Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
The walkway beside the Science Center is quieter at sundown than I expected, at least as far as students are concerned.
The cicadas, however, are filling the gap nicely.
Mr. Griffin is already here, waiting for us at the same spot where Chase and Whistler rescued me and Tia, back when all this was new and strange.
Chase’s hand tightens around mine as we move closer to Mr. Griffin, right at the place where Whistler—the creature I’d been terrified of in that moment—threw a silver dagger past my ear and into the creature that was about to attack me from behind. A nightmare creature called Vexarin.
Tia and Riley hurry toward us, muttering apologies for being late even though they’re right on time.
Mr. Griffin glances around, silently acknowledging that we’re all here, then he sets the candle on the stone path and strikes a match.
As he lights the candle, the rest of us stand in a loose circle, our hands twined together to form a solid ring.
“He didn’t believe in long speeches,” Mr. Griffin says after a moment.
“And he’d probably eschew the idea of a memorial.
Whistler thought ceremony was for people who needed to feel important.
And yet here we are. So no fancy words. No overt sadness.
Just one good story in his honor. Because Whistler did love a good tale. ”
He turns to Chase, as if passing an invisible microphone, and I see a tiny flicker of amusement on Chase’s face as he glances around the circle, saying, “Whistler was on a job in Marseille about two centuries ago. An escapee from Mordhal, the prison in the Realm of Retribution, managed to land in a basement and was trying to claw its way to a family upstairs. Whistler sidled in and handled it before the family even had a clue. But he went back four more times.” He glanced around at all of us.
“Honestly, that irritated me. We had limited time and a lot of hunting on our plate. And he was keeping silent about what he was stalking there.”
“A mare he couldn’t kill or trap?” I ask.
Chase shakes his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Turns out that basement had a cat, too. Half-feral, very thin, scratched up from its fights with the escapee. He’d been going back to try and find the thing a home.
He did, too. That wounded, angry kitty ended up being the best friend of the littlest girl in the family who took him in.
I know, because Whistler checked in once a year.
The cat lived for three years after the child got married. ”
He pauses, smiling. “A black cat with a white moustache. And Whistler kept the picture in his coat. Showed it to me once when he was drunk. Probably would have denied it if I mentioned it again. But that’s the Whistler I knew. A good man. And a good friend who loved a cat named Princess.”
I nod, wiping away tears. Then we each light our own candle off the larger one that Mr. Griffin had already lit.
“Goodbye, dear friend,” Chase says. “You will be missed.”
Tia makes a small, wet sound, and I hold back sniffles.
“To Whistler,” Mr. Griffin says.
“To Whistler,” we all respond. And then, as one, we blow out our candles.
I watch the thin strand of smoke rise from mine and imagine Whistler traveling off to the afterlife as beside me Mr. Griffin packs up his things, and Tia wipes her eyes on her sleeve.
“The coffee place by Whitehall is open till nine,” Riley says softly. “Anyone want to go?”
“I’m in,” Tia says, her voice heavy. “I’ll literally cry into a latte. Cora?”
I open my mouth to say yes—and then I look at Chase.
He’s standing beside me, his palm against my lower back, and though he’s holding up well, I know he must be on the verge of coming apart.
After all, Whistler was his friend longer than anyone alive, and tonight Chase buried his own grief to help me live with mine.
The cost of that is written in his overly stiff posture and the tightness in his jaw.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, squeezing his hand. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Tia whips off a salute, clearly understanding, and Riley moves in to hug me. Then Mr. Griffin nods once, and they’re off to the coffee stand—Tia leaning into Riley’s shoulder as they walk.
I turn to Chase. “Your place?”
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even nod. He just slips his hand into mine as we head toward the path that leads to the southern edge of campus and Chase’s apartment just a few blocks beyond.
We’re silent for the entire walk through the blur of dark streets, but whenever his hand tightens around mine, I squeeze right back.
The wooden steps leading to his apartment creak as we climb them.
Then he unlocks the door, and I step into the room I know so well.
It’s barely been a minute since I was here, but when you factor in the unexpected travel to the Nightmare Realm, the betrothal, and all the rest, it feels like years since I’ve seen the place.
