Lili St. Crow - Jealousy

I’d only seen Sergej once. But that was enough.

Graves exhaled more cigarette smoke. “Thanks for asking, though.”

“Can you two have your pissing match some other time?” I kept hold of Ash. It wouldn’t do much good if he decided to go seriously buggy, but if I kept my hand on him he kept calm.

I didn’t know what to think about that. I was stuck with less speed and strength and stamina because I hadn’t “bloomed” yet. I wasn’t a serious match for an upset werwulf without a gun and some running room—and even then it was a pretty chancy proposition.

Especially against a werwulf who had killed three or four suckers at a time.

But he never went ballistic as long as I was holding onto him. I still wasn’t sure if I was brave or really stupid, getting close enough to him to find out. And I’d escaped him before, hadn’t I? Shot him and boogied. Right after I’d killed a burning dog the size of a small pony.

Where had that girl gone—the badass Dru? Right now I was feeling a little less than awesomely tough. And more than a little confused.

“What’s he doing, Dru?” Benjamin’s tone was taut. I could almost see him outside the door, leaning forward, the spike of an emo-boy haircut swooping over his chiseled face. Some of the djamphir are so pretty it almost hurts to look at them. And it was hard to look without feeling rumpled and messy in comparison.

Not that I ever need any help feeling rumpled or ugly. Jeez. At least the plague of zits had passed me by lately.

Go figure. As soon as things most people don’t even know exist start trying to kill me, I get to stop worrying about pimples. Normally I’d say, okay, sure, as long as I don’t go pizza-faced.

But this wasn’t a joke. This was my life. And I was kind of wanting the zits back.

“He’s leaning up against me and trying to change.” It was out of my mouth before I thought about it. My free hand was up, touching my mother’s silver locket. The sharp edges of its etching scraped under my fingertips.

“He can’t change,” someone else said. “He’s Broken, right? That’s what that means .”

“Don’t tell him that,” Graves interjected sardonically. “I don’t think he believes it.”

“Keep being funny, loup-garou .” Benjamin was unimpressed. “Dru, you’re going to have to come out of there. It’s not safe.”

Well, it’s funny, but this is the place I feel safest. In a cell with a Broken werwulf. I swallowed twice. Let go of the locket and ran my free hand back through my hair. Winced as I hit tangles. “He’s not going to hurt me. He only throws himself at the walls when I’m not around.”

“Milady. Please.” And he had that tone in his voice again, the pleading. Dylan used to sound like that, back at the other Schola.

Nobody had seen Dylan since the fighting broke out. And now that I thought about it, I didn’t think we’d ever see him again.

That’s what happens when nosferatu attack. Final things, things you can’t take back. There was a whole mess of things I couldn’t take back, starting with the morning I woke up and didn’t tell Dad I’d seen my grandmother’s owl.

My heart hurt, a sharp piercing pain. If I could just ignore it and deal with what I had in front of me right now, maybe it would go away.

Yeah, good plan, Dru. Stick with it. Maybe it’ll get you somewhere.

“I’m not moving.” The stubbornness caught me by surprise, set my jaw and made both hands curl into fists. Fur rasped against my fingers, and if I was pulling his hair, Ash didn’t make a sign that he noticed. “Dawn’s coming. Once the sun’s up he’ll be better.”

“You should—” Benjamin stopped dead. Maybe because Graves had drawn himself up, taking another drag off the cigarette. Maybe because Ash growled again, and I surprised myself by tapping him on the top of his narrow head with my free hand. But gently, as if I was mock-hitting a boy I liked or something.

“Stop that.” I took a deep breath. The growl had stopped. I just bonked a werwulf on the noggin. Jeez. “You could bring me a blanket or something. This floor’s cold.”

A beat of silence, then footsteps. Someone padding off to get me a nice little blankie. It wasn’t Benjamin because he spoke again. “Very well. But we’re staying here, Dru. Just in case.”

Like I don’t know that. I leave my room for any reason, all of you show up. “You should go back to sleep. Or whatever you were doing.”

“We’re your Guard. This is what we’re doing.” Patiently, as if talking to an idiot. Benjamin was almost as good at that tone as Dylan had been.

My heart gave another funny little hurt squeeze. It’s been doing that a lot lately, except when I’m busy running for my life. But the pain went away when I swallowed, blinked, and focused on the problem in front of me.

“Jailers, more like.” Graves didn’t bother to say it softly. He kept leaning through the door, and the cigarette smoke he exhaled smelled like anger. “Leave her alone.”

Ash growled again. I dug my fingers in, and the rumbling petered out once more. The marks on my right wrist twinged again, but not painfully. “Stop it, Graves. Jeez. All of you, just quit it.”

It was looking to be another long wait for dawn.

As soon asthe sun came up, Ash lifted his head from my lap. He flowed away, curled up under the metal shelf, and promptly went to sleep instead of just lying there with his eyes open and nervousness running through him.

My legs were stiff and numb. Graves had smoked his way through half a pack, field-stripping each butt under his boot. The plaid blanket they’d handed in through the door hadn’t helped me much. I was so cold my teeth threatened to chatter, but I crawled over and spent a minute or two tucking the Broken werwulf in. He’d rip the blanket to shreds when dusk hit, but it couldn’t hurt.

At least, I was hoping it couldn’t hurt.

The silvery streak up the side of his head had gotten longer, pale wiry hairs a different texture than the rest of his fur. The messed-up part of his jaw made me wince every time I looked at it. Wulfen are allergic to silver in a big way; the wound was raw but not seeping anymore. It was healing slowly, I guess—and when it did heal over, what would happen? There was still silver lodged in there.

I didn’t know nearly enough. Story of my life, I guess. When I was with Dad it hadn’t seemed to matter—he was the one who knew what we were dealing with and told me what to do. But since he’d shown up with a serious case of zombie it had been painfully apparent that I didn’t know even a quarter of what I needed to, in order to deal with the Real World.

And I was beginning to wonder if he’d really known all I thought he did.

It was an uncomfortable thought. Almost, well, blasphemous. Even if I’m not a big believer in anything other than holy water. I’ve seen holy water work against roach spirits and some kinds of hexes.

The rest of the God trip I’m not so sure about. There’s just too much nastiness happening to people who don’t deserve it.

Graves field-stripped the last butt under his boot sole and ground the cherry against the concrete. The ash made a black mark. “Hand up?”

“Nah.” I used the shelf-bed to push myself up. Ash made a sleepy sound, chuffing out a breath, and stilled. “Thanks, though.” Four numb-drunk steps across the room, then I had to grab for the doorjamb because the muscles in my legs started to wake up, pin-and-needling. “Ouch.”

Benjamin leaned forward, peering around the corner. A pair of dark eyes under spike-dagger auburn hair, the bridge of his nose just visible. “You’re not dressed.” His tone wavered between shock and disapproval, with a healthy dose of primness mixed in. “You’ve been in there like that the whole time?”