Chapter Twenty-One - Teagan
Kai wanted me to sleep in his bedroom with him. But I’ve already spent too much time on a mattress he and Vidar fuck on.
So he put me in a guest room, hovering until I pretended to fall asleep.
“I will protect you, little bro…” he whispers. A wobbling pressure builds in my throat until he sighs, then murmurs, “Sleep well,” and leaves with a soft click of the door.
My eyes blink open, and I think about chasing after Kai to say…I have no idea. The thought flakes away like dried paint as it leaves.
I try to sleep, but only manage a few fitful hours before I’m wide awake and staring down at my arm. At the place Summer sliced into, creating our painful bond, I slowly run my thumbnail up and down my skin, until a red mark grows in its place.
When I stop, the irritated scratch fades all too soon. Like it never even happened.
Blowing out a breath, I sit up, switch on the bedside lamp, and swing my feet around to hop out of bed before I can question the incessant itch driving me forward.
I look down at my phone. It’s late. No one will be up but…I hit call.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
I’m about to hang up when, “Hello, Teagan.”
I drop back down onto the mattress with a sigh. “Hey, Mum.”
Neither of us says anything, but I hear the rustle of sheets.
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I whisper.
With her, she’s direct, no bullshitting, so when she says, “I’m not,” in her raspy voice, I know she’s telling me the truth.
We stay silent together, her even breathing slow and steady. Soon I’m matching the same pace. The restless itch is still there, but not so loud.
“I’m with Kai.”
“Is he with you right now?”
“Nah.”
She hums. “Sounds like maybe you need someone with you.”
Feeling more relaxed and following her quiet breathing, I stand up and look around the bland room. It’s got a wardrobe I’ve already looked in and a floor-to-ceiling window I’ve already looked out of.
“Kai’s living in a boring-ass mansion,” I tell Mum.
“At least it’s an upgrade from his terrible little flat.”
I huff a laugh, dropping down to wiggle under the king-size bed on my stomach, disappointed when there isn’t even a stray sock.
I belly-crawl to each leg of the four-poster bed, running my fingers over the cool, polished wood. But it isn’t until the bottom left one that I find a fingernail-length scratch.
Finally, an imperfection.
Something to cut through the too-perfect guest room pretending to be normal, when nothing in this mansion—in me—is normal anymore.
“Thanks, Mum.” I flop onto my back, breathing easier as I stare at the wooden slats holding the mattress. “For listening.”
“Of course, Teagan.”
We hang in the silence together for a moment longer before hanging up.
Soon, in the easy quiet, an idea comes to the surface.
I shoot my hand out to drag my backpack under the bed, like I’m a tentacled sea monster capturing prey to pull into its lair.
Unzipping it, I reach inside for a small palette knife that I’ve used maybe once.
With the triangle point, I carve a dick into the middle slat—snickering as I shape the bulbous head, stubby shaft and two bouncy balls.
It’s stupid, immature.
I love it.
The weight I didn’t even notice weighing me down slips off my chest.
Once I’m done—a few curled wood shavings scattered across my nose—I toss my palette knife back into my backpack, hook the strap around my wrist, then roll out from under the bed to bolt up on my feet.
Mum said I needed someone, so I should go find them.
I’m already out of the room before I can question myself, slinging my bag over my shoulders.
I stroll down the hallway, my bare feet puffing along the green runners.
There aren’t any cobwebs in the corners, and the side tables are recently dusted.
But I haven’t seen anyone cleaning. Back at uni, I lived in a shared house.
We had a cleaning rota that no one followed and everyone fought over. I wonder if it’s like that here.
I snicker at the idea of Vidar taking out the rubbish.
I head towards the kitchen, but on my way there, I hear voices, then spy Kai on the cushioned bench by the window. Golden on one side, frowning at unravelled yellow yarn pooling in his lap, his knee bouncing. On the other side, from Kai’s description, he must be Ramy.
Kai said he was beautiful, but that doesn’t do the other man justice. He’s got dark, hooded eyes, long black hair kissing the elegant lines of his neck and dewy Arabic-brown skin.
I startle when I realise Ramy is staring right at me. From this distance, I’m surprised he could hear me coming. I expect Ramy to signal to Kai that I’m there.
