Chapter Twenty-Two
The room was blissfully dark, the thick curtains drawn tightly over the one window. The only sounds were of the hum of the ceiling fan and Chase's slow, steady breathing. I woke up quickly; I had been dreaming about Claudiana again, and the warehouse where we would be going in three days' time. When I realized that I was safe, and that Chase was still asleep, I calmed down, and tried not to move. Of course, I couldn't have moved even if I wanted to. Slung across my body, just under my breasts, was Chase's arm, heavy with the stillness that comes from being asleep. In that moment, I wouldn't have moved for the world. It felt . . . nice, to say the least, to have him so close, and so obviously at ease with me. I felt wanted. I hadn't felt that way since Brandon had left me five years ago. I hadn't dated anyone since then, either. I had let my quest for revenge take over my entire life. And yeah, I know, Chase and I weren't technically "dating," but there was definitely something going on between us. My only complaint was that I wouldn't be around to enjoy whatever it was. Because, as I said before, I knew, without a doubt, that I was going to die in San Francisco. It could be Mikhail, Claudiana, or Vann who finished me off—I couldn’t decide which would be worse.
The screeching of the alarm clock made me jump. Chase groaned in a way that made me think he might not have been as asleep as I thought he was. Quicker than I could register he swung his arm back, turned off the alarm, and settled back into position, snuggling up closer to me this time, resting his head against my shoulder. "Good morning," he said, his voice muffled as his mouth was against my skin.
"Is it?" I asked. I wanted to close my eyes, to relax and cozy up to him, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from his face.
He didn't open his eyes; he didn't move. It seemed as though he was perfectly comfortable just where he was. As though he had read my mind, he said, "You need to relax."
"I do?"
"Yes—you are ridiculously tense."
I closed my eyes and relaxed simply to placate him. His hold on me tightened. "That's better," he breathed, then, "You shouldn't worry so much."
"How can I not worry?" I asked him. It was a good thing he was around to be the calm one, because I was beginning to go insane worrying about what would happen in San Francisco.
"Stavros won't let Mikhail hurt you," Chase assured me. "Claudiana will not get involved—she likes to play games with people, to pit them against each other, but she herself rarely gets involved. As for this Vann person . . . if she comes near you, I will kill her."
He said it so nonchalantly, as if he were talking about going to the grocery or something. I shivered despite myself.
"You can't win against her," I told him. "She is . . . she's scary, is what she is. I remember when I first moved to California, I didn't know anyone. I was supposed to be looking for Donovan Kelley. My dad had just started slaying when Donovan came onto the scene—Dad claimed Donovan was one of the best. Since Dad couldn't train me himself, he sent me to California. So I was supposed to be looking for Donovan, right? Well, he knew I was here. He sent Vann to find me, to test the waters, I suppose. I have never been so scared in my life as I was that day that she attacked me."
Chase raised his head to look at me. "She attacked you?"
"Yeah—she beat me up pretty bad, and then asked me if I wanted a job. And that's how I became a slayer—I mean, how could I refuse a job offer like that?" I smiled, even though I was talking about the woman who was hell-bent on killing me.
"So, why did things change?" Chase asked, once again lying on my shoulder. I gave a one-armed shrug.
"I have no idea," I told him. "I mean—I don't remember doing anything that would make her want to kill me. Right at the end, you know, the Massacre happened, and I was hospitalized for weeks. I didn't even get to go to the memorial service for—well, for you-know-who. During my hospitalization, my fiancé broke up with me—"
Chase's head snapped up again. "I didn't know you were engaged," he said.
"Well, once upon a time, when I was young and stupid." I gave him a look. "Can I finish, please?"
He relaxed again. "Go right ahead."
I sighed. "So, anyway, after Brandon broke up with me, I got to thinking. And I decided that I couldn't be a part of their family anymore. Donovan and Vann's family, I mean, because that's all it really was, a family full of monster-slaying misfits. When I got out of the hospital I went by Donovan's house. No one was home. I left a letter saying how sorry I was, about everything, and then I just left. I didn't tell them where I was going."
"And after that you traveled California, Nevada, the entire western part of the country, tracking down all those vampires who had ruined your life," Chase said.
I remained silent. He was right, but how do you say anything to that? Hearing it spoken aloud like that made it all seem so…silly. I suddenly felt like slapping myself on the forehead and saying, "Stupid, what have you been doing with your life?" Or maybe it was just knowing all that I now knew—about the vampires leaving Mikhail and joining other families—that made it seem so pointless.
I hadn't felt Chase move, but when I opened my eyes his face was hovering just an inch or two above mine. "There you go again," he whispered. His face moved imperceptibly closer. "You really should…stop…" He never finished his sentence, because at that moment I raised my head enough to close the small distance between us, and our lips met.
It was like my body received an electric shock. My arms flew up to lock around his neck. I don't know why—maybe because he was a werewolf and so, in essence, an animal—but in seconds it turned from a mere kiss to something much more primal. Muscles rippled beneath his skin. A low growl started in his throat. He planted kisses on my mouth, my jaw line; he traced his way down my neck and concentrated on the hollow between my neck and shoulder. He sniffed my skin there, and I knew he could smell the blood just beneath my skin. I knew he could feel my fluttering pulse and the way my blood rushed. The growl became more pronounced. In that one moment, one thing was clearer to me than any one thing had ever been: right now, Chase—no, not Chase, the creature he was now—saw me as prey.
Almost reluctantly he shifted his focus away from my throat and looked up. His eyes were the amber-yellow of a wolf's. He bent down to kiss me once more, and I felt how his teeth had elongated. I knew if he were to speak, it would be with the mixed high-pitch and low-rumble of his wolf-man form. But even though I knew all that, even though I knew that right now I was considered the prey, I couldn't—wouldn't—be frightened. Despite all this, I felt safe. I felt safe because it was him.
