Forever, page 28
“You can’t.”
“I’ve decided that I’m not going to terminate the pregnancy. I don’t know what the future holds for me, but I will be doing whatever I can to stay alive until the birth.”
“C.P….”
“Do me a favor.” She looked away. Looked back. “Call me Cathy. I’m really feeling a need to drop the bullshit these days.”
* * *
Standing across the desk from the great C.P. Phalen, who was at the moment dressed in sweatpants and that fleece that smelled like Gus, Lydia fell silent. She had no idea what to say—about anything.
“Is it okay if I stay a few days?” she asked after a long pause. “In case Daniel comes back, you know.”
“You can stay for however long you want.”
“Thank you.”
C.P.—Cathy, that was—nodded and seemed to get lost in her own head. Which was fine. Lydia had plenty to think about also.
After Daniel had left the den up on the mountain, the male on the pallet, Blade, had just stared at her without saying a thing—although she had felt as though he was reading her in some way she didn’t understand, yet clearly sensed. When she’d demanded that he explain himself, he’d just told her that he wasn’t feeling well and closed his eyes. That was it.
Frustrated, she had departed the den and then walked down the trail. Halfway through the descent, she realized she was still wearing the red robing. She’d ditched it and shifted, and spent much of the day roaming around, her mind full of recriminations that were only partially dimmed due to her being in her wolven form.
When she had finally arrived back at C.P.’s house, she had dressed in the clothes that she, as always, had left folded on the salt bag.
Just like she had been doing every day.
She should have told Daniel that she’d stopped working. But she had sensed all along he wouldn’t be trying C.P. and Gus’s drug—and she just hadn’t wanted to talk about the future. She was living it with him; discussing the tragedy and all its implications had made her feel positively ill. And then there was the reality that her time away from the house and the lab was her sanity. Every weekday, from nine to five, she had coursed the acreage of the valley and the mountains in her wolven form. It had been the only way to stay even partially together under the pressure, and she had taken such solace with her kind, whether they were genetically just wolves or wolven like her. With her clan, in the lair of the wolven, she had reconnected with the side of herself that had been dormant by design, the practice of denial that her human grandfather had mandated for her survival no longer necessary.
Even before Xhex had told her that her future was on the mountain? She had known that to be true.
If she was going to survive at all after Daniel was gone, she was going to have to go there. And she’d been determined to start getting used to being in the lair.
“Thank you.” Wait, what was she talking about? Oh, right, C.P.’s—Cathy’s—hospitality. “I mean, well… I think I’m going to go check my phone. See if…”
But he wasn’t going to call her.
“Daniel will show up,” Cathy said. “Either because he comes to his senses—or because he’s not going to have a choice.”
A striking fear blew open Lydia’s adrenaline system, and she struggled to control her panic. “I’m just… going to go check my phone.”
“Do that.”
“Let me know if you need me…” For what, Lydia didn’t know. “And even though it’s very complicated, congratulations.”
C.P.—Cathy, and God, she was going to have to get used to the Cathy thing—blinked quickly. “I appreciate that. It’s a shock, as you can imagine.”
“It’s a blessing.” Lydia put her hand on her own lower belly. “The father must be very happy.”
As she let that drift, the other woman winced and said no more. So after an awkward parting, Lydia drifted back through the house’s towering, black-and-white rooms and halls. Going along, she felt as though they were in the same place.
Lost.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ALTRUISM WAS NOT the hallmark of a symphath. Not even close.
After night fell more than sufficiently, Blade finally got up off the pallet he’d spent the day on, and to burn a little more time, he immersed himself in the heated spring’s gentle embrace. Just as the water reached his pecs, he heard an approach through the cave’s passageway, the footfalls powerful and undisguised.
It was not who he wanted to see, although certainly someone he had expected.
“Sister mine,” he said before Xhex strode into the cave, before he sank beneath the surface to wet his hair.
When he reemerged, he discovered she was not alone, her mate, John Matthew, standing at her side. The two of them looked good together, her so powerfully built and dressed in black, him the same. And though their bodies weren’t touching, their connection was obvious, the kind of thing that was a second fire burning within the cave.
“Oh, I got both of you,” Blade murmured. “How lucky.”
“I came to see if you’re dead,” Xhex announced.
He lifted his hands. “Disappointed?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“At least that’s honest.” He smiled at her male. “John. How are you. Thanks for last night.”
The Brother lowered his chin in a nod, but that was all that came back. Which proved he was a smart male.
“We need to know something.” His sister glanced around the stark furnishings. “But first, I know Lydia’s been by here, hasn’t she.”
The question was bullshit, nothing but a fishing expedition to light up his grid and test whether he’d been a good boy, whether he’d kept to his word.
“She stopped by this morning, but I haven’t seen her since.”
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d seen her in his mind all day long. The replay of her and Daniel shouting at each other, their grids glowing like forest fires, their voices clashing, had stuck with him in ways few other things could have.
