the hall tile behind me, even though I’d asked them both to stay in my room.
Harmony and my dad stood facing us, but they were both too good at hiding their feelings for me to read anything more than general angst. They were better at that than I would ever be, considering how little time I had left to perfect the art.
“Dad, don’t do this,” I begged, frozen where I stood. “You can’t change this, and if you try, you’ll only be putting yourself at risk. Do you really want me to spend my last six days worrying that we’re both going to die on Thursday?”
“I don’t want you to worry about anything.” He ran one hand through hair that showed no sign of graying, less than a month before his one hundred thirty-fourth birthday. “I want you to finish high school, and break curfew, and keep giving me excuses to toss the Hudson boys out of the house, not necessarily in that order. I want you to have a normal life. A long one.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears as he crossed the room toward me. “Well, that’s not going to happen. And I’m not going to be able to enjoy what life I have left if I’m worried about you getting yourself killed trying to do the impossible.”
“Kaylee…” He reached for me, but I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Promise me, Dad. Promise you’ll leave this alone.”
“You know I can’t—”
“Promise,” I insisted, and his stoic expression crumpled beneath a burden of pain and responsibility I couldn’t imagine.
“Fine. I promise,” he said at last, and I let him fold me into a hug.
And as he squeezed me, his heart beating against my ear, I knew only two things for sure: I was going to die, and my father was lying.
I stood on the front porch and knocked again—there was no doorbell—then stared down the rough gravel road at a series of run-down houses and old cars, their age and ruthless depreciation exposed by harsh March sunlight. My own neighborhood was dated—the houses were small with one-car garages and tiny yards. But compared to living in this part of town, I had nothing to complain about.
Finally, the door opened and Sabine raised one dark brow at me, her hand still on the knob. “You look like shit.”
“I wish I could say the same.” And I really meant it. I’dbarely gotten any rest the night before—frankly, wasting what little time I had left sleeping felt almost criminal—and I was paying the price with pale skin, dark circles and a generally exhausted appearance. Sabine, on the other hand, only required four hours of sleep a night, yet she constantly walked the fine line between unconventionally hot and darkly captivating. A fact which fascinated and irritated me to no end.
“Any chance you’re here to admit defeat and hand over your boyfriend, like the good little bean sidhe we both know you are?”
My temper flared, but I held it in check, because of what I had to say next. “Actually, I need a favor.”
Sabine turned around and stalked into the darkened house, and I decided the open door was as much of an invitation as I was going to get.
“Is your foster mom home?” I followed her into a living room barely furnished with threadbare furniture smelling vaguely of old sweat.
“Rarely. She stays with her boyfriend most nights. Always comes back to collect the reimbursement check, though.”
“So you’re all alone?”
Sabine propped her hands on hips half-exposed by the low waist of her jeans and the short hem of a thin black tank top. “I’m a nightmare, Kaylee. Anyone who breaks in here would leave screaming. Or not at all.” She sat on the arm of an old brown-and-yellow striped couch. “Besides, I didn’t come here for parental supervision—I came for an address in the Eastlake school zone.” The mara had scared and manipulated her way into this foster home just to be near Nash. And evidently to drive me insane. “Now, if you would just step down and relinquish the
Harmony and my dad stood facing us, but they were both too good at hiding their feelings for me to read anything more than general angst. They were better at that than I would ever be, considering how little time I had left to perfect the art.
“Dad, don’t do this,” I begged, frozen where I stood. “You can’t change this, and if you try, you’ll only be putting yourself at risk. Do you really want me to spend my last six days worrying that we’re both going to die on Thursday?”
“I don’t want you to worry about anything.” He ran one hand through hair that showed no sign of graying, less than a month before his one hundred thirty-fourth birthday. “I want you to finish high school, and break curfew, and keep giving me excuses to toss the Hudson boys out of the house, not necessarily in that order. I want you to have a normal life. A long one.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold back tears as he crossed the room toward me. “Well, that’s not going to happen. And I’m not going to be able to enjoy what life I have left if I’m worried about you getting yourself killed trying to do the impossible.”
“Kaylee…” He reached for me, but I stepped back and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Promise me, Dad. Promise you’ll leave this alone.”
“You know I can’t—”
“Promise,” I insisted, and his stoic expression crumpled beneath a burden of pain and responsibility I couldn’t imagine.
“Fine. I promise,” he said at last, and I let him fold me into a hug.
And as he squeezed me, his heart beating against my ear, I knew only two things for sure: I was going to die, and my father was lying.
I stood on the front porch and knocked again—there was no doorbell—then stared down the rough gravel road at a series of run-down houses and old cars, their age and ruthless depreciation exposed by harsh March sunlight. My own neighborhood was dated—the houses were small with one-car garages and tiny yards. But compared to living in this part of town, I had nothing to complain about.
Finally, the door opened and Sabine raised one dark brow at me, her hand still on the knob. “You look like shit.”
“I wish I could say the same.” And I really meant it. I’dbarely gotten any rest the night before—frankly, wasting what little time I had left sleeping felt almost criminal—and I was paying the price with pale skin, dark circles and a generally exhausted appearance. Sabine, on the other hand, only required four hours of sleep a night, yet she constantly walked the fine line between unconventionally hot and darkly captivating. A fact which fascinated and irritated me to no end.
“Any chance you’re here to admit defeat and hand over your boyfriend, like the good little bean sidhe we both know you are?”
My temper flared, but I held it in check, because of what I had to say next. “Actually, I need a favor.”
Sabine turned around and stalked into the darkened house, and I decided the open door was as much of an invitation as I was going to get.
“Is your foster mom home?” I followed her into a living room barely furnished with threadbare furniture smelling vaguely of old sweat.
“Rarely. She stays with her boyfriend most nights. Always comes back to collect the reimbursement check, though.”
“So you’re all alone?”
Sabine propped her hands on hips half-exposed by the low waist of her jeans and the short hem of a thin black tank top. “I’m a nightmare, Kaylee. Anyone who breaks in here would leave screaming. Or not at all.” She sat on the arm of an old brown-and-yellow striped couch. “Besides, I didn’t come here for parental supervision—I came for an address in the Eastlake school zone.” The mara had scared and manipulated her way into this foster home just to be near Nash. And evidently to drive me insane. “Now, if you would just step down and relinquish the
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