Super-human speed does have its advantages, I managed to think once I realized that one moment I had been wearing clothes, and now I was not. I hadn't even felt myself move. He was good. His mouth left mine once more to roam downward, and this time he stilled just above my frantically beating heart—frantic for reasons besides fear, but frantic all the same. I watched him, wondering what he would do. On some instinctual level I knew that some part of Chase had shut down, and I had been left with the wolf, but I couldn't bring myself to care. And then, unexpectedly, he was gone. I looked up to see him standing in the corner of the room, watching me warily.
"I can't," he said, and I was right about his voice. I could only stare at him. He took a deep breath. "You're too…I don't know what you are, but it's driving me crazy. I almost lost all control just now. I could have ripped you to shreds."
"You don't scare me," I told him, aware of the way he looked at me, his eyes still yellow. He looked like a starving man, and I was his meal. And still, I wasn't frightened. Is that odd? I think that's odd.
"That's the problem," he said curtly. "You should be frightened."
I tried being obtuse. "You're the one who told me not to worry so much."
"Then I stand corrected," he said. "There is one thing you should always worry about."
"Oh?" I couldn't keep a bitter note out of my face. "And what's that?"
"Me."
The door slammed shut, and I realized that he was no longer in the room. Dejectedly I got up, pulled on my discarded clothes, and crawled back into bed. I didn't want to think about the fact that he could be right. I mean, I had never been involved with anyone who wasn't human before. Maybe he was too dangerous. The thoughts depressed me to no end.
When I heard the door open I foolishly sat up, thinking maybe Chase had come back. I know, what an idiot, right? It was just Morgana. She was the last person I wanted to see. I lay back down and pretended she wasn't there.
She sat on the edge of the bed; her weight barely moved the mattress. "You're not right for him, you know," she said. I stiffened—who was she to tell me I wasn't right for him? She was only his sister. "You're human, and that presents a world of problems. If anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself." As if to make up for the fact she was being uncharacteristically kind, she said, "And I do not want to be around him if he's going to mope for the rest of his life."
I sat up just in time to see her pause at the door, and look back at me over her shoulder. "Chase and I know firsthand what happens when a werewolf gets involved with a human," she said.
I could only stare at her. "What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, not feeling like putting up with her bullshit.
She just rolled her eyes at me. "Didn't you ever think it was odd that we were siblings, and both werewolves?"
She could tell from my expression that the answer was no. The truth of it was: I had never really taken the time to think much about it.
"Our mother was human, and our father was a werewolf," she informed me. "They were married against both families' wishes. Our mother almost didn't survive it when I was born. Human bodies aren't made to birth lycanthropes. Mom and Dad promised each other they wouldn't try for another child, but then she came up pregnant with Chase. That time, she didn't survive. Dad killed himself after she died. That's when Claudiana found us, and took pity on the little lycanthrope orphans."
I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. Morgana looked smug, and yet, upset. "So you see, if you become involved with Chase, and something goes wrong, anything, not just the baby thing," she said, "it would tear him apart. He would be like Dad; he wouldn't survive it."
Confident that she had made her point, she left without another word. Even after she was gone, I was still speechless. So that's why Chase had freaked earlier. He didn't want a repeat of his family history to happen. I couldn't lie to myself—me getting hurt was a possibility, even if it was accidental. After all, Chase's mother had died from an accident, a mistake. But I did have to wonder about one thing Morgana had said. Chase and I weren't in love—surely he didn't care enough for me that if something happened to me, he'd end up like his dad. Of course, we'd never spoken out-right about our feelings towards each other. Did he care about me that much? Did he…and I use this word lightly…love me?
That was just too much. I wasn't even sure I believed in love anymore. To keep my mind from those treacherous thoughts, I got up, took a shower, got dressed, and went off to go find something to keep me busy.
Thankfully, I didn't have to look far for that last bit.
I had just left the canteen where all in-lair employees ate. I had been looking for breakfast, but when I saw they were serving pancakes, I left. I'm not fond of pancakes. I was standing by the elevators when one of them dinged open, and Skye spilled out, dressed in another little leather number not quite as revealing as the one from yesterday.
"Oh, good, I found you," she said, walking over towards me.
"Has something happened?" I asked.
"I don't know if it's terribly important," she said, "but Antonio's not in his coffin, and it's nine o'clock in the morning."
"Is it unusual for him not to be in his coffin?" I asked her.
She nodded. "Yes, he almost always sleeps in his coffin. Sometimes he stays up at the penthouse with the boss, but when he does that, he always tells me."
I led her, my hand on her elbow, away from the elevators and entrance to the canteen, as people were starting to walk past us, the emergency exit. On the landing of the stairs I asked her, "Skye, when was the last time you saw Antonio?"
"A little less than three hours ago," she answered. "He was with me until just after sunrise."
"And did he go straight to his coffin after he left you?"
At this question her brow furrowed. "I…I don't know," she answered. "I can't remember anything. He said goodbye, and I got really tired, so I went to sleep. And when I went to check on him this morning, he was gone."
"Shit," I said. I could tell from her answer that there was some foul play afoot. It sounded a lot like Antonio had clouded her mind. Then again, there could always be a reasonable explanation. "Did you say he sometimes stays with Stavros?"
Skye nodded again. "Yeah, but like I said, when he stays up there, he usually calls me to tell me so I won't worry."
"Hmm," I said, then, "You go on with your day, Skye. Pretend everything is going normally. I'm going to head up to the penthouse and see if he's up there."
"What if he's not?" she asked, the tone in her voice and the expression on her face making her seem like a scared little child.
I just gave her my best apologetic look. "I'm kind of hoping he is," I confessed. "If he's not, then we really do have cause to be suspicious."
