Alyson Noël - Night Star

I look at her, my gaze practically begging for her to give in, but she just shakes her head and mumbles under her breath. Something about me needing to come straight home from school from now until she decides otherwise.

But even though I love her—even though I’m grateful for all that she’s done—there will be no restrictions, no groundings, nothing of the sort. Because the fact is, it’s not like I need to live here. It’s not like I need to put up with this stuff. I have options— lots and lots of options. And she has no idea just how far I go to make it seem like I don’t.

Pretending to eat when I no longer need to, pretending to study when it’s no longer necessary, pretending to be just like any other normal seventeen-year-old girl who’s dependent on the adults in her life for food and shelter and money and pretty much her entire well-being—when I’m not even close to being that girl. I’m about as far from that as one could possibly get. And it’s my job to make sure she never discovers any more than she already has.

“How about this,” I say, swishing my elixir around and around, watching as it sparks and glows as it runs up and down the sides. “I’ll make a concerted effort to stay out of trouble and out of your way—if you’ll agree to do the same. Deal? ”

She looks at me, brows merged, obviously trying to determine if I’m being sincere or making some kind of threat. Lips pursed for a moment, long enough to gather her words before she says, “Ever—I—I’m just so worried about you.” She shakes her head and runs her finger along the rim of her mug. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you are deeply, deeply troubled, and I’m at my wit’s end on how to handle you, how to reach you, how to help you—”

I slam the lid back on my bottle, my last ounce of goodwill dissolving like that . Gaze narrowed on her when I say, “Yeah, well, maybe this’ll help. One—if you really want to help me as much as you say you do, you could start by not calling me crazy.” I shake my head and slip my sandals onto my feet, sensing Damen pulling into the drive, and not a moment too soon. “And two”—I toss my bag onto my shoulder and meet her glare with one of my own—“you could also stop referring to me as an attention-starved, deeply troubled, needy fraud —or some variation thereof.” I nod. “Those two things alone would be a very good start toward helping me, Sabine.”

Giving her no time to react before I storm out of the kitchen and out of the house, slamming the door much harder than I intended, but still just shrugging it off as I head for Damen’s car.

Sliding onto the soft leather seat and squinting at him when he says, “So, this is what it’s come to.”

I follow the tip of his pointing finger all the way to the window where Sabine stands. Not bothering to peek through the blinds or even the crack where the drapes meet. Not trying to hide the fact that she’s watching me—watching us. She just continues to stand there, mouth set, face stern, one hand on each hip, as she takes us both in.

I sigh, purposely avoiding her gaze in favor of his. “Just be glad I spared you the interrogation you would’ve gotten had you come in.” I shake my head. “Trust me, there’s a reason I told you to wait out here,” I add, still drinking him in.

“She still at it?”

I nod and roll my eyes.

“You sure I can’t talk to her? Maybe it’ll help.”

“Forget it.” I shake my head, wishing he’d just back up the car already and get me out of this place. “There’s no reasoning with her—she’s completely un reasonable and, trust me, your trying to talk to her will only make it worse.”

“Worse than the evil eye she just shot me from her perch at the window?” He glances between the rearview mirror and me as he backs down the drive, his lip curling in a way that’s a little more playful than I’d like.

This is serious.

I’m serious.

And even though it may not be all that serious to him, it’s still a pretty big deal to me.

But when I look at him again, I decide to let it go and cut him some slack. Reminding myself how the sheer breadth of his years, the expanse of his six centuries’ worth of living, has left him more or less unfazed by the smaller, everyday dramas that always seem to take up so much space.

As far as Damen sees it, pretty much everything other than me slips into the “not worth the bother” category. To the point where it seems like the only thing he really cares about these days, the only thing he really focuses on, even more than finding an antidote so that we can finally be together after four hundred years of waiting, is protecting my soul from the Shadowland. As far as he’s concerned, everything else just pales in comparison.

And even though I really do get the big pictureness of it all, I can’t stop caring about the “smaller” stuff as well.

And, unfortunately for Damen, the best way for me to make sense of it and sort it all out in my head, is to discuss it over and over again.

Believe me, you were spared, and spared big time. Had you insisted on coming in, it would’ve been way worse than that. The words coursing from my mind to his as I gaze out the windshield before me, amazed to see how unbelievably bright, hot, and sunny the day already is, even though it’s only a few minutes past eight in the morning. And I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get used to this—if I’ll ever stop comparing my new life in Laguna Beach, California, to the one I left behind in Eugene, Oregon.

If I’ll ever be able to stop looking back.

My thoughts returning to the subject when Damen squeezes my knee and says, “Don’t worry, she’ll come around.”

But even though his voice is confident, his expression tells otherwise. His words were based way more on hope than conviction—his desire to ease my mind easily trumps his desire for truth. Because the fact is, if Sabine hasn’t come around by now, then it’s highly doubtful she ever will, or at least not anytime soon.

“You know what bugs me the most?” I say, knowing he does, he’s heard it before, but continuing anyway. “It’s, like, no matter what I tell her, no matter how many times I try to prove it to her by reading her mind, and revealing all kinds of odd little nuggets about her past, present, and future that I couldn’t possibly know if I wasn’t psychic—it doesn’t make a dent. In fact, it seems like it does just the opposite. Just convinces her to dig her heels in even deeper, absolutely refusing to consider any of my arguments, or anything else I have to say on the matter. She completely refuses to crack open her mind just the tiniest bit. Instead, she just shoots me that grim, judgmental look of hers, totally convinced that I’m faking, making the whole thing up in some big, pathetic bid for attention. Like I’ve totally and completely lost my mind.” I shake my head and tuck my long blond hair back behind my ears, as my cheeks warm and flush. This is the part that really gets me going, leaves me all red faced and agitated every single time. “Even after I asked her why on earth I’d waste so much time and effort working that hard to keep my abilities a secret if I was only interested in the attention they’d get me—even after I begged her to listen to her own stupid argument so she could see how it doesn’t make even the slightest bit of sense—she still refused to budge. I mean, she actually accused me of fraud !” I close my eyes and frown, remembering the moment so clearly it’s as though it’s happening right here before me.

Sabine barging into my room the morning after Roman died, the morning after I’d lost all hope of ever truly being with Damen, of ever getting the antidote. Not even giving me a chance to fully wake up, wash my face, brush my teeth, and prepare myself in some way.