It's Tuesday morning and I'm hunched by the nearest window, soaking in sunlight while blinking away the lingering pieces of a nightmare. After Marrow left yesterday, I slept through the rest of the afternoon and all of the night. My bones feel more settled, working together when I breathe, but I'm still dead tired and everything hurts, like my body is one, big bruise. The nightmare is what really makes me flinch, though; I don't remember all of it, just that Laci was there, wounds splitting her open like the skin of rotten fruit. God, it makes me sick to think about what she must have gone through. The things he would have done. My stomach lurches into a dry heave. I better think about something else, and quickly.
I'm in an upstairs room at the front of the house. It's a pretty good view; I can see craggy slopes of earth, trees and shrubs mixing with clusters of rounded rock. No houses, no billboard ads. There aren't even towers to mark leylines. Just wildland bristling around occasional strips of road. This place is so high, I see line after line of mountains in the distance, blue-grey at the horizon level.
I'm just wondering why I don't hear anyone else in the house when there's a knock on the door.
Nohemi sticks her head in. "You are up. Good! Still hurting?"
My grimace is answer enough, and she winces back in sympathy. "A hot bath should help. Maya got the rest of the pack to go out and patrol the land with her, and your boy is busy pouring over something we had in our library about vampires, so don't worry about sharing the bathroom with anyone. I'll get the water ready, and then find you something comfy to put on. That old shirt you're in now is something Maya didn't want, and she saves clothes until they're rags."
The water is hot enough to make my skin prickle, and damn does it feel good. The soap smells sharp and minty, and I scrub myself as hard as I dare over the bruises and bite marks, imagining the outer layer of skin sloughing off everywhere he touched me. Washing my hair is a pain in the ass; I have to bear down hard to comb fingers close to my scalp, some areas still tender from where he yanked my head back.
Before she left to let me wash in privacy, Nohemi showed me where the towels and other toiletries are, and then handed over a jar of cream I vaguely remember Marrow showing me. Salve to help with the bruising. It smells gentler than the soap, and when I rub some on one of the newer bruises on my arm, warmth sinks down past the skin there, taking the edge off the pain. Yeah, I'm going to go through a jar of this a day.
By the time I finish, I feel better than half-dead. As I make my way back, Nohemi approaches from the other end of the hallway, trying to see around the massive pile of clothes in her arms. She smiles brilliantly. "I don't know what styles you like, so I brought a little of everything."
I follow her through the doorway to the room I slept in and then stop, blinking. There are three more piles sprawled on the bed. Shirts, tank tops, skirts, dresses, jeans, and shorts in every color possible.
She holds up a pair of black jeans, studded with metal around the pockets. "We got plenty of spare things. Even after you learn how to change to wolf without shredding your clothes, half the time you lose whatever you leave behind."
Then she wrinkles her nose at the jeans and throws them to the side. "Not that these would do; Odalis has hips smaller than a man's, and her pants prove it. You got an hourglass figure, like me. Hmm. What do you feel like wearing?"
"Just something comfortable," I say, as she goes through the first pile of clothes. She looks so excited about this, which makes my next words the ones I really want to say. "Why are you guys helping me out? Whenever I tried to make contact before, there was never a response."
Her hand freezes over a shirt, and for a moment, she looks ready to cry. Then she comes over to gently settle an arm around my shoulders. "Phoenix, we were looking for you for fifteen years. We couldn't believe it when you called last week, the way it sounded like you knew about us all this time."
That explains why Maya seemed so suspicious over the phone. She thought I didn't care about seeing the pack. And here I believed just the same about them. What the hell is going on? "I knew where you guys were, but kind of gave up on meeting you. It seemed like you weren't interested."
She sucks in a breath at that. "Maya mentioned you told her about sending letters to us, but we never got them. We didn't know where you were. We didn't even know if you were alive."
"What?"
She sighs. "We lost you the same day we lost your mom. Inez died in that awful hospital while you and your dad were there with her, and then you were stolen away from us. From him, right there in the hospital parking lot. Everything was so chaotic in those first weeks after Fivefield; cops pulling in people left and right. All it took was one anonymous tip. Especially for skin witches."
