by C. Larsen
I hear the front door shut and breathe a sigh of relief. Gray's banter is amusing, and if I'm honest with myself, I really do enjoy his company, but right now I have more important things to do, like find out why Caiden thinks he killed my mom.
Chapter 9
I spend the entire morning looking for Caiden. I try calling him, I check his house, I even get so desperate that I drive aimlessly around town looking for his car, but no luck.
Arianna might know where he is, but I was hoping to avoid that route. I doubt Caiden wants her or anyone else to know about the party last night, and though I love her, Arianna can be one of the nosiest people on the planet.
But, out of options, I finally cave and give her a call. When she answers, she sounds slightly out of breath.
"Hey Em, what's up?" Her voice is lower than usual, as if she doesn't want someone to overhear.
"Um, hey. You okay?"
"Yeah, fine," she says, voice still quiet. I hear a door close, and then she begins speaking normally. "Sorry, Ethan's over and I don't feel like getting into a fight with him right now."
"Why? He doesn't want you talking to me?" Arianna has to hide the fact that she still talks to me? What the hell?
"He's being an idiot. Just forget him. How are you holding up?"
I shrug even though she can't see me. "I’m fine. I was calling to see if you know where Caiden is. He's not answering his cell and I wanted to talk to him."
"Ooh, what about?" she asks, voice bursting with curiosity.
"I just had a question. About training..." I improvise. "Do you know where he is?"
"Oh." She sounds disappointed. "Caiden's at work until seven." I hear a voice call Arianna's name in the background. "Damn," she says, voice quiet again. "I gotta go, Em. I'll talk to you soon."
I hang up, disappointment a hollow ache in my gut. Work? I know he got a job as a waiter a few weeks back, but I don't know what restaurant it’s at. I debate calling Arianna back to ask her, but stop myself. I don't want to cause any problems for her with Ethan, even if he is being an ass. Besides, this probably isn't a conversation we should be having at his work. Guess I have no choice but to wait for him to get home.
I stew at my house, pacing around restlessly and counting down the minutes until seven.
I love you.
I killed your mom.
At a quarter to seven I hop in my car and drive the ten minutes to his house. It doesn't look like he's home yet; there are no lights on in the house and the driveway’s empty.
Huddling into my jacket, I hunker down in my car and await Caiden's return. The sky is dark tonight, a new moon. Without any competition, the stars shine all the brighter. I watch the tall pines in the distance, their peaks swaying in the breeze, brushing against the canopy of stars above.
I hiss out a breath as the harsh glare of headlights blinds me. Shielding my face, I squint into the glare and try to calm my nerves.
Caiden's home.
He pulls into his driveway, climbs out of his car, then turns and stares across the street at my car.
Well, I guess he's noticed me. No use hiding out in here; now is the moment of truth.
I climb out of my Bimmer and slowly walk up the drive, giving myself time to prepare. Despite the darkness of the night, I can make out every detail of Caiden's face. I nearly lose my nerve at the cold expression I see.
"Hey," I say, stopping a few feet away.
He nods once, tersely.
"How are you feeling?”
"Fine. Aspirin helped." His words are clipped. I expect him to invite me in. I know he can see me shivering, but he doesn't say a word. I can’t understand why he’s acting so cold. Is he embarrassed about last night?
"I thought they might. But couldn't you just have, you know..." I wave my fingers in the air near my forehead. "Took care of the headache yourself. I mean, if we can heal concussions and stab wounds, surely we can heal hangovers too, right?"
His face remains motionless, body stiff. "Yes, we can do that, but it's difficult for a witch to heal themselves. The pain makes it too hard to focus, so unless there's another witch around who's able and willing, we have to rely on modern medicine." His voice is flat, monotone, like he's reading out of a textbook.
"Well, if you hadn't snuck out so early I could have done it. Instead, you chose to suffer. Did you really want to avoid me that badly?"
"I didn't want to wake Gray," Caiden says with the first hint of emotion. "Was he comfortable in your bed?"
