Chapter 3
THREE
PHOENIX
Layden stays in bed for several days, shivering underneath the covers even though there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead.
No fever, though. I’ve checked. Multiple times.
Every time I try to talk to him, he just shakes his head and turns away. After that first vulnerable night, it’s like he’s decided to just pull far, far inside himself. Like a wounded animal retreating to lick its wounds in private.
I wonder if, after so long alone, the concept of human interaction—even a warm, soft bed—is too much for his mind and body to handle all at once.
The one thing he will accept, however, is food.
So I spend the days chopping vegetables and making soup.
Which is funny, considering that back home, I usually rebel against anything that overly feminizes me or that I consider “woman’s work.
” In a compound full of kinsmen who are centuries older than me, I fought from the beginning not to be the one stuck with housekeeping.
And I certainly always refused to be involved in any sort of food acquisition for my vampire family.
I shudder at the thought.
They all took care of themselves long before I showed up, and nothing needed to change—even though the more caveman-like of my “uncles” sometimes disagree and try to push it.
Blood compulsion comes in handy for those arguments. And when a couple of them figured out how to shield against my mind control, it came down to proving myself in all-out combat.
Against men with hundreds of pounds on me.
But my power doesn’t come from bulk. And I have more tricks up my sleeve than just compulsion.
“Here,” I say on day four, perching on the edge of Layden’s bed with fresh potato, carrot, and onion soup.
He’s facing the window, his back to me, when he stirs. The stumps of his wings are only small lumps under the heavy blankets as he turns over, and I wonder if that’s what makes him wince—the pressure of them against the mattress.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?” The questions slip out automatically. But it just makes his expression shut down even more. Unlike the first day, he carefully keeps his eyes down and averted from mine.
He shies away from my touch when he struggles to sit up, and I try to help by stuffing another pillow behind him.
“Don’t spill the soup,” he mutters.
“He speaks!” I crow, letting go of the pillow when he grabs it and rearranges it himself. At least he’s showing a little more life today than he has the past few days. When he’s settled in, I hold up a spoonful of broth to his mouth.
He refuses to open, and finally, his eyes lift to mine. I try not to pull back or react in any way, even though my stomach swoops physically at the sudden, powerful eye contact.
“Give it to me; I can feed myself. I’m strong enough.”
It’s ridiculous that his words make me sad.
Feeding him has been the only intimacy he’s allowed beyond that initial day when I found him and he opened up to me a little.
I don’t know why I should care. I barely know him.
This is a side trip from my real life that part of me knows I’m focusing on just to help me escape the problems I ran from in the first place.
Still, it hurts. And it was stupid to think there was any real connection between me and a random stranger.
“Fine,” I snap, shoving the bowl into his hands as he hefts them out from underneath the heavy blanket.
The spoon immediately begins knocking against the side of the bowl, soup sloshing out and down the sides.
“Okay, Romeo,” I say, snatching the bowl back. “Try again tomorrow.”
He sighs in frustration and leans back against his pillows.
“I’m not used to being so weak,” he says.
“What’s wrong with a little weakness?” I ask, snatching a towel from the nearby table to swipe up the spilled soup and load up the large spoon to hold up to his lips again. “What makes the strong so superior anyway?”
His eyes look up at me in surprise as he opens his mouth to accept the soup. I smile and slip it between his waiting lips. He swallows, eyes still caught with mine for a long time until he realizes how long he’s been staring and jerks his gaze away.
“You’re kind,” he says.
I shrug. “That’s certainly not something I’m usually accused of,” I mumble. I look down at the bowl and scoop another spoonful.
When I move it to his lips, I find those thoughtful, too-seeing eyes locked on me again. “That surprises me. You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
My stomach swoops at his words, and I’m the one averting my gaze this time, focusing on his lips as I spoon the soup into his mouth. “Well, you don’t know me very well.”
He swallows, then licks his lips. “Seems like I might be seeing the real you that you don’t give others the chance to see.”
I can’t do anything but chuckle. “Ah, my friend. That’s wishful thinking. I know who I am. And it’s not a kind person.”
“Maybe you aren’t surrounded by the right kind of people.”
I laugh again and lift my eyebrow, along with another spoonful of soup. “And you’re the right kind of people?” Bantering with him like this sends excited thrills spiraling through my stomach.