"No, that can't be right. My dad died before my mom. And he was a human. Enrique Belmonte." Nohemi is already shaking her head, but I keep talking, hearing my voice rise, trying to drown out the echo of her words. "No, he was! Only my mom was a wolf. Gran said that's why no one else wanted me. That my mom's side of the family wouldn't take aâa half-breed."
For the first time since I met her, Nohemi's fangs grow out. "Don't you believe it. Not for a second. You were Inez's daughter. You're part of our pack no matter who your father was. And he was not Enrique Belmonte."
Then just as quickly, she puts a hand over her mouth to cover her teeth, closing her eyes like she's trying to get back under control. "Sweet moon, I sound like Maya, don't I?"
We're both silent for a couple of breaths. It feels like the world started spinning in the wrong direction, ready to crack underneath my feet. "Look, I don't want to talk about this right now. I just don't."
She manages a pained smile. "I'm sorry. Maya always says I'm so impulsive. Well. Maybe you'd like some time to yourself to go through these."
When she starts to step back, my hand shoots out toward her. Regret chokes in my throat at the thought of snapping this tenuous connection. "No, I don't mean I want you to leave. I just need to focus on one thing at a time; this week has been total hell, and so many things have happened. Right now, I just want to get dressed before even thinking about another life-shattering moment. But I'd like your help."
Her eyes glance over my face, probably to see whether I really mean that. I try a smile, hoping she finds the honesty in it. "Really. I have no idea where to start here. Usually, I just put on whatever clothes I find."
She takes a breath, and when she speaks again, her voice sounds almost normal. "Well, the first thing to figure out is how covered up you want to be. We're closer to the sun, here. It gets hot. But we got lots of long-sleeved shirts made with breezy fabrics."
My shoulders relax. "I don't care if the bites show; I just don't want them to itch."
I end up in a sleeveless peasant top, dark turquoise and embroidered with gold thread. It's loose enough to hide the fact I can't wear a bra yet, and the cotton fabric doesn't feel too bad against my skin. By this time, I'm sitting on the bed beside rejected clothes, muscles shaking from the effort of pulling on and taking off shirts. I can't believe how weak I am. To my relief, Nohemi doesn't baby me beyond an occasional sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
None of the jeans fit, so I settle for some denim shorts of Nohemi's that end close to the knee; a skirt would be cooler, but I don't feel like flashing anything more than my calves when Desmond and Rhys will be around, and say as much to Nohemi while we refold the clothes.
"They'll leave you alone. Rhys isn't interested, and Des is smart enough to know you won't be in the mood for anything while you're healing."
I doubt I'll be in the mood, ever. I'm sick of pretending to enjoy someone's attention. But I'm not about to go into that clusterfuck, not when things are just feeling easy between us again. So, I only fold another pair of jeans and move to a point I'm willing to fight over. "I might, with Gideon."
I watch for a negative reaction, but she only gives me an amused glance. "Waiting for a lecture about who young bitches ought to run with? I don't do those. Besides, I've been with humans; the right ones are a lot of fun. And he seems nice enough. Maybe a little flaky."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, look how he got into a scrap with Des after being kept from seeing you. But halfway through Marrow talking to us, he left. Hasn't tried visiting you since. He asked how you were this morning, but that's it."
Thinking back to the look in his eyes when Maya blocked him from the doorway, I have to admit that it does sound odd. "What did Marrow say?" I remember Maya asking what I'd feel comfortable letting the pack know, if anything, and that I told her the basics were okay, because one look at me revealed them, anyway.
"She said it'd take you some time to recover, but you would. Everything after that was already obvious to us, to anyone who knows about vampires. That you got bit to shit, and nearly sucked dry, and, well..." she gives me a cautious look, voice trailing off.
I smile, but it's a hard, bitter one. "Raped. I'm not going to be scared of a word."
She nods. "Some people do get funny, hearing it. Talking about it."
I can read between the lines; she means Gideon as much as me. "Gideon's the one who got Valentine off me. Maybe I didn't tell him exactly what happened, but he must've guessed. It can't be that."
