House of Slide Hybrid

by Juliann Whicker

  “We aren’t going out tonight,” Satan growled at her, and for a second it almost sounded like a date before I remembered where they went and with who. Osmond. I felt another twist in my stomach as I loudly crunched more ice.

  “And to think I was going to wear my new black harness tonight. I guess I’ll have to settle for going to an actual party. Do you want to go?” she asked me, almost as an afterthought. I looked up at her, before she shook her head. “Just kidding. You don’t want to go because the sound system will be fantastic until you show up and turn it to goo. It’s mostly just a work party with the people on different committees anyway,” she said, like she was trying to let me down easy.

  I frowned at her, trying to figure out if I was disappointed or relieved that I didn’t get to go to parties. The last party I’d been to hadn’t really been much fun, what with the blood and killing.

  “Maybe after I’m trained I’ll go to parties.” Would I ever be able to do that: go to parties, go to concerts? Right then I wanted to get out, to be alone and breathe cold air.

  She smiled, like she actually liked that idea, which made it feel less like a personal insult, that she didn’t want me to hang out with her other more normal friends. “And you can bring your Intended to keep anything too interesting from happening.” She turned away laughing while I felt that twist of uneasiness. The idea of Lewis was so real, so serious. She was wrong anyway, it wouldn’t be me bringing Lewis to a party, but him bringing me. Somehow there was a distinction there, something that Valerie was completely right about.

  “So, what’s up with Lewis being my Intended? What does that even mean, why didn’t anyone ask me if I wanted that, and why would he ever agree to it?” I asked Satan, trying to sound as serious and like my mother as I could. Mostly I sounded whiny, but maybe it was because my tongue was numb from the ice.

  “The boy saw you without a chaperone, so it was either call him out or offer him a position as your Intended. Wilds like to look forward to eventualities, and the circumstances around this, him coming to defend your honor, or life, whichever he was doing, and your pursuit of him…”

  “You call him boy, but he’s older than you, isn’t he? Anyway, I wanted to check out his garage for clues, not actually see him. And he wasn’t defending my honor or anything else. He just wanted to beat you up. Can’t really blame him,” I said, feeling an irresistible urge to throw ice cubes at his bald head.

  He grinned at me, reminding me of his bloody skull the night before. “He trespassed on Slide property, improperly pruned one of Mother’s favorite rose bushes, and assaulted the Son of the House. Also, he didn’t run when he had the chance. All this adds up to one powerful Hybrid that is going to be involved one way or another. The decision is something like, do we give him something to do that keeps you safer and makes the House more powerful, or do we let him lurk around the edges no use to anyone and a menace to society—your society in particular. As for asking you, well darlin’, what do you think?”

  I glared at him, not able to come up with any valid argument except to say, “You didn’t ask me before it was agreed that he would be my Intended if conditions were met. I don’t even know what Intended means. Is it serious, like an engagement, or is it something more like bodyguard?”

  “There are levels to relationships in a Wild House. Intended is after acknowledged and before promised. Engaged is formal but rarely broken, so he’s on the way to being something serious, but not serious yet. There are plenty of chances to change your mind on the way. Your mother was Intended to someone then met your father…”

  “And was disowned by the House,” my mother’s cool, clear voice made me jump.

  Satan looked guilty for talking about her.

  “Everything is serious with Wild’s, Dari. Everything. Tomorrow is the Intending ceremony, and you’ll get a chance to see firsthand just how serious they are about things.” She proceeded to put away groceries, helped by my uncle whose jaw clenched like he bit something back.

  I left the room, veering out the front door instead of going up the stairs to my room. I had to get out, to think, to breathe, to feel cold air on my face and in my lungs.

  I grabbed a coat from the hall closet. As I pulled it on, the smell stopped me, my brother’s scent still clinging to his coat. The smell made me dizzy with memories, with ache and anger. I blinked back tears as I hung up the coat and stumbled up the stairs to my bed. I ignored the call of the night, staring at my Axel painting where it swirled and sang on my wall, curled up in a ball until I finally fell asleep.

