[Strange Angels 02] - Betrayals Page 22

  “Where?”

  Like, Where am I? Yeah, a totally cliché question, but it was reasonable.

  He seemed to understand. “One of the wulfen, Andrew, has kin here. You’re in the safest part of the compound. It’s night now; by morning you should be all right to travel. Especially with me around.”

  Oh, good. But I feel like sleeping in. “Travel?”

  “Your loup-garou made a persuasive case for reaching the safety of the city. I’ll be able to bear the sun after tonight, when the aura-dark fades.” He let out a sharp sigh. The glimmer of his eyes vanished, and the shape of him slumped. “I thought Dylan, at least, would explain a little.”

  I think he probably had other things on his mind, Christophe. And I think the history teacher was trying, too. “Tried. He tried. Look—” There was so much to tell him.

  “Sleep.” He moved again, and I heard cloth sliding and the creak of the chair again. A breath of apple-scented spice blew across my face. “It’s the best thing for you now.”

  It sounded like a good idea, but I wanted something else. “Graves.” I swallowed. My dry throat clicked. At least my mouth wasn’t tingling, and my teeth were regular and blunt when I ran my dry rasping tongue across them.

  “I told you, he’s fine. The prince of the house, here.” Christophe’s eyes opened again. “You could ask me how I’m feeling. I’ve had a hard few days too.”

  You know, when you put it like that I couldn’t care less. “Go. Away.”

  “Charming as ever. I’m sorry, Dru.”

  Then I felt like a bitch. He’d saved my life, hadn’t he? Run right into a burning building to get me out. And the fog, that had been him too. And the heat of him against me, a shameful memory that would have made me squirm if I hadn’t been so exhausted. “Don’t worry about it.” I coughed a little. The words scraped hard coming out.

  “You think you want water, but it will only make it worse.” His tone was very soft. “Nothing will take it away, not even wine. It will fade in a little bit.”

  The burning in my throat got a little worse. “Do you…”

  “Me? Always, little bird.” Another small laugh. It sounded like it hurt him. “The stronger the nosferat strain in your blood, the stronger the bloodhunger. And if a Kouroi ever gives in to it…”

  I waited. My heart beat hard, in my wrists and my throat. It was really dark in here, and I wondered whose bed I was lying on. We’d made it to safety. A wulfen house.

  “If you ever give in, it becomes much harder to control. And if you’re raised to give it full rein, kochana….” He sighed again. The chair creaked a little as he rose and pushed it back. I saw the shadows of posters hanging on the wall, no windows, and the suggestion of a half-open closet sketched in charcoal. It was deathly quiet. “My father raised me to be a scourge instead of a Kouroi.” His eyes winked out, and I half-sensed him rubbing at his face. “Dylan brought me to the light, but it was your mother who ensured I stayed. If you don’t have a reason to fight it, the hunger will make you an animal worse than the ones we exterminate. Because we are born to be so much more.” The vague outline of the door was blacked by his darker shadow. “I’ll send in your loup-garou.”

  He sounded so… sad.

  “Christophe.” I couldn’t even prop myself up on my elbows. “Wait.”

  The sense of movement faded. He stood in the door for a long second, then turned. The apple-scented breeze filled my face. He bent down, and the sudden irrational fear that he might bite me again stopped my breathing. His fingertips rested against the locket’s warm curve. I felt their weight.

  Something soft and warm pressed itself against my mouth. It stayed there for a few seconds, my nose full of pie-smell. Before it even registered, he’d straightened and stepped back. His eyes glowed now, an unholy blue. “If I need a reason now, Dru, it will have to be you.”

  The door filled up with his shadow, drained away. I moved fretfully. I couldn’t even begin to figure this one out. Sleeping sounded really good.

  I closed my heavy eyelids again and was gone.

  When I surfaced again it was even quieter and someone lay next to me. He was warm, and took up most of the bed, and I knew who it was even before I accidentally elbowed him and he lunged into wakefulness. He jerked like a fish on a line, half-sitting up and only relaxing once he figured out where he was.

  “Jesus—” The word died. “Dru? You okay?”

  I coughed. My skin crawled. “Peachy.” The starch had come back into my bones, and I felt a million percent better. Best of all, the empty riven places inside my head were no longer throbbing like something had been yanked out. I had a slight headache and I was still god-awful thirsty, but the world was back together again. “Hey.”

  “There’s the floor.” He curled up to sit, and blankets moved. Sleeping in clothes always makes you feel bunched-up when morning comes. “If you, you know—”

  “Why?” I pushed myself up on my elbows. It was a relief to be able to move. “I mean, we’re okay, right? Unless you feel weird about sleeping in the same bed as…”

  Oh shit. I went from feeling pretty okay to feeling totally stupid.

  “I thought you’d feel weird about it.” But he settled back down. There was only one pillow, and it was scrunched between us. “But, you know.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t, but I was okay with it. “How’s Shanks? And everyone?”