My lips part at his insinuation, delivered in such an insulting tone. "Gray wasn't in my bed."
"He was in your room."
"He slept on the floor."
As his eyes hold mine a slight pressure forms near my temples.
"Checking to see if I'm lying?" Indignation flares up inside me, burning deep in my chest.
Instead of answering he says, "You really shouldn't let him get too close. No matter what he tells you, he's still an animal."
"Are you kidding? How can you say that? Gray carted your ass home last night because you were too drunk to stand up straight, and you say that about him?"
"It's a fact, Emerson. He's a werewolf. Gray, Sebastian, Olivia. All of them. They may look human, but they're not. They're dangerous animals who could kill you in a heartbeat and not feel a shred of remorse."
I stare at him, mouth agape. Eyes like green chips of ice stare back, cold and unrepentant. "You don't mean that. I know you and Sebastian have had your problems, but Olivia? You can't truly believe my best friend would kill me and not care."
"Of course she could. She's nothing but a beast in human form.”
"If you hate werewolves so much, why are you pushing for me to go to Ashwood?"
"I want you in Ashwood so Madelyn's coven can protect you. That doesn't mean I trust the werewolves, no matter what they say about a truce. Given half a chance, they'll rip you open like they did Lydia."
I have no idea how to respond. I've never seen him so angry, so bigoted, so unreasonable. "They saved my life that night. You know that. You were there."
"I'm sure they had their own reasons. Even you can't be so naïve to think they saved you out of the kindness of their hearts. They're beasts. They don't have hearts."
Apparently I underestimated his hatred for werewolves. I knew he didn’t like them, but after they helped us against Caroline, I thought his prejudice had started to soften. Guess I was wrong.
"Look, I didn't come here to argue about werewolves or Madelyn or Ashwood Creek."
"Then why did you come here?" He looks at me with no expression, his face closed off. Can this be the same guy who said he loved me last night? Did I imagine it?
"Last night," I begin, looking down to avoid his cold stare, "you said some things. You said you blamed yourself, for Lydia, for my mom…" I can't bring myself to repeat his actual words. Not with him looking at me with such disdain in his eyes.
"I blame myself for a lot of things. Lydia, Caroline, that whole night."
"Caiden, none of that was your fault. Caroline is to blame. She's responsible for all of it. Not you."
"I should have seen it," he says, frustration leaking into his voice and cracking his carefully constructed façade. "You were right. You were right all along, and I was too stubborn to believe you."
"Caiden—"
"You told me there was something wrong with Caroline's explanation, that Michael's story about the night your mom was killed didn't add up. God, even the fact that Lydia and the others couldn't remember that night, that my own memories of it were blurry and disjointed, should have told me that something wasn't right."
He runs a hand through his messy hair, jaw clenched. His anger comes as a relief. Anger I can handle. That distant, uncaring mask he wears scares me. It's like he's unreachable. Impenetrable.
"And every time we went to see Caroline, your emotional grid would jump all over the place. I saw it, I wondered what was going on, but I ignored it. Just chalked it up to stress
. But she was manipulating you, right in front of me! Stoking your anger, your need for revenge. Trying to coax you into the blood bond, and using my own powers to do it!"
My eyebrows rise; this is news to me. I had no idea of the depth of Caroline’s manipulation.
"All the signs were there," Caiden continues angrily. "I should have known. You kept telling me something wasn't right, but I wouldn't listen. I just kept swallowing her lies. Wouldn't even consider the idea that she might have been hiding something."
"That doesn't make it your fault."
He turns his snapping eyes to mine. "I convinced you to blood bond yourself to Caroline. That ritual never would have happened if I hadn't insisted you go through with it. I almost got you killed, too."
"But Caroline didn't kill me. You got there in time. You saved me."
"I killed your mother," he snaps angrily.
I flinch before catching myself. "You said that last night, but you know that's not true. Caroline killed her," I say, anxiety pooling in my gut. "She said so herself."
