Chapter 27

Margret pulled him into a tight hug when he walked through the front door.

Her arms tightened around him as if he was just a dream and he was going to disappear if she loosened her grip just the littlest bit. She smelled of peaches and coconut. It was a familiar scent he'd been raised on but for some reason, at that moment, it reminded him of all the horrible things that had happened to him.

"I'm fine," he said. He pushed her away. "You're overreacting."

He didn't want to look at her face. He turned away and tried to flee to his bedroom. She grabbed him by the shoulders.

"That's it? That's what you say to me when I'm worried sick about you?" She choked back a sob. "What is wrong with you?"

He glared. He wished he could glare at her, but he couldn't. As much as she'd lied to him, she was still his mom.

She shook her head like this was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. Like she couldn't believe that this was the thing that was going to break her. Ren still couldn't look at her. He could only see a bit of her face out of the corner of his eyes. It was enough to see the damage that he was causing.

The pain went far deeper than surface level. There was years of build up and it was going to take a lot more than off-handed apologies and pity-parties to get rid of it.

Her hands slipped away. She was no longer touching him. She felt miles away, a ghost that was drifting in and out of existence. Or maybe that was him. That made more sense. He was barely there, existing, but he was numb to everything that made him a being.

"I don't want to talk right now." He tried to walk away.

She stepped in front of him.

"No. You're going to stay here and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on."

Her tears were still wet on her cheeks. She didn't bother to wipe them off. She wore them proudly as she stared at him, her menacing look one that he'd seen many times before. This time, however, it was different. It was worse. It was piercing through his chest, melting him, and he felt like melting into a puddle at her feet.

For a second, their eyes met.

He didn't want her to see him like this. He wanted to be a better son, but he wasn't. He wasn't even close to being an okay son.

"Look at me." Her voice was firm, but it was covering up the layer of fear. He could feel it just like he'd been feeling other people's emotions.

He didn't know when it started, if he'd always had the ability, and he was just now realizing it. It was torture to have it now because he couldn't wave her off. He knew how much this was killing her. He couldn't walk away without feeling like shit later.

He slowly looked away from the floor. He hadn't noticed that he'd been trying to drill holes into the hardwood flooring until he had to force his gaze away.

When their eyes met, he wasn't surprised by the worry and the anger in her eyes. She could hate him and he wouldn't do a thing. Nothing would change. He would still do everything in his power to keep her safe.

But it was like looking in a mirror. As determined as he was, she was just as determined.

It made sense. Like mother, like son.

"Tell me. Nothing you say will make me love you less."

His eyes flickered. He held her gaze, trying to see deeper. He knew she wasn't lying, yet, he remembered all the secrets under her bed. Were there more?

That wasn't the real problem. The problem was that if she knew what mess he was in, she would be pulled in as well. It was better for her to not know. Then, if things went bad, she couldn't be blamed.

Because if they found out she was a witch, she was just as bad as a vampire.

The tension in the air was too much. He couldn't breathe when his entire life was hanging from a strand.

He forced out a laugh. It burned his throat.

"I'm fine. I'm not lying." The lie about not lying was the most headache inducing thing he'd said in a long time.

She was still staring at him. Maybe she was trying to look deeper inside of him. Could she sense his emotions like he could? Things were muffled for him and he couldn't get a clear picture when he wanted to. It wasn't like he was a mind reader.

He wished he was. He could pick her brain apart and put all the pieces together. How she knew the Mantels, who his grandparents really were, and why they had decided to live here instead of following all the other witches to the unclaimed land.

He walked away, running, but he didn't feel like he was going fast enough. His feet were walking through water and the entire way to the stairs, he could feel her eyes on his back. Turn around, the small voices in his head were telling him. They told him to apologize, to explain everything so that he didn't have to be alone in this.

But he pressed his lips together and fought the need to spill his guts as he ascended the staircase.

He was sick to his stomach as he closed his bedroom door. There was a heaviness in his bones. He tried to shake it off, but he already knew that nothing except telling her the truth would be able to get rid of it. It was like black tar that was being pumped into him. He was filled to the brim with the thick liquid and he felt like he was going to burst with the pressure.

He slumped onto his bed. He stared at the ceiling.

Where had things gone wrong?

When did his life start to suck this bad? He remembered that it wasn't that great when he was younger, but it wasn't like he hated everything.