He doesn’t.
Ramy offers me the smallest of smiles, like a promise to hide my secret. A gesture I return as he shifts back to my brother and a nervous Golden.
I’m quick to change directions in case Kai spots me, heading in the one place Kai gave me strict instructions to stay away from. Raising my fist, I knock on that very door my brother warned me about, and keep knocking when no one answers.
After ten seconds, I hear a curse, the pounding of feet, then Elio all but rips the door off its hinges.
“Yo.”
“Would you stop?” Elio snaps.
I shrug, tucking my hands into my pockets, and don’t bother to pretend I’m not looking over his shoulder into his room. It’s decorated like mine, with only an open duffel bag at the foot of the bed.
“Hello?!” Elio bites out when I stay quiet. “Are you really bothering me so you can stand outside my door like a freak?”
I drop my gaze back to him, blink once and watch the vein throbbing at his temple.
“Well?” Elio demands.
I shrug again, then stroll down the hallway. When Elio makes a frustrated growl, I try to hide a laugh. He’s really fun to annoy.
“C’mon, then,” I say over my shoulder, eyebrow ticked up like he should’ve known what I wanted this whole time, just so I can see how big that vein will pound.
Through gritted teeth, his fists shake like two rockets about to take off. “Come on, to where?”
I wait.
Keep waiting.
Elio huffs, grabs his hoodie—his face burning red when the hood catches on the doorknob as he has to tug it free—then stomps after me. “This better be important.”
My face doesn’t move as we walk, but maybe my eyes glint with something that tells Elio that this isn’t important, because he heaves a sigh and says, “You are very irritating.”
My lips twitch. Why disagree when it’s the truth?
We climb up the stairs, Elio leaving some of his frustration behind as we keep going. When we arrive on the second floor, I keep my gaze locked to the ceiling, scanning it over.
“If you want to know more about your tether with Summer, I’ve already told you everything I know,” Elio says, like he’s ready to start a fight.
“Sometimes I wish I felt the tether,” I admit. “Not the pain bit, that sucked. But kinda like how I feel Sen. So I know it’s actually real.”
Elio snaps his mouth shut, but his need to ask a question ripples out of him like a pebble dropped in water. I don’t pry, just keep looking up in the hope I find what I’m searching for.
“What…” Elio swallows, then continues in a tone suggesting he’s trying to be casual, only to fail when he swallows again. “What does the soulmate bond feel like?”
“With Sen?”
“No, with fucking Santa!”
I drop my gaze, tilt my head to look at Elio bristle. “Santa is real?”
Elio’s hands vibrate like he’s seconds away from taking off.
I stop in place to offer Elio a small smile. “It’s kinda like…you ever feel your own pulse? It’s like I’m constantly remembering the beat. Sometimes it’s at the back of my mind, but never gone. Other times, it’s like I can’t help but not remember every detail. Does that make sense?”
Elio shrugs, tucks his palms under his armpits and looks away. “I…”
For a while, he doesn’t say anything. Which is fine by me. He says more in his silence than he could by speaking.
“I know no one believes me. They all think I’m hiding some information about Summer and…Emma.” Elio’s shoulders drop at the mention of his Mother. “Why would anyone believe a blood mage, but—”
“I believe you.”
His shoulders shoot back up to his ears, as if he wasn’t expecting that.
“Oh…I…well, I guess you’re smarter than you look—”
“Bend down, I wanna get on your shoulders.”
Elio shoots me a confused look. “What?”
I gesture at him to hurry up, and with jerking motions, he kneels as if he isn’t sure why he’s doing this.
I climb up on his back, holding onto his shoulders.
“Fuck, you’re heavier than you look. Why am I even doing this…”
“I was wondering the same thing,” I chuckle, to which Elio makes an indignant sniff, but before he can insist I get off, I say, “Can you stand up?”
Elio grumbles some more, but in the end, he just grunts and heaves us up. My hand extends towards the ceiling so I can grab hold of the pulley string, which I was too short to reach, and give it a sharp tug, causing a ladder to tumble down and making Elio jolt.
“Holy shit!”