But my voice sounds unsure even in my own ears, and she only shrugs, folding the last crumpled shirt. "Kingsmen are funny like that. So are Kingswolves. Over there, plenty think a girl's worth doesn't have a damn thing to do with what she does, only with what's been done to her. You saw how Maya had to warn Rhys clear from thinking that way. It probably won't stick in that big, fat head of his, but our teeth will keep him from acting anything but decent toward you."
I get what she's doing, trying to reassure me over what I admitted earlier about being suspicious of him. "Desmond. What about him?"
"He's from Saint's Arrow, one of the islands near the Kingdom. That helps a lot; Saint wolves fit easy with Chetli bitches. There's a lot of shared history between us, but Odalis is the one to ask about that. She knows the myths and folk stories. All I can tell you for sure is that good things often happen between a Saint and a Chetli. Desmond will be okay. The only question mark is your boy."
Then she grabs a pile of clothes and jerks her head at the doorway. "Why don't you go on and see if he'll talk? Find out if he's dependable enough to help with this vampire problem, or if we got to kick him out for being a loser. Oh, don't worry about putting these away; I'll do that. Go on out and see him while you still got privacy from the pack. He's probably still on the porch. Turn left down the hall to get to the stairs, then left again and through the kitchen."
The wood floors creak as I make my way out, feeling uneasy despite myself. Inside the kitchen, the smells of cooking food surround me. Garlic, and chili peppers, and red meat. Despite my growing nerves, it's enough to make my mouth water, and I hurry through before reaching the point of drooling.
Sunlight prickles against my skin as I step through the open doorway onto the porch, and a breeze blows around already-hot air, making the trees and rocks in the distance shimmer. It's going to be another blazing day. A glance to the right reveals only a couple of hide-and-metal chairs, the seats filled with discarded clothing. Must be where the pack left their stuff before changing over to wolf. But when I look toward my left...
Gideon sits on the edge of a worn, wooden bench, one hand absently running through his hair while he reads from a book bound in leather so old it's cracked in places. He looks tired and tense, but his ink flickers in quick, focused patterns, and I get the sense he's copying and saving whatever information he learns.
When I step closer, one of the boards under me creaks, and he glances toward the sound, startled. Then the look on his face changes, and he jerks up, the book forgotten. "Phoenix."
"The one and only." My fingers twist together while I try a smile, unexpectedly nervous. Stupid, considering how he's seen me at my very worst and never faltered. But everything else in my life is up in the air, even the past, something that's supposed be to concrete, unchangeable. What if the part involving him goes to pieces, too? It's one thing to save a Lady; it's another to hang around and deal with the mess she's become.
Then he steps close, one hand tracing the curve of my cheek, and that's all I need. I cling to him in a hug, ignoring the ache of bruises as the knot of tension behind my ribs loosens up.
His arms settle around me, light and cautious. "What's wrong? What happened?"
Everything. "Nothing." I pull back a little, looking for a way to change the subject. "You're dressed really nicely."
He smiles wryly, like he thinks I'm joking, but I'm not. He wears perfectly tailored charcoal slacks and a blue dress shirt that brings out the color of his eyes and ink. Despite that, he doesn't look stuffy, not with his sleeves rolled up and the first couple buttons of his collar undone. It reminds me of when I saw him in the INKtech office at Glimmer. It also reminds me of his motorcycle, sleek and totally impractical in this landscape of dirt, rock, and scrubby bushes. I'm left wondering if Rhys or Desmond somehow found the rest of his clothes and ripped them up. "Have they been treating you okay? The pack?"
"They've been very fair. How do you feel?"
For a moment, I consider lying to save myself some embarrassment. Then I shake my head. "Just picking out what to wear took everything out of me."
He nods. "You've lost a lot of blood. The salve witch said your body will need a week to replenish itself completely."
"That long?" I can't keep the frustration out of my voice.
"Actually, it's extremely fast compared to a human."
"Is it fast compared to a vampire?" I jerk my chin at the book he left on the bench, and immediately regret it as the bite on my neck flares with pain.
When he hesitates, I know the answer is going to be bad. "This book is more the effort of someone attempting to record vampire lineages and historical outbreaks as well as offer their personal recollections, as oppose to a guide. Yet there are indications that Valentine may return very soon."