I glance around, letting the familiar setting ground me.
The exposed beams hung with dried herbs and chimes of silver and iron.
A curved blade on the kitchen counter, right where another man might leave his keys.
The newspaper clippings and colored string that match various breach points and mare sightings. Conspiracy theory chic, Tia called it.
“What?” I ask, realizing that although he’s closed the door, he’s now leaning back against it, his arms crossed, and those golden eyes on me. “Is something wrong?”
As he takes one step toward me, the lamplight catches the planes of his face and the hard set of his jaw. “Tell me you want to be here.”
“Of course I want—”
He holds up a hand. “Tell me you’re not just here because I lost a friend.” There’s an edge to his voice when he adds, “I’m not interested in cold comfort.”
“What the hell?” I go park myself right in front of him, undoubtedly telegraphing some serious annoyance. “Are you nuts? Of course, I’m here because I want to be here.” I take his hand, relieved when he gently squeezes mine. “I love you,” I say, then rise on my toes to kiss his cheek.
“And him?”
I don’t pretend to misunderstand. I also don’t want to answer. But I can’t stay silent any more than I can lie.
“Fine,” I say sharply. “We really have to rehash this again? You know the answer, dammit. I don’t love him, but I am attracted to him. And like it or not, he’s now very much part of my life.”
What I don’t say is that I think I could love Adric. But that wasn’t what Chase asked, and I don’t see a need to volunteer information.
Besides, every time I think about loving him, I remember that night with the executions, and I hate myself a little for wanting him so much. But that is definitely not something I’m sharing with Chase.
“Dammit, Cora. He’s in your head.” As I watch, the muscle in his cheek tightens, and I want to bang my head against a wall. I mean, yes, I get why he’s jealous. But it is seriously freaking annoying.
I take a breath and tell myself to put on his proverbial shoes.
“Listen, okay? I love you. That’s true, and it’s not changing, and you know that.
But I’m not going to tell you I don’t feel things for him, too—you know I do.
But tonight, in this apartment, I’m here because I want you.
Just you. Don’t make me say it ten different ways. ”
A moment passes. Then another.
Finally, he uncrosses his arms, then takes a step toward me.
Then another that puts him right in front of me.
But he doesn’t kiss me, even though I’m silently begging him to do just that.
Instead, he reaches out with his thumb and traces the line of my cheekbone as his eyes search mine with such intensity that it literally steals my breath.
“Tonight,” he says. “Just us. We’ll figure the rest out later.”
I nod. “Yes.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” I whisper, and the word is still hanging in the air between us when he pulls me to him and kisses me, hard and deep and claiming. As if with this single connection, he can erase Adric from my mind and soften all the rough edges that have been between us.
And from the way his kiss is making me melt, I think maybe that’s all true. Right now, there’s only Chase. Only me. And a wild heat burning between us and fueled by need. As if his body has to prove what our words just promised. That I’m his. That tonight, there’s only us.
As his mouth works magic inside me, his fingers fist in my hair, and he tips my head back so he can deepen the kiss, even as his other hand slides under my shirt—his palm flat against the small of my back.
He releases my hair, then uses both hands to tug the shirt over my head, breaking the kiss and taking the opportunity to spin me around.
He pulls me close, his cock hard against my back as he slides his hand down into my jeans, then under the band of my boring cotton panties until he finds my core.
I shudder from nothing more than the soft brush of his fingertip against my clit before he thrusts that finger and more inside me, my body clenching around him as he murmurs, “You’re so wet. Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me,” I beg. “Please. I want you inside me.”
His hands slide up to cup my breasts through my bra.
Then he spins me around again, this time to face him.
One hand slides under the cup to tease my nipple in a way that sends sparks shooting through me as his other hand flips open the button on my jeans, then tugs down the zipper, and I make a soft whimpering sound that’s half pleasure and half plea.
I barely notice as we move across the room until the back of my legs hit the open sofa-bed and we go down together.
He’s above me. His weight on my hips. His fingers teasing under my bra. “Off.”
The word is firm and hard. An order, and I lift up enough to let him unfasten the back and then tug it off.