  “They fixed Shanks up. He just needs some sleep now. It’s… weird here. Anyway. How are you really?”

  I cleared my throat. He was still fully dressed, and I tried to push the pillow over to him but he was having none of it. We settled down, finally, and I breathed him in. Cigarette smoke, healthy young male, the smell that was uniquely his. I needed a shower and my teeth really wanted a good scrubbing, and I was suddenly afraid I had dragon-breath. So I stayed where I was, on my side with my arm under my head, trying not to breathe on him. We were quiet for a little while. The thunder was retreating.

  “Some storm,” I finally whispered.

  “Yeah. Christophe said it was because of messing with the weather system.” Graves moved a little bit, lacing his fingers under his head. He was tall enough that I had my face almost in his arm-pit. It wasn’t optimal, but at least he smelled clean and I wouldn’t be breathing anywhere he could get a faceful of it. “You should get some more sleep. We’re leaving in the morning.”

  “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.
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br />   “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.

  They were healing up more quickly, I thought. But there were so many of them. I looked like a pinto horse.

  The new clothes did fit, amazingly. Jeans, panties, two T-shirts, one blue, one gray, and a blue sweater that looked hand-knit. No socks, no bra, and my boots were filthy. But it felt so good to be in clean clothes again I hardly cared, even if the clothes had the odd feeling of being someone else’s.

  One of the things about dressing in layers is that you almost always have some of your own clothes to put on after a bad night. Unfortunately, mine reeked of smoke and blood and terror, not to mention dirt and sweat. I could almost see the stink lines rising off them. My bag was gone and I wondered where it was.

  The question was answered when I opened the bathroom door, an armful of my stinking but neatly folded clothes clutched to my chest, and found Christophe leaning against the wall down the hall. He dangled my bag loosely from one hand and smiled at me, blue eyes glinting. “You can leave those. They’re probably ruined.”

  His gaze dropped down, but I’d tucked the locket away under my shirts. It made me feel better to have it against my skin, even if it was doing some funky stuff lately.

  “They’ll be fine with some washing.” Besides, I don’t have that many clothes left. I tried not to stare at my bag. My hair was a heavy weight. I’d squeezed all the water I could out of it. “Can I have that, please?”

  “Of course.” He handed it over and subtracted the pile of clothes from me. “I’ll put this in the car, then. You need to eat. Follow me.” He set off down the hall toward a door and a set of stairs washed with pearly rainy-morning light.

  At least I wasn’t blushing. I tried not to think about it. It helped that he was all business. “Why aren’t there any windows down here?” I asked his back, bending down to grab my boots.

  He didn’t even break stride. “The nosferatu find it harder to get in. And it means the parents and uncles and aunts can defend the little ones. Come along, Dru.”

  The kitchen was wide, spacious, filled with light and wulfen. It was a crowd, and I saw my first female wulfen. They moved around the kitchen in perfectly choreographed waves, and some of the boys and girls were carrying plates and platters of food out to a huge dining room with three
tables that looked easily fifteen feet long apiece.

  “Good morning!” A tall, slim brunette woman wearing an apron over her jeans and sweater stepped out of the bustle. Christophe had disappeared in the chaos. “You must be Dru. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She seized my free hand and shook it, took in my bare feet and dirt-clomped boots with one swift look. “I’m Amelia. Welcome to our den.”

  “Um.” The noise and activity were enough to make me blink. “Hello. Hi.” Coffee. Eggs sizzling in a pan. Bacon. The good sound of pancakes hitting a hot griddle. And was that orange juice I smelled, and jalapeños? Cheddar cheese?

  “Must be overwhelming. This way.” She swept back a sheaf of glossy dark-brown hair and pulled me toward the dining room, gracefully avoiding the kids scrambling back and forth. “Oh, good, those fit you! I thought you were just about Danica’s size. We’ll have some socks around here somewhere, too, don’t you worry.” She halted and glanced over her shoulder. “We’re glad you’re here. And we’re glad you brought Andy and the young ones.”

  “I didn’t do much bringing,” I managed awkwardly. My hair was dripping on the sweater, curls beginning to develop out of the mass. “I was mostly out of it. Graves was—”

  “He said it was all you.” Her laugh was like bells. “Thanks for bringing Andy to us, and for trusting us. We’re loyal.”

  The way she said it, maybe anxiously, rang a wrong bell in my head. Yesterday was a collage of weird snapshots and disembodied voices, confusing if I thought about it too much. “That’s what he, Andy, said. I, um, thanks for letting us sleep here. I—”

  How do you tell someone, Gee thanks for letting us crash, we’re probably being chased by mad vampires and a traitor in the Order and you’re pretty much risking your lives? I couldn’t figure out the words and something blundered against my knees. When I looked down, a smiling toddler in pajamas over a sagging diaper grinned up at me, her dark eyes merry and her thatch of brown hair rumpled. She grabbed my knee and shrieked.

  “Bella!” Amelia scooped her up. “Good God, who’s supposed to be watching her?”