“What is going on with you and her?” Xhex demanded. “I don’t get it.”
Wasn’t that the question of the hour. And there was only one answer he could give: “Absolutely nothing.”
“You’ve bonded with her. I could scent it last night—and it’s still true as I bring up her name now. FYI, I don’t think she knows what that means for a vampire male.”
Blade said nothing. And as his sister’s eyes narrowed on him, he sensed that it wasn’t just the shift in his scent that told her where he was at with the female wolven. She was reading his grid, and why should he feel like that was a violation when he was doing the same to her?
And she wasn’t doing well. Her superstructure was still all wrong. Was she even aware of it, though?
“Perhaps you’ll move on to the real reason you’re here?” he prompted.
Xhex rolled her eyes like she was sick of him, and he knew how that felt. He was rather sick of himself as well.
“That cyborg thing we took off the mountain last night.” She nodded over her shoulder, like he didn’t remember where the biomechanical soldier had been, out by the summit. “The Brotherhood and I—we want to know what it is.”
“I would think that is self-explanatory to a certain point.”
“The hell it is. It was part human, part machine.”
“No, there is no human in them. Not that I’ve been able to find, at least.”
“So you know what they are.”
“I have encountered one or two in my time. But before you pepper me with inquiries, I will tell you quite truthfully that I know nothing of their origin. They are out in the darkness—working for some kind of master. Their larger, ultimate purpose, however, escapes me as of now.”
“We’re going to have to drill down on this. The Brotherhood doesn’t like surprises in their territory.”
“So they pay the taxes on this mountain? I was unaware that the land had changed hands. I rather thought this was a preserve.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know exactly what I mean.”
Blade debated on whether or not to further provoke her. And then lost interest and energy in such an escapade. “I am happy to share with the Black Dagger Brotherhood all that I know. And I just did. That’s it.”
Xhex glanced at her mate. Then returned her stare to Blade’s. As her gray eyes narrowed on him, he was reminded of how deadly his sister was, and that made him respect her.
Then he thought of his wolf.
Ever since she had left him, an idea had been kindling deep within him, and he found himself praying he wouldn’t decide to do the right thing by her. If he did, he had the sense he would be giving up the one true love of his life forever.
And really, why should he do that—especially, as a symphath, he was genetically engineered for self-advancement: There was nothing more antithetical to congenital narcissism than sacrificing yourself for another’s happiness.
After all, Lydia would never know he could have interceded. No one would ever know—and he could show up here on this mountain in the wake of her mate’s funeral, and drape himself in red robes and seduce her with some line of spiritual bullshit during her mourning period.
If Lydia chose him, honestly chose him—well, mostly honestly chose him—then Xhex would have no reason to ride him off the proverbial range.
He refocused on his sister, seeing her properly, and in the back of his mind, in the way back, he wondered what she would think if she knew that he had been ahvenging her all these years. She must never know what he had been doing, however.
If anyone in the Colony ever learned how much he cared for her, she would become a target to be used against him—and she had spent too many years of her life already in danger.
He would not put her in that position, even though it meant that she would continue to hate him—and hate him she did.
“Forgive me, sister mine. My bath is concluding. You either need to shoot me in the head or leave me to my privacy. I am done talking—although I suppose you must be used to the silence with your mute mate.”
Blade winked at John Matthew—and got bared fangs in response.
As Xhex snarled across the cave’s rocky interior, Blade’s heart ached. But that, like so much…
… he kept to himself.
THIRTY-EIGHT
THE FOLLOWING DAY, the hours passed with an aching slowness for Lydia: dawn arriving, the sun drifting by overhead, night assuming prominence. Like every living thing on the planet, it was the cycle that she had always known, and yet now the components of minutes and hours were revealed as a very specific form of torture.
She spent most of the time in bed, staring at the door, hoping it would burst open to reveal Daniel’s return. When she did get up, it was to go to the bathroom. Take a quick shower. Ghost down to the kitchen to pick up food and bring it back—as if he would somehow change his mind only if she were laying her head on his pillow.
The day after that was exactly the same. Well, except that sometime after noon, her phone went off. She all but lunged for it on the bedside table—only to discover that it was someone who wanted to talk to her about the warranty on her car.
“You’ve got to call Candy for that,” she muttered as she hung up on the telemarketer.
Back onto the pillow—and it was then that she finally fell asleep. She knew this because she was able to be present in a dream that repeatedly laid claim to her, her hyperawareness causing her to be awake within her subconscious’s dance of delusions.
Naturally, it was about Daniel.
And he was dying.
The images, sights, and sounds were all based on memories. She had been present many times when he’d crashed. She had watched him turn blue and gasp for breath, or be unable to respond to simple commands. She had seen the medical staff rush in and had to jump back, jump out of the way. She’d begged and prayed for his survival. And naturally, all of that terror was where she went: She was at his bedside down in the clinic, and he was fighting for breath, clawing at the air in front of him for relief, nothing but a wheeze coming out of him—
Now is when you call for help, she told herself.