Awkwardly, I climb off his shoulders. “Do you know how to paint?”
Elio stares at me like he’s starting to wonder if he actually fell asleep and is dreaming. “How is it in a mansion full of vampires and a blood mage, you’re the strangest thing here?”
I offer a smile, then begin to climb up the metal rungs.
“This would be the perfect place for a murder…”
“Like I’d need to do all this to murder you.” I get up to the top, then hang my head down, my curls falling into my face. “I bet I could get Sen to take you out without much effort.”
Elio grumbles, then after a moment, begins to climb.
“Why is that, by the way?”
“What do you mean?” Elio snarks as he reaches the top, face scrunched and dusting his palms by slapping them on his jeans.
I find a light switch and tap it on. The loft is spacious, the red brick walls doing little to keep out the draft whistling through the walls.
“Why don’t vampires and blood mages get along?” I ask, ducking under a heavy support beam to get a better look at the space.
Elio’s feet scratch against the rough wooden floor as he reluctantly follows. “Blood mages have hunted vampires because their blood makes our spells incredibly potent. As you can imagine, that doesn’t make vampires very friendly.”
“So you hunt vampires?”
“I don’t,” he replies, sounding offended. “The only vampire blood I’ve ever used was Bran’s.”
I turn back and scout out the other direction. The loft is completely bare. “Bran is the creepy white guy, right? Sen told me he’s like, super old.”
Elio doesn’t say anything, but when I look him over, his shoulders are back up to his ears.
“You know…” I trail off when I find the perfect wall. “It’s cool if you’re afraid of him.”
“I am not!” Elio insists, as if he’s a little kid demanding he’s not scared of the dark. Elio must read my amusement, because he quickly adds, “He’s just… a lot.”
“No kidding,” I remark. I drop my bag with a thud and pull out a pink spray can.
Now that I’ve told Sen and Kai about my past, I have a growing need to use pink to make up for lost time.
I toss a can to Elio, who fumbles the catch, and I let out a small chuckle as it rolls off and he scrambles after it, his face scowling and mumbling to himself. I pull out another can of pink. “So vamps and blood mages are mortal enemies. Yet an old ass vampire is working with you?”
Elio comes up beside me. “What exactly do you want from me?”
I shrug.
He waits. When I say nothing, he throws up his hands.
I scan the brick wall over. “Being scared sucks, right?”
“I’m not—”
“And it sucks worse when you gotta pretend you ain’t because you’ve got enemies at every side.”
It’s Elio’s turn to keep his mouth shut.
I shake up the spray can, that familiar rattle calling my name in the same seductive way Sen does. “I used to be scared of the colour pink.”
Elio scoffs. “How can you be scared of a fucking colour?”
My lips tilt up, and as the paint wheezes out of the nozzle in a perfect shower, it’s like a sigh of relief. “I know, right? It was stupid.”
Elio just watches as I paint a cartoon guy with a backwards hat, blowing a massive gum bubble. But soon, he’s joining in and painting stars—because that’s what everyone who can’t paint starts with. Or hearts.
Or dicks.
We don’t speak much. Elio occasionally mutters he’s terrible, and why am I so good?
“Art isn’t always about making stuff look good,” I reply, focused on giving my little pink dude some attitude.
“Says the talented artist…”
“Well, yeah. But. Who gives a fuck? It’s expression. It…just is. So your stars are shitty.”
“Thanks,” he grumbles.
“But you did ‘em, right? So they’re yours. They’re you.”
Elio pauses. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Probably both.”
“You are…” Elio huffs. “You are a very weird person.” But I hear the smile in his voice. Tight and hesitant though it might be.
I shrug, because yeah, I am, so why bother denying it?
“It makes sense…” Elio says after going back to his wall of lopsided stars. “The pulse thing. It makes…too much sense.”
I don’t glance at Elio or reply. I don’t think he wanted me to say anything, anyway. And for a time, we’re silent while painting. It might not be the cut Summer gave me, but with my arms covered in pink, it’s proof that something happened, and in this, I was allowed a choice.
I also don’t comment on Elio’s shitty stars again; from the number of them, I’m guessing he’s got a lot on his mind, too.