I sit, quickly, before my legs can give out. Thumping down on the bench hurts my bruises even with the salve on them, or maybe they ache from my body trembling. Gideon sits beside me, keeping an inch or two of space between us.
"This is bullshit." The words come out automatically. "He should be struggling as much as I am. At least I never lost my body. He burned down to fucking ash."
"He's using the blood of others to rebuild himself. According to this, he'll start off as hardly more than a shadow with teeth." Gideon thumbs through the pages and adds, "The teeth appear to be a vital part of nullifying a master vampire, much like a selkie and her skin. It's unclear how, exactly. Much of this book seems written for those with a basic knowledge of vampirism."
I lean over his arm to take a look. The left page is filled up with tall, spidery handwriting. The right side has several anatomy drawings in ink, each depicting vampire heads, some with the skin removed to better show the bones, muscles, and teeth underneath. One face looks almost human except for the long, sharp upper cuspids, thinner than mine or any other wolf's. Another reminds me of what Valentine can morph into when he really wants to cause pain, gums bristling with jagged teeth. I swallow hard, forcing myself to study that drawing, if only to prove that I can. But after a few seconds, I have to reach over and flip the book shut, hand then moving to my mouth to stop me from heaving.
Gideon's reaction is immediate. "Shit. I'm sorry, it hadn't occurred to meâI didn't even consider..."
"It's okay," I mumble. "Neither did I. Not a drawing."
When my stomach settles, I look back at the book, still closed and now shoved to the far side of the bench. "Is any of the stuff in it familiar to you? INKtech deals with plenty of paranormal investigation divisions, right?"
"We don't know anything about this," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "And very little about what you can change into. It isn't surprising, though; the organization favors hard thaumaturgy over magic entwining ritual with superstition."
"You mean, diagnostic spells in a hospital over poking at squirrel guts?"
He nods. "Still, the salve witch who treated you said she was formerly a vampire hunter. She'll visit later today to check your injuries. Perhaps she'll also explain more about vampires, and what you can do in your other form."
My breath escapes in a huff. "I don't know if I can even change, right now. Haven't been able to grow out claws. But I guess it's good I can't; I lost my mom's necklace back in Slocata. Left it lying in some filthy street. A dustbunny probably took it and sold it for a fix."
"No." He shifts away. I look up from rubbing the scars on my arms to see him pull out a folded handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. "I should've mentioned it earlier, yet there never seemed to be a good time."
When he offers the handkerchief to me, I take it, unfolding the edges with shaking hands. The silver necklace gleams against the fabric even when my eyes go blurry. It takes several breaths before my voice grows steady enough to work. "How?"
He sighs and leans forward to rest his arms on his knees, fingers loosely laced together while his ink flickers. He doesn't look happy to explain this, but he doesn't hesitate, either. "When I returned to the motel room and found it empty, I asked the manager what had happened. At that point, I was still reversing the effect of the handcuffs, which meant my complicated codes weren't up and running. I couldn't yet track you, but I found the Slocata police station and cracked its database, learning you'd been taken there."
"But that was a huge risk; Slake was there," I say, fingers curling over the necklace to keep it from sliding off my palm.
He shrugs. "As were you. Or, you had been. Obviously you hadn't taken the bus, or you would've been back at the motel by the time I returned. So, I searched the area for you while waiting to regain full functionality." Then he clears his throat, and his fingers flex against themselves. "Which is how I found Mr. Hopkins."
I grab at him, feeling my fingernails dig into the skin of his arm. "You saw Elliot? Alive?"
"Yes. I called help for him. Last night, I checked the databases for local hospitals until I found his case file. The bones in his fingers have already been mended, and the reconstructive surgery for his ear was successful. He's expected to make a full recovery." His voice sounds only cool and clipped, but a memory still flashes through my mind, an image of him crumpled on the ground...
When I shudder, Gideon says, "Would you like me to stop?"
"No, keep going. When you found him..."
"He didn't speak much, and what he did say made little sense. Yet when I saw your necklace on the ground nearby, I put the pieces together. You left with Valentine to keep him from further harm." His face looks completely closed down, in agent mode, and that's how I know this is the root of his remoteness.