Straining with everything she was worth, she called out to the closed door. Screamed for Gus, even though she’d been told he’d left, hollered for someone, anyone, to—
Her grandfather was the one who stepped into the room.
And abruptly, she traded places with Daniel: Lydia was now the one in the bed and she had no idea where he had gone—no, wait. That wasn’t true. He had died, and now she was dying, too. Of a broken heart.
Her grandfather came up to her bedside. He was dressed in his tweed jacket and his wool slacks, his pipe in his hand, his bushy gray eyebrows down low, as if he were very concerned about her.
“Have you come to say goodbye,” she choked out.
As always, he said nothing. He just stared down at her.
“Help me, Grandfather. What shall I do?”
Wordlessly, her grandfather’s arm raised and swung around to the door, his knurled finger pointing out into—
Lydia woke up in a rush, the dim contours of the bedroom she had shared with Daniel familiar and strange at the same time.
“Grandfather? Are you here…?”
When there was no answer, she wrapped her arms around herself and wept. She wanted to be mad at Daniel for misjudging her as he had, for jumping to a logical conclusion that nonetheless made no sense. Instead, she just felt like he had died, even though he was still alive.
And that dream was right.
She was in the process of dying, too.
In her soul.
* * *
About fifty miles to the north, not far from the Canadian border, Daniel sat outdoors in front of a crackling fire, his eyes lost in the flames that spit and hissed inside their circle of stones. From time to time, he coughed, partially from the cold irritating his shot-to-shit lungs, partially from the smoke, definitely from the dryness of everything.
The campsite he’d rented for the night had been free. Which was what happened when it was off-season and no one was monitoring their property. He’d just driven right around the flimsy arm barrier across the entrance to the campgrounds and kept going until he identified the most defensible position. After that, he had liberated some cordwood from under a tarp by the communal restrooms, and settled in for the night.
For two days, he had driven around upstate New York, memories of Lydia and his former boss in that cave version of a love shack burning him as if the images were acid on his skin, inside his veins, down his throat.
After he hadn’t been able to find her at the WSP or at Candy’s house, he’d guessed where she would go. Of course it was the mountain. Half of her was made for living up in those elevations, and he had always known she was happiest up there. He’d been seeking answers as he’d driven his bike up the broad trail, a violation of the WSP’s stated rules, but hey, the goddamn organization was dead. Who the hell was going to enforce its standards and regulations against him?
When he’d gotten to the summit, he’d smelled the woodsmoke and followed the scent to an outcropping of boulders. A little walk around had revealed the passageway into the cave with its heated spring.
And the rest was history.
Funny how when you found your woman with a man you knew was a sociopathic killer, you kind of didn’t think about your cancer anymore. Nope. And in spite of her betrayal, all he could think about was the danger Lydia was in.
He’d wanted to call Blade all day long. But what kind of threats could he leverage against the guy to get him to stop seeing her? And even if he had buttons to push, he wasn’t going back to Lydia. There was no going back.
Groaning, he repositioned himself, stretching out even more against a rock and crossing his legs at the ankles. Then he linked his arms over his chest. It was going to be hellaciously cold tonight, but then he was numb all over. He wouldn’t feel a thing.
He could kill Blade—he really could. The bastard had seduced—
“No, I did not.”
For a split second, Daniel became convinced that he’d dubbed in the voice of the man he’d been thinking of—but then a long, lean figure stepped into the firelight.
Funny, it was kind of like what they had done before in April, when Blade had found him on the run and threatened him with Lydia’s life if he didn’t follow through and eradicate C.P. Phalen’s lab.
Ah, good times, good times. And here they were again—and he was not surprised. Blade always knew where his men were, almost like they’d been chipped or something.
“I could shoot you where you stand,” Daniel muttered. “I really could.”
When the motherfucker didn’t say anything, he looked up at his old boss properly. Blade’s expression was remote, his lean face a mask of composure in the flames’ orange and yellow flickers.
“If you came here to gloat,” Daniel said, “don’t bother. I told you, you can have her. You win. You taught me the lesson of disobeying an order—how long were you working this angle, by the way? I assumed you backed off bombing the lab site because you knew there was too much attention in the news already. Like, if there was an explosion, things could get too messy, what with all the press about the dead wolves and the red herring with that hotel site killing them. But no, you were playing a long game with me, trying to get me back through working her, weren’t you.”
Blade just stood there.
Like a statue.
“Oh, okay, you came to kill me, not have a chat.” Daniel unlinked his arms and put them out. “Truthfully, this is great. Euthanize me. Put me out of my misery. You’d be doing me a favor—”
“I’m in love with her.”
“What.”
Of all the things Daniel had expected the man to ever say? That wasn’t it; not about Lydia, not about anyone or anything.