  Chapter 8

  The Intending Ceremony was a formal occasion, my mother told me as she stood beside me the next morning in front of my closet, looking at the rows of old fashioned dresses in rich jewel colors from my dad’s attic in front of the black that covered the back of my closet.

  “You should have stopped at Slider’s while you were in the city,” my mother said, putting her hands on her hips.

  “You were driving,” was all I said.

  She turned her head to look at me levelly, her dark blue eyes glimmering with something maybe dangerous, maybe something else. “A woman should always be prepared for a formal occasion.” She pursed her lips as she turned her attention back to my closet. “Wear what you like, since one thing is probably as good as another.”

  I watched as she turned towards the door, apparently surrendering to the impossibility of making me Wild. I felt a surge of depression as she left the room then I began to imagine the possibilities of wearing ‘what I liked’ and began to feel positively giddy.

  I dressed cheerfully, checking my reflection to make sure that everything went with my blue hair until I went to find my mother in her room to ask her to put makeup on me that matched my outfit. When she saw my amazing garb, she didn’t say anything, only shook her head before gesturing me to sit. I watched her search in the back of her drawer until she pulled out tubes and jars of colorful powders I’d never seen before. She told me to close my eyes, and I relaxed in her chair, letting her capable hands do her magic on my face. When she finished and I looked in the mirror, I was not the supernaturally beautiful girl from Homecoming, but a pixie with shimmery eye-shadow and silver mascara that went with my sparkly tights and tulle purple skirt, and of course, my new pink pony t-shirt on top. I grinned at my mother, relieved that she wasn’t trying to make me Wild, that she’d go along with whatever I wanted to pretend I was.

  “Thanks,” I said, and was surprised when she bent forward and brushed my forehead with a kiss. She smelled like powder and chalk dust, but mostly like the air the moment before it rained.

  I closed my eyes, holding onto that smell until she said, “It’s time, Dari.”

  The drive beside my mother was intensely long and very quiet. She wore a black suit, her pants somehow as alluring and feminine as a skirt would have been on most people.

  “So, you had an Intending Ceremony with my Trainer?” I asked to break the silence.

  She gasped as she looked at me, and a slight frown marred the skin between her eyebrows before she looked back at the road. “Yes, I suppose, but that was before I met your father.”

  “What was it like?”

  “The Intending Ceremony?”

  “Yes,” I said, fiddling with my skirt. It made a statement, but I wasn’t sure it was really me. I felt like I was dressing up.

  “I accepted his suit,” she said, coldly.

  “But you didn’t love him? Did you know him before the House accepted him as your Intended?”

  “So many questions.”

  “So few answered,” I responded, giving her a sweet smile that made her raise an eyebrow then sigh.

  “I thought I loved him. He had a great deal of charisma. He was a musician, poet, horticulturalist.” She sounded wistful as she talked about him.

  “But not as cool as Dad.”

  She shook her head. “Your father offered me something I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Love?”

/>   She glanced at me, a soft look in her eyes. “You. You and your brother. I wouldn’t have had children with Matthew.”

  “Why not?”

  The softness turned hard. “It turns out that they’re both too Cool for me. I expect loyalty from those I give my trust.”

  I swallowed and felt sorry for those who betrayed the dangerous woman called my mother. I let the silence fill the car for the rest of the ride, practicing the breathing exercises I’d learned as a Hotblood.

  Finally the city came into view then we took the exit towards the rich part of town, my mother’s big black car having no trouble climbing the hill in spite of icy conditions. “Can you make the weather sunny?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my body in my puffy coat, wishing that there was something besides butterflies in my stomach. I’d tried not to think about it, about the idea of Lewis, my mother’s House, being Intended to Lewis in a ceremony that for all I knew involved blood and pain. It made my stomach ache to think about it, or maybe it was growling because I hadn’t been able to eat any of the pancakes my mother had made for breakfast.

