Betrayals

“We?” Meaning, Who’s this we?

“I’m going with you.” Almost sullen. He sighed. “Look, Dru—”

“I hoped you were coming along. Where are we going?” I edged a little bit closer to him. He didn’t move away. It was a relief.

“The city. Christophe thinks that if we get you to the central Schola, whoever’s trying to double-cross and kill you won’t be able to. Dru, I want to ask you something.”

The tension came back. “Okay.”

I expected something like, What was it like when he drank your blood? or What did you do to that helicopter? or even… I don’t know. Something about djamphir or wulfen. Something complex.

“Do you like Christophe?” It came out in a whisper. “I mean, really like him?”

It took me a second to figure out what he was really asking. Oh God. Awkward. “Not, like, that way. Jesus. No.”

As soon as I said it, I felt like I was lying. Christophe’s arms around me, his body hot through his clothes, the spiced-apple smell surrounding me. The broken roughness of his voice as he hugged me, and my lips burning because he’d pressed his mouth against mine.

If I need a reason, Dru, it will have to be you.

But there was also his teeth in my wrist, and his scary speed, and the mockery under every word. I was glad it was dark. My cheeks were on fire again, the flush turning my whole body into a lamp in the dark.

I couldn’t like Christophe that way, could I? I mean, he’d known my mother. And —

“Oh.” Did Graves actually sound relieved? Thunder rumbled, dissatisfied, in the distance.

“I mean, he knew my mother.” I meant to say something different. Like, He scares me. But that would be a real blow to my tough-girl image, wouldn’t it. And that image was taking a hell of a beating lately.

And if I said it out loud I might say other things. Like, He doesn’t feel like you do when he hugs me. That would just open up a huge can of worms, wouldn’t it?

No. I didn’t like Christophe. Not the way he was asking.

At least, I didn’t want to. And Graves never had to know about the boathouse, or about anything else. I’d made up my mind.

I was still blushing. Scalding hot.

“Yeah.” Quiet agreement. “Can I ask you something else?”

My heart leapt. He sounded serious. “You just did. But go ahead.” A slight huff of breath told me he was smiling, and I half-smiled too, in the dark. I waited. Silence stretched out. I finally moved, restlessly. “Are you asleep?”

“No.” He moved too, pulling his knees up and turning on his side to present me with his back. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Oh, dammit. My heart crashed. Stupid boy. Was he going to ask me if there was someone else I liked?

I lay there in the dark, working up to it. My clothes were irritating, but if I took any of them off nothing would go right. When I edged a little bit closer and slid an arm over him, he stiffened again.

I snuggled up close and fit my knees behind his. He was in a T-shirt, so when I breathed out it was a pocket of warmth between his bony shoulder blades.

It felt right. His hair touched mine, and I inhaled. Tucked my arm under my head. It was a little uncomfortable, with my clothes all rucked up and sweat dried on my skin and everything else going on. Still, with the rain on the roof and the way I felt warm inside instead of cold and hurting, I figured I could deal.

It wasn’t the scary, fiery warmth of blushing around Christophe. This was a gentler feeling. It was like sitting just the right distance from a campfire, so it warmed you perfectly but not too much. Less hurtful.

Less intense.

I searched for words. “No, I don’t like Christophe. I’m holding out for someone else.”

All the tension went out of us both. He relaxed all at once like a cat, and I felt even warmer inside. Almost gooey.

“Someone else?” His whisper cracked in the middle and I had to smother a laugh.

Someone who doesn’t scare me the way Christophe does. Someone I can count on. “Yeah. He’s a dipshit, but I like him.”

“Not that much of a dipshit if you like him that much,” he muttered, but I could tell he was smiling.

I yawned hugely. Breathed out, making a spot of heat on his back. The burning in my cheeks and throat, I told myself, would fade. It was dark. He never had to know I was blushing. “No problem, Goth Boy. First one’s free.”

He snorted a little laugh, and I smiled again. It felt good. My heart went from a shriveled pea to something more, well, heart-size, knocking against my ribs. And I lay there listening to the rain and him breathing for a little while before I fell back into a dark well of sleep.

The flushing heat didn’t go away. It followed me down into the dark. But when I woke up in the morning, it was gone.

CHAPTER 25

The “compound” was three long double-storied log cabins built around a wide paved driveway, a huge garage set behind one of them, and a whole bunch of wulfen running around.

I found out I’d been in one of the “cub bedrooms,” in the central log cabin. Sleeping arrangements in a wulfen compound are kind of odd, pretty much everyone sleeps where they get tired, and bedrooms are for when you need some privacy. When I woke up in the morning, Graves wasn’t there, but he showed up as soon as I found the hall outside the bedroom door leading to a bathroom and four more bedrooms.

“I got you some clean clothes.” His hair was wildly mussed, and he smelled like rain, fresh air, and cigarette smoke. His earring twinkled cheerily at me. “You probably want to get cleaned up.”

I rubbed sleep-crusties out of my eyes, made a face. “I probably stink.”

“Nah. You smell like you.” He grinned, green eyes almost twinkling. “Bathroom’s in there. Use any toothbrush, they say. There’s breakfast when you’re ready.”

“What time is it?” There weren’t any windows, but the sound of rain hadn’t gone away. It tapped and slithered against the roof.

He shoved a pile of clothing into my arms. “About seven. You’re up early.”

“My sleep schedule’s all messed up. We leaving soon?” I swallowed a yawn with the last three words, and his grin broadened. Goth Boy looked pretty bouncy, all things considered. “And is there any coffee?”

“Yes, and yes. Christophe sent me to wake you up and get you going. We’re leaving in half an hour or so, soon’s you’re ready and the sun’s really up.”

I suppressed the urge to ask more questions. “Okay.” I pushed hair out of my face. Curls clung to my fingers. I probably looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. “I’ll hurry, then.”

His hands dropped back down to his sides. He looked at me, I looked at him, and a big stupid grin spread over my face to answer his. “What?” I sounded more aggravated than I really was.

The aggravation only made him grin more broadly. Boys are like that. “Nothing.” He turned on his heel, the long dark coat flaring sharply, and all but skipped away.

The bathroom was clean, and I felt squidgy about using someone else’s toothbrush, but when your mouth feels like something died in it and you could probably kill a cactus with your breath at twenty paces, it puts a different shine on the sanctity of personal hygiene products. The hot water felt so good on my back I almost cried, and the interesting crop of new bruises and scrapes stung a little.