27 #3
He shakes his head. Hesitates. Then—“You still don’t understand.
There is a puzzle in front of you. Instructor Alvarez’s death.
Your friend’s death. Where did they happen?
” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “The beach. Different times of day, but during a full moon. Do you see what I’m saying?
” When I still don’t answer, he releases my hand. “You need to focus on the why .”
“You think…” Frowning, I shut my eyes and try to follow his train of thought. There is a puzzle in front of you . “You think Celeste’s death is connected to the instructor’s?”
Blood. Organs. Death.
“I don’t know,” he says.
A truth.
“But you have theories?”
“I’ve had theories ever since I first saw you at the beach, dancing wildly and singing horribly in a crowd of mortals.
” He runs a finger through my mussed hair, and I remember Sin’s hands on me only an hour ago.
I force myself to step away, to lean against the sink for support.
His hand falls to his side. “In our world, we don’t have the luxury of coincidence.
Look at the number of lessons we have before we even set foot in a pack of our own.
We are raised smart. Calculated. Cunning.
Regardless of the mythos—regardless of Lone Wolves—we are not barbaric, bloodthirsty monsters. ”
“And you’re humble too,” I mutter. “What about Evie? The fight on the beach?”
“Evelyn Lee has been raised for ruling ever since she was born to a queen. Do you really think she’d threaten her entire future over a human girl?”
My hackles rise at the thought of Celeste being a throwaway character in anyone’s life, but… he’s right. Fuck. He’s right. Celeste might’ve been everything to me, but she was nothing to Evie. Nothing to any of these people. My chest constricts at the realization. Because—
“This doesn’t mean she didn’t do it.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “However, it does mean you need to find a motive.”
There is a puzzle in front of you.
I’ve only ever been looking at a single piece.
The fight before Celeste’s death. The nature of werewolves.
Aside from that, a few threats from a bully whose gift gives her a wider variety of torture devices.
And now there’s been another murder, and I didn’t even think to question if they were connected. I didn’t think .
Calix walks me to the door. Slides it open with his foot.
“When they ask where we went, I will tell them that I consoled you, talked you down from hysterics, and cleaned your injury.” He glances down at me, and something in his eyes softens.
My heart races in response. “Please don’t make me kill you, Hart,” he says quietly.
“You’re letting me go?”
“I’m investigating the murders too. As long as you stow your violent tendencies, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to conduct your own investigation.
” He groans at the sight of my burgeoning grin.
He’s investigating . This whole time, he’s been suspicious too.
Condescending and rude, yes, but maybe… not my enemy.
“Don’t smile at me like that,” he says darkly, “I’m not sharing my discoveries with a potential traitor. ”
My grin widens, even as the wound in my hand continues to throb. “Of course.”
“You drive me insane,” he says.
True.
“I barely tolerate you,” I agree.
Lie.
But before I can examine my own dishonesty, he widens the opening of the door and forces me out of it, ending our conversation.
The walk to my room is shorter than I expect.
Maybe because he drags me most of the way, still checking my hand every couple of steps.
I think about his uncle. How he wasn’t able to save him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say outside my door.
Calix stops suddenly, back rigid as a brick wall. “That depends.”
“If you knew who murdered your uncle—if you could track them down and make them pay—would you? Would you kill them?”
Without hesitating, he says, “Yes.”
Another truth.
“So the who does matter?”
“If you’re going to learn who did it, you first have to figure out why.” He spins me so I face my door, practically begging me to open it. “You’re so focused on that stupid fight, you haven’t looked at anything else.”
“It was…” I glance down at my injured palm. New skin has started to stitch around the jagged edges of the wound. “It was out of character for her. For Celeste. She was… happy. Nauseatingly so. Almost always. And if she wasn’t happy, she was scrappy. Never violent. Never that.”
“Sounds like a girl I would’ve hated,” he says not unkindly. I laugh. Sniffle. But I don’t cry. Maybe I’ll never cry again.
“Yes,” I agree. “She would’ve enjoyed making your life hell.”
“She can rest easily knowing you’re doing that for her.”
“I hope she is,” I blurt suddenly. Surprisingly. It’s a thought I haven’t allowed myself to indulge in before. “Resting easily, I mean.”
The heat from Calix’s hand burns into my lower back. Hovers just barely over my shirt. His shirt. He seems reluctant to touch it, and I’m reluctant to let him. “The people we lose don’t leave us,” he says at last. “Their memories remain. We will always have those pieces of them.”
“You said… you said before that you didn’t want to be my enemy.” I glance over my shoulder at him. His eyes rove my face with an intensity that steals my breath. “Is that what we are, Calix?”
He does touch me now. Briefly. So briefly I close my eyes to sear the memory into my mind. To keep that moment forever.
“Yes, Vanessa.” Another truth. His voice lowers. “We can’t be anything else.”
I’m not sure Calix has ever told me a lie. I lean against the door and let out a harsh breath. He’s gone before I turn around.