He shrugs. “I never would have thought so before now. But I know what it’s like to be around people”—he swallows another spoonful, eyes laser-focused on me— “maybe family? Who makes for a bad environment. You never know what you could be apart from them until you leave.”
I frown, pulling back a little. As I’ve been leaning in to feed him, my hip has settled into the bed and leans against his. Shockingly, I didn’t even realize the physical contact was happening when I’m usually so wary of how close I allow anyone to get to me. “What do you know about it?”
His lips split in a weary grin. “More than you know.” The smile disappears from his face as his eyes slide toward the wall.
“My family only knew the language of brutality, never warmth or kindness. Still, I was shocked and so betrayed when they buried me alive after my father cut off my wings for rebelling against being the monster he’d created me to be.
My brothers, I’d thought might at least… ” But he shakes his head.
My mouth has gone dry at his words. I can’t relate to everything he’s said, but god, if I thought I could connect with him before… His story echoes mine in so many ways.
I drop the spoon into the bowl because I can’t think of any words, even though I want to say so much. It’s like there are too many thoughts swirling around in my head, and I can’t pick any to come out of my mouth. The spoon rattles in the empty bowl.
I look down, surprised. “Oh,” I say, blinking. “We’re all done.”
“Good,” he says, pulling the covers up and turning away from me again, the shorn wing on his left shoulder peeking out above the covers for a moment before he tugs them back up angrily.
“Layden,” I say, reaching to put a hand on his shoulder, careful not to hit the stump of his once-wing.
He flinches away from my touch, though, and I yank back. “I think I’ll rest now,” he grumbles into his pillow. I suck in a deep breath and stand up. Is it as difficult for him to allow anyone close as it is for me to? Especially after he was betrayed by his own brothers?
I swallow hard. It hurts the worst when it’s family that only sees you as something to use.
It’s wrong. Family should be like I knew briefly as a child before I had to come live with my Grandfather Vlad.
When it was just me and Mom and Dad. We didn’t live in a palace or a compound. Just a small apartment.
But they loved me. We decorated a Christmas tree each year and drank hot chocolate, and when I had a bad dream, my mother would rock me back to sleep.
My father read me bedtime stories, played soccer with me at the nearby park, and held me when I cried because I didn’t fit in with the other little kids.
It was… I turn away so Layden won’t see the stupid tears suddenly flooding my cheeks. I breathe in hard, a little shocked. I can’t remember the last time I cried. Or let myself think about Mom and Dad.
When I was a kid, so wrapped up in their love, it was easy to believe…
I shake my head and swallow my tears. Foolish.
That time was just a dream. I’m awake now and know the truth, even if it’s nice to allow this creature in front of me to believe the lie again for a little while. The lie that I’m an innocent creature, capable of good.
I know better now.
“There’s no more meat,” I pronounce because I need to be out of this little house with its cozy, friendly softness and the man with the kind eyes. “I’m going hunting and will be back later.”
Layden half turns over, and I see concern in his eyes. “Is that safe?”
I laugh. “Believe me, I’m the scariest predator in these woods.”
His eyes narrow again, head tilting slightly. I see the question in his eyes and slam out the door before he can ask it.
Half an hour later, I watch the red liquid puddle on the forest floor from the buck I’ve run down and strung up, bowing my head.
Memories of blood are the oldest ones I possess. Before I truly even understood. When the salty metallic bite was all I had to hold onto in the darkness. I clung to it like a desperate, wild thing. Which was all I was.
I gut the buck ruthlessly, wondering if I’m more animal than this majestic being ever was. I yank out its still warm heart, so recently beating, and wonder if I should leave Layden’s side so that I don’t become a curse to him like I have been to everyone else in my life.
I am not good. I am not kind.
Sure, in the dark, shadowed beginnings, I didn’t understand what all the blood would cost. I wanted the warmth. I wanted life more than anything. But what good are excuses?
I look at the buck, eyes dead and lifeless. Instead, I have become this. I toss the heart to the ground and finish gutting the animal and preparing the meat.
I already know that I’ll go back to Layden.
Because I’m as selfish as always. My cold, miserable existence has always felt like a constant punishment for ever dreaming of better.
Yet here I am, still hoping, still dreaming.
Still a fool.
I head back for the cabin, hauling the huge carcass behind me.