  I should have been hungry because it was around noon when we passed through the tall wrought iron gates and drove up the meandering drive to the tall mansion that I sometimes had nightmares about. Grim stood at the bottom of the steps as we drove up, all in black, and opened my door for me with a bow before he took my hand, helping me out of the car like I couldn’t manage it myself. I rolled my eyes right before I slipped on the ice and with a gasp had to catch myself on his wiry arm.

  “Welcome to Slide,” he said, his voice a monotone that didn’t reflect the amusement in his eyes as he looked from me to the ice.

  “Some more welcome than others,” my mother said, coming around the car in her heels without the slightest unsteadiness. “Grim, lead on,” she said in her commanding tone, but she took the arm he offered her so that we ascended the stairs together.

  “If one person falls, we’ll all go down together,” I said.

  “What is a House without unity?” Grim asked, apparently having a hilarious day. I glanced up at him to see his impassive face, his large dark eyes, and his mouth, thin and straight except for a slight quiver I couldn’t be certain of.

  Inside the large double doors, I was pulled by Grim and my mother into a small room off to the side of the foyer where I took off my coat and Grim got to take in the marvelous sight that was me.

  “The pony matches your hair,” he noted, his nod serious like if it hadn’t matched there would be dire consequences.

  I felt uncomfortable when I looked down and saw my outfit. I didn’t look serious. Whatever else it was, this Intending should be serious.

  “Your suit matches yours,” I said, focusing on him, noticing that his black suit looked crisp and sharply tailored, unlike the usual dingy suits I’d seen him in. I felt like there was a funeral somewhere that he would go to after the Intended thing, or maybe they had Lewis’ all planned out if things didn’t go according to schedule. I smoothed down the tulle skirt pointlessly.

  We left our coats to walk down a broad hall until we came to a closed door made of dark nearly black wood that matched the trim. My mother and Grim stood patiently as I waited for someone to do something until I finally said, “Nice door. It has beautiful woodwork.”

  “This is the second tea parlor,” my mother said conversationally.

  “Go ahead,” Grim said gesturing but making no move to open it.

  I had a moment of terror as my stomach free fell, like I was falling over the edge of the cliff with no one to catch me. My fingers curled around the doorknob then turned it, swinging the door open. Falling, falling, falling until I found the eyes of my soulmate standing in the middle of the room, holding a tea cup but looking more like a wild creature trapped and snared in his black suit.

  His eyes glowed and I felt my lips burn in answer, until he looked down, into the depth of his tea. I took two steps into the room, forgetting my mother and Grim until the latch clicked behind me. Grim and my mother had abandoned me, but then again, I wasn’t sure I cared.

  I stood there with half the room between us for five heartbeats before I could think of something to say.

  “Hi.”

  He looked up, shifting his shoulders unconsciously, as if he resented the constraint of the suit that covered his contours like a glove. He looked young compared to Grim up close and in the daylight. It seemed impossible that he was any older than Osmond as he stood, stiff and formal in his suit.

  He almost smiled, but then it was like he caught himself and frowned instead at the cup in his hand. “I hate tea.”

  I followed his gaze to the tea cup in his hand, so fragile looking in the scarred hands that looked like they wanted to crush something, hands that didn’t seem young at all. I felt a wave of weird dizziness, like I wasn’t sure where I was exactly and what I was supposed to say.

  “Can I get you something else? Hot chocolate, maybe?” I took a step towards him, searching his face for a flicker of amusement, familiarity.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, sounding strangely unemotional.

  I shrugged. “It depends on the tea. At least it’s hot. I can’t get used to being cold all the time without your soul,” I said, trying to laugh.

  “Please, take mine,” he said as he stepped forward, holding the cup towards me, almost a challenge in his eyes, daring me to come and take his tea and his soul.

  I studied him curiously as I crossed the floor, taking the cup with a gasp as my fingers brushed his.