"I'm just as responsible as she is." He meets my eyes, his own full of guilt and self-disgust.
"What do you mean?" Chills skitter up my spine.
"She used my power to do it," Caiden says, his voice low with suppressed guilt. "The power I gave her when I blood-bound myself to her years ago. She killed Elizabeth in front of the whole coven, then wiped our memories. Why do you think no one else remembers that night but me? Caroline tried to wipe out my memories too, but it didn't work right, because she used my ability to do it! I still had a few fuzzy memories of that night, though I couldn’t remember all of it until I broke into her mind the night of the ritual. She killed Elizabeth using the power I gave her! Your mom is dead because of me."
"No—" My voice catches. "It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known what she would do." I reach for him, but he jerks away.
"And now Lydia's gone too." His voice cracks.
"It's not your fault, Caiden." I step closer to him, ignoring the way he recoils from me. "What happened to my mom, to Lydia, it wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was." He shakes his head angrily. "I'm the one who brought the werewolves to the clearing, trying to save you, and those animals killed Lydia instead." Moisture gathers in his eyes before he turns away, hiding his face. "I couldn't heal her. I tried, but I couldn't. She was too far gone."
I bite my lip, devastated to see him in so much pain. "Caiden, you can't blame yourself for what other people did. You didn't kill Lydia. You aren't to blame."
"Yes, I am," he says, back still to me. "And so are you."
I flinch back as if he slapped me. "Me?"
When he turns to meet my gaze, his face is cold again, expressionless. "If we hadn't gone to Ashwood to begin with, none of this would have happened. Lydia would still be alive."
"Caiden, you can’t—"
"I let you talk me into going, so I'm just as responsible as you are. What happened to Lydia, it's both our faults. I will never forgive myself for what I did. And I can never forgive you either."
I stare at him in shock. Is this why he's been pulling away? Because, like Ethan, like the rest of the coven, he blames me too?
After everything happened, Caiden was one of the few people I thought I could still count on. One of the few people I thought cared about me, even though he insisted we were just friends.
Hearing him say these things to me, it's like a dagger straight through my chest.
"Caiden." I reach out to touch his arm, but he steps out of reach, his mask fully in place again.
"Don't," he warns. "Just—don't." He looks me straight in the eyes, his own filled with guilt, anger, and, most of all, accusation. "Leave. Go to Vermont, Emerson. Go with Madelyn, and stay there. Before another war breaks out and even more of my friends die because of you."
He gives me one last level look, then turns and disappears into his house.
Somehow, I manage to get back to my own house before the tears begin to fall.
Caiden blames me for Lydia. Blames me for going to Ashwood and bringing the pack down on the coven.
He's right. I know that. I was reckless. I didn't listen. I know a portion of the blames rests squarely on my shoulders, despite what I've said to Caiden about Caroline being responsible. I know it, but I don't want to believe it.
Everyone close to me gets hurt. My dad was attacked. Olivia seriously injured. Gray almost died trying to save me. Lydia was killed. I know I am, at least in part, responsible for each of these horrible incidents.
I'm a curse. No one around me is safe.
And now Caiden hates me.
Blames me.
Will never forgive me.
I swipe at the tears on my face and stomp into the kitchen, his words replaying over and over again in my head.
If we hadn't gone to Ashwood, none of this would have happened. Lydia would still be alive...
I can never forgive you...
Digging around in the back of the silverware drawer for the key, I head for the liquor cabinet in the living room.
I love you...
Never forgive you...
Rhythmic thumping pounds through my body. Unlocking the glass fronted doors, I snatch a bottle of Gray Goose from the shelf. The glass is cool in my hand. I grip the bottle so hard I can feel my pulse beating in my palm.
My ears ring, a high-pitched whine drowning out Caiden's words. Something wild and primal surges, a naked aggression overtaking me.
With a roar, I throw the bottle as hard as I can. A thrill goes through me at the crash it makes against the wall.
