his, turned it over, and sank his teeth into the inside
of her elbow. Her skin resisted, then broke with a soft snap. Blood
gushed into his open mouth, warm, salty, mildly sweet. The vaguely
acidic flavor of alcohol spiced it, along with the faint coppery tang
of adrenaline. He swallowed until it filled him, then released her
arm. The teeth marks were small enough to clot and heal on their own.
She held her arm against her chest and whimpered.
“Sit,”
he said. She did so, like a marionette with its strings cut. “Wait
here. I will return.”
With his will
tying her in place she would not move. Sebastian left her there and
went back to find Ian.
I AN
I stayed curled in the booth. Against my will, I imagined Sebastian
outside with that girl. He’d grabbed her like he planned on
beating the shit out of her and dragged her out. She’d yelled.
I heard it over the music. Did she do that to throw him off? Get the
mortals to join against him? It hadn’t worked, whatever she’d
wanted to happen. I shuddered. What would it feel like to have a
sword stabbed through you? I tried to recall the feel of metal
slicing through skin, the way you feel it a second too late on the
edge of a kitchen knife. The sword probably felt like that . . . only
bigger.
My stomach
turned over. I didn’t want to sit there and watch Sebastian
come back in, bloody sword in hand, cold and business-like. Not that
he’d walk into the Half-Moon like that – but I’d
still know. When he walked in and looked at me. Told me, “It’s
done.”
My fault.
That hurt. But
it was true. I had the opportunity to refuse his help. I didn’t.
Except if I had,
I would be all alone. Maybe even dead myself. He was all the choice I
had.
The situation
refused to divide into “right” and “wrong.” I
needed help, Sebastian offered it. It didn’t make me like the
kind of help he’d offered. It also didn’t make me want to
be there when he came back.
Did I have to
be?
It was done,
right? We found her. I did my part. I could let Sebastian handle her
from here.
One eye on the
front door, I got up and started to cut across the dance floor. I
didn’t want to chance him coming back while I made my way
around. Didn’t want to see him at all, or have to make up
excuses for where I was going. That didn’t leave me much time
to make my escape – I assumed. How long did it take to cut
someone’s head off?
How long does
it take to cut someone’s heart out?
My steps
stuttered. No one noticed.
I reached the
doors before Sebastian made an appearance. I hit the crash bar at a
run. My vision had started turning red. No one looked at me but the
bouncer, and he didn’t seem to notice. Sight washed red with
tears, I ran. I aimed for home without thinking about where I wanted
to go. Walking would take forever, but I had no money for a cab, no
keys to the car still parked in the lot, and I just wanted to go
home.
Without Kent.
The idea of
staying the rest of the night and the day there bothered me. Kent’s
empty room would be right across from mine, silent. He wouldn’t
wander around the house, sitting in his studio with his headphones
on, playing with Gypsy, laughing about some damn thing. None of it.
But I had
nowhere else to go, so my feet kept moving towards home.
According to my
watch the walk took me two hours. I cried most of the way. When I
finally turned onto my own street, I couldn’t remember ever
feeling so happy to see our little house. I dragged my feet up the
front steps to the door – and realized I still didn’t
have my keys. We’d locked up before we left. I swore and kicked
the door, ready to cry again. I couldn’t even go home. I leaned
my head against the door for a minute, trying to be calm. How else
could I get in?
Window. Kent had
bricked in all the basement windows, but we usually kept the ground
floor windows open. Kent hated being shut in with no fresh air. I
thought I’d left my studio window open, actually.
A ribbon
of her elbow. Her skin resisted, then broke with a soft snap. Blood
gushed into his open mouth, warm, salty, mildly sweet. The vaguely
acidic flavor of alcohol spiced it, along with the faint coppery tang
of adrenaline. He swallowed until it filled him, then released her
arm. The teeth marks were small enough to clot and heal on their own.
She held her arm against her chest and whimpered.
“Sit,”
he said. She did so, like a marionette with its strings cut. “Wait
here. I will return.”
With his will
tying her in place she would not move. Sebastian left her there and
went back to find Ian.
I AN
I stayed curled in the booth. Against my will, I imagined Sebastian
outside with that girl. He’d grabbed her like he planned on
beating the shit out of her and dragged her out. She’d yelled.
I heard it over the music. Did she do that to throw him off? Get the
mortals to join against him? It hadn’t worked, whatever she’d
wanted to happen. I shuddered. What would it feel like to have a
sword stabbed through you? I tried to recall the feel of metal
slicing through skin, the way you feel it a second too late on the
edge of a kitchen knife. The sword probably felt like that . . . only
bigger.
My stomach
turned over. I didn’t want to sit there and watch Sebastian
come back in, bloody sword in hand, cold and business-like. Not that
he’d walk into the Half-Moon like that – but I’d
still know. When he walked in and looked at me. Told me, “It’s
done.”
My fault.
That hurt. But
it was true. I had the opportunity to refuse his help. I didn’t.
Except if I had,
I would be all alone. Maybe even dead myself. He was all the choice I
had.
The situation
refused to divide into “right” and “wrong.” I
needed help, Sebastian offered it. It didn’t make me like the
kind of help he’d offered. It also didn’t make me want to
be there when he came back.
Did I have to
be?
It was done,
right? We found her. I did my part. I could let Sebastian handle her
from here.
One eye on the
front door, I got up and started to cut across the dance floor. I
didn’t want to chance him coming back while I made my way
around. Didn’t want to see him at all, or have to make up
excuses for where I was going. That didn’t leave me much time
to make my escape – I assumed. How long did it take to cut
someone’s head off?
How long does
it take to cut someone’s heart out?
My steps
stuttered. No one noticed.
I reached the
doors before Sebastian made an appearance. I hit the crash bar at a
run. My vision had started turning red. No one looked at me but the
bouncer, and he didn’t seem to notice. Sight washed red with
tears, I ran. I aimed for home without thinking about where I wanted
to go. Walking would take forever, but I had no money for a cab, no
keys to the car still parked in the lot, and I just wanted to go
home.
Without Kent.
The idea of
staying the rest of the night and the day there bothered me. Kent’s
empty room would be right across from mine, silent. He wouldn’t
wander around the house, sitting in his studio with his headphones
on, playing with Gypsy, laughing about some damn thing. None of it.
But I had
nowhere else to go, so my feet kept moving towards home.
According to my
watch the walk took me two hours. I cried most of the way. When I
finally turned onto my own street, I couldn’t remember ever
feeling so happy to see our little house. I dragged my feet up the
front steps to the door – and realized I still didn’t
have my keys. We’d locked up before we left. I swore and kicked
the door, ready to cry again. I couldn’t even go home. I leaned
my head against the door for a minute, trying to be calm. How else
could I get in?
Window. Kent had
bricked in all the basement windows, but we usually kept the ground
floor windows open. Kent hated being shut in with no fresh air. I
thought I’d left my studio window open, actually.
A ribbon
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