I lick my lips. We're at a point of no return. "You don't like that, do you? That what happened wasn't just Valentine catching me at a bad moment."
"It doesn't matter whether I do or not." He sounds sincere, but he won't look at me, either, and his ink slides away from where my fingers rest against his skin. There's something he's hiding, and I bet that's why he wears nice clothes, because it's armor to him, just like an agent's suit. It's like as soon as he knew I was in a safe place, that I'd be okay, he could think about what he found out, and didn't like it.
Despite feeling like warmed-over roadkill, a spark of fight goes off in me. "It definitely matters, because it happened, and you can't just ignore it."
That gets him to look at me. "It happened, and I wasn't a direct participant. Therefore, my thoughts have little bearing."
"Gideon." I'm frustrated enough to shout, but instead the word comes out quietly, close to a whisper. "I want to know what you think."
His ink lashes across his skin in frustration, buzzing against my fingers. "I can't be gracious while discussing this," he says, finally, and I know it's a warning.
But I can't let it go, I can't stay quiet and have this gap between us become a festering sore. "Whatever you say won't kill me. I still want to know." When his ink only seethes, I sink to a new level of desperation. "Look, I'll beg if I have to."
He jerks at that, like the words hit him hard as a punch. "No. You should never have to beg." Then he sighs. " All right. I think Elliot Hopkins is a loathsome little parasite, and when I found him, it took every ounce of control not to wring his neck."
I blink. Well, I asked him to let loose. "Why?"
He scoffs. "We'd sit here all day if I listed out his many deficiencies. Suffice to say, the motel manager told me you bled from the face while being led out with a boy about your age. The files from the police database confirmed it."
Despite myself, I wince. If he found Elliot's statement, I can guess the kinds of things he read. "It was just a slap. I was only hurt because Frankie had already bruised me up."
His ink lashes again as he says, "Why do you always defend his actions?"
Because it makes things easier. But I don't know if he'd understand that, so I only shrug. "I don't always. In fact, we had a huge fight after that slap. I never screamed so hard at someone. But when Valentine stood there in front of me, hurting him like that, I had to stop it. Trading myself for him was the only right thing I could do, and you're not going to change my mind about that."
"I wouldn't attempt to. You're impulsive and reckless, but your valor is unquestionable." Coming from anyone else, that would sound sarcastic, or just plain stupid, but then his hand brushes over mine, carefully avoiding my scraped, bruised knuckles. He's acknowledging what I did as something that should be respected.
Before I can respond, he adds, "So you still care for him."
It's not a question, but I think it over like one, my fingers flexing against his. "Yes. No. I don't know." It's impossible to pick apart my feelings over Elliot. "What's your point?"
He hesitates. "I believe it takes some form of love to do what you did. Before last evening, there wasn't time to consider anything beyond your condition, beyond your survival. Yet, once the salve witch told us you would recover completely, I then had the time to consider everything else."
I stare at him. He went in a completely different direction than I expected. And now that he's talking, it's like he can't stop, ink flickering pensively all the while. "He's a hateful, peevish leech, and you've told me you no longer love him. Yet, you wished him alive, to the point of sacrificing yourself in his place. I couldn't dismiss that, not in good conscience, and decided to ease back with my attention until things became clearer. To give you space."
He rationalized himself right out of the picture. Something funny tickles up my throat, and I have to drop my head into my hands to keep quiet.
But that only makes him worried. "Phoenix? I know how to behave properly. I'll accept whatever you decide, no matter how I feel about it."
I just shake my head, feeling my shoulders start to tremble.
The bench shifts with his weight, like he leans toward me to catch a glimpse of my face. When he speaks, his voice sounds completely different. "Are you laughing?"
"I'm sorry," I say, in between giggles. "You're just so fucking noble. Here I was sure you pulled away because you thought IâI ruined myself by going along with Valentine."
"Of course not." He sounds aghast.
Finally, I drop my hands and look at him, still smiling a little. "Don't say it like that; I had friends who lost their guy because he didn't want a girlfriend with so much baggage, and I had a few more who never said anything just to avoid that. How do I know a Kingsman is different? How do I know he's not worse?"