Glass shards rain down, vodka spraying everywhere, rivulets of it streaming down the walls. I smile, a feral, angry baring of teeth, and reach for another bottle.
Southern Comfort. This bottle is thicker, the heft in my hand spurring on the wild impulse.
As this one shatters, warm, caramel liquid paints the wall next to the Gray Goose, it's sharp, bitter scent enveloping me. I breathe it in, sucking it deep into my lungs. Then I grab another bottle. And another. And another.
Each crash, each spray of alcohol and glass, feeds the monster raging inside of me. But it's not enough. I need more. Giving in to the wildness inside, I seize the antique wooden cabinet, anger giving me strength I never knew I had. The crash it makes as the wood splinters and the glass front shatters into a million pieces gives me a rush of satisfaction.
But then, like a lightning bolt, something inside me cracks. The beast deep inside grabs me in its claws, squeezing tight. A tidal wave of pure, animalistic fury takes over my body, sending fire shooting down my nerves.
Something's wrong... This isn't normal. What's happening to me?
Instinctively, I reach out with my mind.
Despite the horrible accusations he just flung at me, I call out to Caiden, terror overriding any other feeling, but he’s too far away. I can’t contact him. I try for Arianna, but she’s not within reach either.
A scream of agony rips through me and I double over in pain.
Out of options, I frantically search the surrounding area for any mind I might be able to reach. Black spots begin blurring my vision when I finally find someone within range.
*Gray!* I scream, my voice blasting through his mind.
I watch in horror as my limbs begin contorting, bones popping, shifting, realigning themselves. I shriek again and the lights explode, pitching me into darkness.
My hands and knees press into the plush white carpet beneath me as I gasp for air, tears of pain and fear making warm, wet tracks down my cheeks.
Another scream rips through me and the ceiling above cracks. Bits of dry wall rain down around me. I glance up and see a tiny fissure running through it. Not enough to cave it in. Not yet. But another outburst like that and who knows what could happen...
I fix my gaze on my hands digging into the carpet in front of me, trying to block out the pain and terror engulfing me. I have no idea what's happening to my body, but I kno
w I need to get control of my emotions before the whole house comes crashing down on my head.
I called Gray; he'll come. We'll figure out what's going on. I just need to keep it together until then...
As I think this, a sharp pain at the tips of my fingers makes me gasp, threatening to break my control. Blood wells up from under my nails, scarlet circles blooming on the white carpet below.
Teeth clenched, I try to keep in a shriek. Then huge, pointed claws erupt from my nail beds and I can't stop screaming.
Chapter 10
I huddle in the corner of the now destroyed living room. Strips of white fabric dangle from the shredded couches, clinging to them like grotesque Christmas garlands. Chunks of foam litter the room, nearly obscuring the liquor cabinet lying broken and shattered against the wall. Despite the darkness around me, I can still make out every glittering shard of glass, every rust colored stain on the now ruined carpet.
And we just got the stains out from the last nightmare, I think, feeling oddly detached from the scene. There's no salvaging it after this...
My gaze idly traces the bloody paw prints and tufts of white fibers popping up here and there on the carpet where my new, razor sharp claws tore into it.
I couldn't have done that... couldn't have left those prints... there must be another explanation...
A whine escapes me and I huddle further into the corner between the wall and the sofa chair, its ruined cushions partially hiding me. My gaze falls on my large white paws and another whine escapes.
My eyes squeeze shut and I rock back and forth, burying my face in my arms. The unfamiliar jut of a snout on my furry arms jolts my head back up and I try to burrow even deeper into my den.
This can't be happening. This can't be happening, I chant to myself over and over again, as if saying it enough might make it true.
An SUV rumbles down the street, its headlights slicing through the shredded curtains hanging in the window as the vehicle screeches to a halt out front.
Heavy footsteps pound up the porch stairs. A moment later the door crashes open. I hunch my shoulders, trying to make myself even smaller.