realized just how faint it had been at Jenner’s house. Isleen was right—the center of the city, specifically the northern section of Mercy’s Lot and the mountains above, was like a beacon to those who could sense the Break. No wonder Wyatt had never moved out of the city. And leaving hadn’t done much for Chalice’s mental health.
“It won’t be like facing a panel of judges,” Jenner said when the first hints of the Uptown skyline came into view. “They won’t bite you, and they can’t sentence you. Just say what you wish to say, and then wait to be told what to do.”
“You mean either wait to be told what I want to know,” I said, “or to be told to get the hell out?”
“Yes. Most likely, though, they’ll ask you to leave the room while they argue among themselves.”
“Sounds a lot like a courtroom to me. Will Wyatt be allowed to go inside with me?”
“No, the audience is with you alone.”
Wyatt grunted his disapproval. Nothing to be done about it now.
“I don’t suppose the Assembly has anything on the name Leonard Call?” I asked.
“Nothing that they’ve shared with me, no.”
“It’s odd, since he’s been recruiting a large number of Therians.”
“True. However, my answer remains the same. If your police records were unable to produce an identity for this man, it’s likely the name is merely a front. Right now, our best option for identifying him lies with Phineas.”
“I know.” Wrapping my brain around the idea of a human turning against the Triads just made my head ache. What could have happened to make someone so angry at their own species? Granted, I’d been pissed at the Triads when they killed the Owlkins and took the last of my friends away. Stripped me of the last of my family … “Hey!”