Even as his shoulders relax, he studies me carefully. "A Kingsman being worse. Are those your worries or someone else's?"
Got me. I squirm as much as my sore body will allow. "The others thought it was weird that you left while Marrow explained what I went through. And I never did tell you exactly what happened."
"It wasn't difficult to guess from the moment I found you in the desert," he says, and leaves it at that.
His ink has stopped avoiding my fingers, and I absently trace along the shifting patterns while searching for the clearest words to say. "I don't want Elliot. That's something I'm sure about. Just because I'm willing to die for him doesn't mean I want to still be with him. I'm sick of his shit. And he's obviously sick of mine if he started hitting."
Gideon shakes his head. "No matter what he felt, he shouldn't have hit you."
"It was just a slap. I've been through a lot worse. But maybe..." I hesitate, unsure about the taste of these next words, unsure of how they feel new and hard. "Maybe he didn't hurt me like Frankie or Laci did, but they were vampires then. Elliot's human. He should'veâshould've held himself back better. I did."
Uncomfortable, I glance away before Gideon can say anything, my gaze finding the necklace in my free hand. Reflected sunlight winks at me while I tip my hand this way and that, letting the necklace slide into shapes as fluidly as Gideon's ink. The weight feels soothing on my palm, but what will it feel like against skin that's been scraped by a collar?
Gideon quietly says, "The salve witch mentioned she had some spare silver to bring you. Earrings, I think."
I nod to show I heard, but keep my eyes fixed on the necklace. I'm scared. Scared of putting it on only to find out that wearing it is another thing Valentine took away. That it'll choke me like a collar, jerk me back to memories. But damn it, this is all of my mom I have left. "I want to try wearing it."
He nods and takes the necklace from my hand when I hold it out, his fingers brushing easy and sure against mine. Then he settles on one knee in front of me, leaving my head higher than his and changing the angle that he'll touch my throat. But my skin still prickles unpleasantly when he moves in, and I keep my eyes fixed on a point somewhere over his shoulder.
"Can you look at me?" he murmurs, and my gaze darts to his face.
As the silver slides over the back of my neck, he keeps talking. "The reason I ducked away during the salve witch's talk yesterday is actually a simple one. During it, I flashed on a memory, and she was in it. My aunt taught her some of the training needed to become a salve witch. Most likely, I saw her occasionally. I'm not surprised she hasn't yet recognized meâI couldn't have been more than eight at the timeâbut she likely will one way or another, and tell the others."
I frown. "You don't want them to know?"
He shrugs. "At this point, it's more beneficial to be seen as a prissy Glass boy."
His voice changes with those last words, mimicking Desmond's drawl. It gets a snicker out of me, and then I realize his hands aren't at my throat anymore, and that the silver already settled around my neck. Fresh fear goes through me while I wait for a memory to flare up, or maybe a reaction like the one I had toward the drawing. Nothing. Once the necklace takes in the heat from my skin, I hardly even feel it.
Grinning like an idiot, I look at Gideon. His own smile is small, but he gives me that look, the one that shrinks the rest of the world down to nothing, and my heart races for a different reason. But his hands stay clear, and when I reach out to trace the edges of his shirt collar, he only lets me instead of doing anything back.
"You know," I say, conversationally, "space is exactly what Valentine gave me. Thanks to him, everyone I know is dead or scared off. The idea of more space frightens the hell out of me."
He studies my face. "Are you sure? After what you went through?"
"I'll tell you if I'm not. Promise," I say, with another smile.
Then he moves closer, thumb brushing my lip in that way that makes me melt, and I slide my hand up his neck until my fingers are buried in his hair.
The sound of knuckles rapping against window glass pops the moment like a bubble. By the time I twist to look, Nohemi leans through to wink at us. "You better come in and eat, or you'll faint before you get any further than a kiss."
When I huff, she only grins and shuts the window again. I shoot an embarrassed glance at Gideon, and his startled expression turns wry. "Perfect timing on her part."
"She was probably watching the whole thing. I don't think there's much privacy in a pack." I push myself up from the bench with a grimace. But then his fingers lace with mine, warm and sure, and by the time we reach the doorway, I'm smiling again.