At least, he had his mom back then He didn't feel like he had her at all anymore.

Minutes passed as he stared at the ceiling. There were cracks and stains that he hadn't noticed before. The house was old, probably older than his grandparents. He hadn't stopped to just stare at the unimportant specks and holes. There was no reason to. But right then, he wanted to disappear. He wanted to fill his mind with useless crap so that he didn't think about the crazy situation he'd gotten himself into.

He began to doze off when there was a sharp knock.

He jolted in his bed. He blinked his bleary eyes and looked to his bedroom door.

"It's not locked."

He was startled when his window flew open instead of his door.

Ashton crawled through. "You always keep it unlocked?"

He crawled in like a spider, long arms and long legs that made him look even thinner and slimmer than he already was.

Ren groaned and fell back. He threw an arm over his face. "I can't do this right now."

He heard Ashton shut the window and walk over to the bed. Now, he could feel Ashton staring down at him, looming over him while he tried to pretend that he was alone.

"Does this have anything to do with that kid that looked like he got punched in the face?"

Ren let out a snort. "Are you watching me now? That's really fucking creepy."

"I'm observing. There's a big difference."

Ren rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"Unlike you think, I don't get off on stalking. You're far too boring."

"So, it's just me that you don't like to stalk. I see."

"Not what I meant at all."

He wasn't spinning anymore. He wasn't flying or trying to pretend that he was heading out to space. He was right there in the moment, nailed to the bed, and forced to face everything. Ashton was at the center of all this. Ren couldn't turn away. He couldn't ignore Ashton's gaze or the heat that he could feel rolling off of him.

"So." Ashton hadn't moved. "Is this a bad time?"

Ren imagined the pensive look on Ashton's face. He saw very clearly the dark and narrowed eyes that were trying to force him out of bed.

Ashton had tried to do that to him once. He'd tried to use his powers on him, but it hadn't worked. It must have been the witch blood inside of him. Witches were born immune to the powers of vampires.

He wondered what would have happened if Ashton had been able to force him to do what he wanted. They surely wouldn't be here now. Ashton would have sent him away and erased all his memories.

He wasn't sure if that would have been better. Either way, he'd still be wrapped up into this mess.

He removed his arm.

Ashton seemed gigantic when he was looming over Ren. It almost didn't feel real when Ashton's eyes met his. It was like a dream where he was trying to make sense of his surroundings, trying to understand how he'd ended up in this place.

Ashton's brown eyes had a hint of gold in them that Ren hadn't noticed until then. The setting sun washed over the small bedroom, bathing Ashton in a warm glow. There was an outline around his tall form. He wasn't an angel. He didn't look like an angel, but there was something about him then that made Ren think that he could have been painted in one of those old colosseums.

Ren took a faint breath.

There was something about this moment that made him want to pick up a pencil. He'd never had an interest in drawing before, but right then and there, he wanted the ability to create picture realistic sketches. He wanted to seal this moment in time forever so that he could revisit whenever he wanted to.

Ashton slowly leaned down. He placed his hands on the bed. The mattress sunk down.

Ren tightened his hand on the pillow. His right arm that was above his head ached, but he didn't dare move.

Ashton inched closer, his brown eyes flickering with an emotion that pulled Ren's stomach tight.

"Are you going to answer me?"

His eyes slid down to Ren's mouth and then lower to his neck.

Ren's body was on fire. He was burning under the blatant undressing. His throat went tight with all the snippy words he'd been rehearsing in his head. Nothing was coming out and nothing felt like it was going to do anything.

And he wasn't sure that he wanted to stop Ashton.

He wanted to know what was going to happen next.

He held as still as possible. His body ached not only because he was trying so hard to not move, but also because it was reacting to Ashton's body.

The taste of blood was just a memory in his head, yet, it didn't feel that far off. His eyes drifted away from Ashton's and down to his throat. He'd already tasted his blood from his wrist. Would it taste different when it was from his neck?

Meats always tasted different in different parts of the body. Would if that was the same with blood?

He didn't know how they'd gotten here. He didn't know when he started behaving this way. His body was burning red hot and he was being drawn toward Ashton like a moth to a flame.

The temptation was there. Its web had caught him and he was being slowly reeled in for the spider to feast upon him.

Ashton's lips and his stare were all that Ren could think about. It was consuming him.