Reckoning

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?”

“I promise.” He sounded sure, at least.

“Do you swear?” So I was five years old again. So what?

“I swear. I . . .” He tensed, and I felt him swallow convulsively, too. “I’ve got to be worth you, Dru. I’ve got to get strong, so nobody can use me like that again.”

“Please.” There was nothing else I could say. “Graves. Please . . .”

But when he stepped back, I let him go. It tore inside me, way down deep where all the worst hurts settle. He took another step back, the gravel crunching, and when I finally looked back up at him, it was a shock to see.

The tears trickled down his cheeks. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his jaw was set. He opened his mouth, shut it. Opened it again, and what came out shocked me even more.

“I love you. Okay? I promise.” Another step back, his green gaze holding mine. “Hey.” His throat worked, like he was catching the words halfway and pulling them back. “Dru. What’s that short for, anyway?”

I actually felt my heart break. It cracked right in half, and a sobbing little laugh that sounded like a cry came out. Got caught at the back of my palate, right where the bloodhunger lived. I forced it down.

“I’ll tell you when you come back,” I managed. It was all I could say.

I guess it must have been the right thing. Because he turned on one heel and headed back for the open passenger door, head up, stepping like he was walking on quicksand or something that might throw him at any moment.

He grabbed the door. But just before he got in, he looked back over his shoulder, and that soundless flash of communication passed between us.

Once, in Dad’s truck in a snowstorm, I’d clung to him. Because we were both wrecked, and when you’re wrecked, the only thing you can do is hold onto whatever you can.

Hold on hard.

We were still shipwrecked, Graves and me. But that look told me everything. He was still holding on. As hard as he could.

It just wasn’t enough.

He ducked down, the door slammed, and the brake lights flashed. There was a pause, but then the SUVs rolled away, bumping up onto the paved drive. Two cars meant guards. He’d probably get wherever he needed to safely.

I stood there and watched as they receded down the Schola’s long driveway. The trees arched over, leafdapple shade like water pouring over the cars, and my fingers itched. For the first time in a long time I wanted