Lili St Crow - Reckoning

Every inch of good feeling I’d managed to scrape together ran out like water from a busted glass. “He’s leaving?”

Was it possible for her to look any more uncomfortable? She actually wouldn’t meet my eyes, looking down like the floor was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

“Nat.” I crossed my arms over my stomach. “Please.”

“He might already be gone.” She still wouldn’t look at me. “He didn’t want you to see him, thought it would be easier—”

Oh, no. No. Shit all over that . I was past her, suddenly, grabbing for the doorknob. It wasn’t locked, so I yanked the door open and ran out into the hall. The touch lit up inside my head, and I swear I could taste his blood again, sliding down my throat. Moonlight and that strawberry incense, and something that wasn’t an identifiable taste. It was just him , my Goth Boy, and I pounded down the corridor, hearing shouts behind me. Nat, and of course Benjamin and the others.

It didn’t matter.

I just ran .

Have you ever had that dream where you’re running, but you can’t move fast enough? Where the entire world is wet concrete, glorping around you, while you’re searching for something and knowing you won’t ever find it? Heart pounding, stitch grabbing your ribs with clawed fingers, the breath tearing in and out of your lungs while everything around you is suddenly, eerily slow?

But I had the touch , and I burst out the front door of the Schola just as the black SUVs were rousing themselves. Two of them, just starting to pull away.

“ No! ” I yelled, skidding to a stop. “ NO! ”

The brake lights popped on. They sat there and idled for a few seconds. My hands were fists at my sides, and my cheeks were wet. My hair was probably an unholy mess, and my feet throbbed. Of course—I was only in socks. Goddammit.

“No.” I stared at the cars. The touch settled, feathers brushing up and down my entire body. “No. Please, no.”

The second SUV’s engine cut off. The back passenger door opened, and he slid out slowly.

Like an old man.

Black jeans, black T-shirt, boots, no long black coat now. Instead it was a hip-length leather jacket, probably borrowed from Shanks.

My sock feet crunched in gravel. I was off the steps in a heart-beat, and he met me halfway. I grabbed him like he was a lifering, and I realized the yelling was me.

“ No , goddammit, you can’t leave , not just like that, you just can’t ! You can’t just leave me!”

“Calm down ,” he began, but I ran right over the top of him.

“Calm down? I don’t think so! What the hell are you thinking? What the fucking hell is wrong with you? You can’t just leave me here and ride off into the sunset, for fuck’s sake! What do you think you’re—”

“Dru.” He tried to untangle himself, but I held on grimly. “Come on. Take a breath. Let me explain.”

“I wish you would !” I yelled. I grabbed the front of his jacket and actually shook him. His hair swung, I shook him so hard. “I wish you goddamn well would explain, for once!”

“Dru.” Sharp, now. “Shut up.”

I did. I held onto his jacket and planted my feet. Stared at the notch of the top of his sternum, where the collarbones met it. Coppery skin on his throat, vulnerable because he’d just shaved. There were two little red marks on his throat, but I didn’t want to look at them. They were right over his pulse, and I’d put them there. So I just stared at that notch instead.

Silence. It was a beautiful summer morning, and my heart was on fire and cracking at the same time.

“Is it because I suck blood?” I said, finally. In a very small voice. “Because that’s disgusting. I know.”

His fingers curled around my shoulders. It was his turn to shake me, twice, my head bobbling a little bit. “No. Dru, dammit, look at me. Look.”

I looked up.

His eyes were still green. But there were huge dark circles under them, and his jaw was set. He looked like he was in pain, and his cheeks were hollowed out.

He looked awful.

But the corner of his mouth tilted up slightly, and there was a shadow of the Graves I knew. He let go of me long enough to dig in his coat pocket, and when he pulled out a battered pack of Pall Malls I wasn’t surprised.

I let go of him. He lit up, inhaled deeply, and offered me the smoke. I shook my head, my nose wrinkling, and the small smile got a bit larger.

Just a bit.

When I was just about to grab him and start screaming with frustration again, he lowered the cigarette. Twin dragons of smoke curled out of his nostrils. “It’s not you.” His shoulders hunched. “Cliché. Sorry. I wanted it to be easier on you. Because I . . . there’s some things you can’t fix, Dru. You’re great at fixing things. If anyone could do it, you could. But you can’t do this one.” A long pause, and he swallowed, hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing. “You can’t fix me. I’m broke.”

“You’re not making any sense.” The rock in my throat made it hard to talk.

“Sergej.” His face twisted for a moment. “He was inside my head , Dru. It wasn’t the vampires that burned your grandmother’s house. It was me.”

I just stared at him, my mouth ajar.

“Christophe caught me. I couldn’t . . . I couldn’t fight him off. Not all the way.”

“But I . . .” I fixed that! I cleaned it away!

I wanted to yell it. But deep down, I knew better.

You can scrub and scrub, but sometimes something doesn’t just go away. It . . . it stains you. Like finding your father’s ambulatory corpse on your back step, and shooting him over and over because he means to kill you.

He was a zombie, right? He would have killed me.

But he was my dad , and I’d done that. I’d done it, and something inside me was yanked sideways. There wasn’t any going back, and there wasn’t a way to feel clean again.

Maybe it was the touch telling me this. Frustration swamped me, hot and harsh. “It’s my fault.” My hands twitched. I wanted to grab him again, but I restrained myself. “If I hadn’t—”

“Don’t .” A subvocal thunder slid out of him, a wulfen’s warning growl. I froze. “Don’t you dare . Sometimes shit just happens , Dru. It’s not your fault. It never was.” He tossed the cigarette, a flick of his fingers sending it in a perfect arc. The sunshine beat down on both of us, the dead dyed-black mass of his hair swallowing it.

When he took my shoulders again, it was gentle. He drew me forward and slid his arms around me, and I hugged him. He was too skinny, feverish–hot with a loup-garou ’s heightened metabolism. A thin sick tremor ran through him, like a high-voltage wire right before it snaps.

“Listen,” he said into my hair. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen good.”

I nodded, breathing him in, my face in his chest. Squeezed my eyes shut.

His breath was a warm spot in my wet hair. The breeze swirled around us, full of the green growing of summer and cut grass. “I’m coming back. But I got to fix myself. The wulfen, they’ll help. But here’s the thing, Dru. I’m not worth you.” He took a deep breath, and the way his arms tightened made the protest die in my throat. “But I’m gonna be. I told you before, but you didn’t understand. Hell, you might not understand now. But you’ve got to trust me on this one.” His arms tightened. “You have got to let me go. Can you do that?”

It’s not fair! I wanted to stamp and scream and hit something. Instead, I swallowed, hard. Had to try twice before the words would come. “Do you promise? To come back?”