Kelly Meding - As Lie the Dead

The corners of his mouth quirked, like he knew a joke he wasn’t sharing.

“What?”

The quirk turned into a full smile. “In probably the strangest turn of events while you were sleeping, Phin opened a spare bedroom to someone else we both know who is currently homeless.”

I stared at him, mind blank. We knew a homeless person? My confusion only seemed to amuse Wyatt more, and I contemplated a swift punch in the arm to make him tell. Then I got it. “Rufus?”

“Yup. Phineas admitted to being responsible for the fire that killed Nadia and burned down half the building, then he made his peace offering. Given Rufus’s proclivity toward martyrdom, I was surprised he accepted. They seem to have reached a tentative truce—especially now that the Assembly has officially pardoned Rufus for his actions against the Owlkins, at Phin’s insistence.”

Something caught in my throat, and, for a moment, I thought it was a sob. Instead, a bubble of laughter erupted, so loud that Wyatt jumped. I tried to stop and couldn’t. The euphoria of that single giggle multiplied into dozens more, and I launched myself at Wyatt, catching him in a bear hug. He grunted, nearly falling off the bed.

“What is all this?” he asked, arms looping around my waist.

I squeezed his shoulders, laughing like a lunatic, tears streaming down my cheeks. “We did it,” I managed between euphoric guffaws. “My promise to protect Aurora’s baby and to save Rufus’s life. We did it.”

He finally started laughing along. As I sobered, I pressed my face into his neck, inhaling him and the hint of cinnamon I loved so much. Heady and male and just a little sweet. I never wanted to let go.

The militia was down, not out, although I doubted they’d start any trouble in the near future. Leaderless, they would be a nuisance more than a real threat. With Call/Cole’s unmasking, we’d found so many more answers to the events that had brought us where we were. Maybe I’d finally get the hot, soothing shower and week-long nap I craved.

Then again, I’d slept the majority of the last five days.

Five days. Last Friday. There was something I still hadn’t done. A promise made and not kept.

“You tensed up,” Wyatt said, no longer laughing. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s something I’m forgetting.”

I pulled back to arm’s length, studying him. Hoping to find the answer in his eyes. So familiar and warm. Loving. Everyone was accounted for, the scorecard checked and rechecked. It all added up in our favor. Still, something niggled at the back of my mind.

He tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Eleri pulled through, is that it?”

I’d forgotten all about her. “I’m sure Isleen’s happy, but no. I just can’t—Leo!” Freaking duh! “Is he still at his motel?”

“Phin moved him to another one closer to his apartment,” he replied, nodding in understanding. “Since Felix knew where it was, we thought Leo would be safer somewhere else. Just in case.”

“Has he been drinking?”

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. We aren’t monitoring him, Evy. He’s a grown man.”

I grabbed his shirt, bunching the fabric at his shoulders. “I promised I’d talk to him in a few days, Wyatt. He’s an alcoholic, and I said I’d tell him about Alex.”

“Hey, calm down.” He pried my hands out of his shirt and clasped them together in his. “If Leo Forrester starts drinking again, it’s not your fault. It’s his and no one else’s. Okay?”

I nodded, trying to take the words to heart. “I’m going to tell him the truth, Wyatt.”

He didn’t respond for several beats, his jaw working without making a sound. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

“Not really, but he saw the were-cats. He already lost his wife and daughter. He deserves to know what happened to his son.”

“You don’t think learning his son was infected by a vampire bite will make him drink?”

I lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. It wasn’t something I had to decide right now. I wanted a long bath and a hot meal before I contemplated any more sit-downs.

Wyatt brushed his fingertips over my cheek, let them trail across my throat, then his hand settled on the back of my neck. “So are we okay?” he asked.

I wanted us to be okay. We still had some long talks ahead of us, open wounds to salve and actions to understand. Relationships weren’t easy, and ours came with more than its fair share of wrinkles to iron out—wrinkles such as death and resurrection and magic spells. Didn’t matter. We were still together, and that was something, dammit.

“That depends,” I said, straight-faced.

He quirked an eyebrow. “On?”

“Any more deep, dark secrets that involve people who may mysteriously come back from the not-really-dead to exact their revenge on you?”

This time, he laughed first. “I have a lot of skeletons in my closet, Evy, but Cole was the only one who wasn’t actually dead when I put him in there. Maybe I’ll tell you the other stories someday. And you?”

“Nothing of relevance, no. You got the condensed soup version of Evy Stone the other night.”

“So how do I add water and get the whole you?”

I leaned in closer to him, arms draped over his shoulders. Nearly touching his nose with mine. “Be patient with me?”

He nodded. “You’re worth it and more.”

Okay, I could have melted into a puddle right there had such a thing been physically possible. Instead, I drew him into a gentle kiss. No hurry, no need. Just the soft brushing of lips that barely hinted at the taste of him. I wanted more. Wanted to revel in his touch and flavor and scent. To let him help me forget past pain and empty promises. Only there were too many things still undone for such indulgences.

And we had time.

“I almost forgot to tell you something,” I said, pulling back again.

He squinted, eyes searching mine. Black to brown. “Which is?”

“I love you, too.” I’d thought the words would sound unnatural, artificial, and ruin the moment. Instead, they sounded perfect. And I wanted to say them again, because I knew I meant it.

Wyatt gaped at me, his expression an odd cross between shock and admiration. I reached up and pushed his jaw shut with my finger.

“You said the l -word,” he said.

I thumped him on the chest. “What are you, five?”

“I hope not, or dating you would be very, very illegal.”

“Dating me? Do you actually think we’ll ever have a normal enough life that we’ll go out on a real dinner-and-a-movie kind of date?”

“I am no longer discounting anything as a possibility.”

“Because I said it?”

“Said what?”

I rolled my eyes and gave him another thump. “I take it back. I hate you.”

He pulled me close, and I let him envelop me in his arms. I nestled my head in the crook of his shoulder, cheek to his chest. His heart thrummed steadily in my ear—a sound I’d heard stop once and now would never tire of hearing. He kissed the top of my head, his fingers tracing gentle trails up and down my back—comforting, teasing, possessing. He said, “I hate you, too.”

And I laughed.

I finger-combed my long hair needlessly, then smoothed the front of my unwrinkled blouse. Nervous gestures I had no reason to be exhibiting, standing in front of room 134 at the Amsterdam Inn—a far cry from any other hotel I’d stayed in. I almost felt out of place in the swept and polished hallway.

The décor didn’t matter, and neither did my comfort. I had business.

I rapped my knuckles against the smooth white door, just below the peephole. The sound echoed in the quiet hallway. A chain rattled on the other side, then a lock slipped out of place.