  Our eyes met and his gaze felt so hot it made my tea seem positively tepid. The moment drew out as taut as a kite string as we stood, staring at each other, nothing more than a teacup with scalding tea between us.

  “You look different today. Young. Too young for Training not to mention Tattoos. What are you doing here, Dariana? You should be enjoying your innocence with a nice boy, not throwing it all away on someone like me.”

  I took a sip of tea, ducking my head so I wouldn’t have to see the fury in his eyes, but I could still feel the heat emanating from him. I wanted to step forward and drown in the heat, and also, I wanted to drink more tea because it was spicy, hot, and kind of tasted like him. His words filled me with dread, a knot that twisted in my stomach. I should not have dressed like this, like a child incapable of making choices and dealing with consequences.

  “I’m older than I was the last time you kissed me by several hours. Maybe I’ll be old enough for you tomorrow.” I turned to the side so I could have some space for my thoughts, cradling my cup in my hands as I stood enjoying his warmth and ignoring his frown. I wanted to relax against him and forget about age and trust. He felt so hot, so furious.

  “You could be dead by then.”

  I put one hand lightly on his shoulder, feeling the heat of him through the suit, but not quite hot enough to burn my fingers. “Your clothes are going to catch on fire.” I smiled, but he didn’t smile back, only looked at me with that impassive face.

  “At the moment, I’m trying to not remember the other evening and how it ended. Thoughts of you raise my temperature drastically.”

  I removed my hand, focusing on my tea instead of him. “Dangerous thoughts, indeed. Did you know,” I said interrupting my sipping, “That once I stole someone’s soul—ripped it right out of him, with a single kiss? That’s a morality tale that should keep you awake at night.”

  “Thoughts of kissing you keep me awake constantly. I’m in a state of perpetual exhaustion due to your mouth. You make drinking tea look very good.”

  I stopped drinking tea, instead staring at him, at the way the suit fit him like a glove, making him look more perfectly extraordinary than usual. He looked right in the suit even if he shifted uncomfortably.

  “Are you flirting with me or insulting me?” I asked, frowning at him. “Maybe you’re suffering from buyer’s remorse. Maybe you wish that you hadn’t lost your temper with Satan and gotten involved with Wild Houses. What will th
ey do to you if you don’t agree to be my bodyguard?”

  “Not bodyguard. Intended. Has anyone explained to you what that means?”

  “Satan said, there are different levels of Intention, that it’s a step towards something, but only a beginning step to something more serious.”

  He smiled. He’d gotten so close to me that I could feel the warmth of him beside me, glowing eyes studying me intently. I couldn’t look away as I remembered the pressure of his mouth on mine, his heat as it roared through me. I blinked, realizing that he was close, almost touching as he reached into his coat and pulled out a beautiful gleaming knife.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, stepping away from the dagger with the curved blade that looked like it was designed for slitting throats.

  “This is an Intending ceremony. Since the House chose me, I have the honor to offer you my blade.”

  I stared at him, at the way he was half bowed, the knife balanced on his forearm as he held it out for me, handle first. The handle was beautiful, all scrollwork and embedded stones that were probably precious the way they glittered beneath the chandelier.

  “It was my father’s knife. It’s a little bit gaudy, but still perfectly balanced with a blade capable of cutting through the toughest hide.”

  I looked past the knife to his face to the eyes that burned but didn’t give anything else away. I almost smelled the blood beneath his skin, remembered the color when he’d cut through his flesh so easily, offering me his blood.

  I swallowed hard. “I can’t accept your knife, not when you don’t really want to be allied with Slide.”

  He frowned, the heat in his eyes icing over as he stared at me.

  “Is there another you’d prefer over me?”

  I thought of Osmond, of the imprint in the rock and felt my stomach twist with guilt. I shook my head, trying to stop thinking about Osmond. I hadn’t actually kissed him.

  “Of course not. I just don’t see the point of accepting your offer after you’ve made it clear that you don’t want to make it.”