Chapter 16 Kaye
KAYE
Songbirds chatter just outside the window, warm and full of light. I blink awake, slowly at first, then harshly as sunlight temporarily blinds me.
A rubbery bit of plastic presses into the apples of my cheeks, making the upper half of my jaw ache. The pressure intensifies the more I gather my thoughts together. My limbs weigh heavily beside my body, dead with the burden of sleep too deeply taken.
“Kaye? Can you hear me?” The voice is not entirely unfamiliar. Someone sits beside my bed, obscured behind the line where periphery meets eye socket. It takes every ounce of control I possess, but I turn at a turtle’s pace to look at them.
“Geor—?” I don’t even get the last letters out. My voice echoes inside the mask, emphasizing the croaky broken thing to come out instead of her name.
Something in her lap thumps to the ground as she stands. “You’re awake! I can’t believe it worked.”
My numb fingers tug on the mask. George pulls my hand away, keeping it pressed between hers.
“You have to leave that on,” she says. “We need to make sure you can breathe on your own. The poison’s still in your system.”
Poison?
“You stole Zane’s car and—I don’t really know the specifics, but when he brought you back, you were in bad shape. Any of this ringing a bell?”
I nod, skin-warm plastic shifting with me. “Cha-rade?”
“A little scratched up, but he’ll live. He said you saved him. Is that true?” Her eyes are wide and bright.
I barely remember doing it, but a flash of something fills my mind. Silver flashing under a streetlight. Blood spilling down my skin. White-hot pain. My arms pinned together like a butterfly to a board. I bring them close to my face, finding nothing more than a thin, puckered scar.
“What happened?”
Something soft yet solid jostles the mattress at my feet, pushing the fabric down.
Warmth curls next to my calf, purrs rumbling through the blanket.
Apollo. George perches delicately next to him, mindful of the tubes and wiring running up and out of my sight.
Her dark eyes brighten even more, and I realize how red they are at the edges. How rigid the line of her shoulders is.
“You don’t remember?”
“No.”
She fiddles with a snag in the hem of her shirt, worrying a hole into the stitching.
“You’re alive,” she says. “The rest is between you and Zane.”
That’s all she’s going to give me? The chances of survival were minimal from the moment Stanley’s talons punctured my skin. They dropped with the second hit—that knife striking home.
It was instinct to protect Charade. There hadn’t been time to think. All I knew was that I couldn’t let him get hurt too.
“Your breathing has evened out.” George’s eyes flick to what must be a monitor flashing somewhere behind my head. “Your heartbeat is a steady ninety-seven beats per minute. It’s high, but I’ll take it.”
“Are you pre-med? My brother works in the emergency room at New Malcolm General. Maybe you’ve met him.”
Could she give him a message? Nothing that would get Cooper in trouble, but something so at least he would know I was safe. I can’t imagine what he must have felt when he saw my face plastered all over the news.
“Biomedical Engineering,” she corrects. “My focus is nanobiology, but trust me when I say I’ve got you covered.”
“That’s maybe the coolest thing I have ever heard.”
“Tilt your head forward just a little bit,” she instructs. “I’ll take the mask off, but I don’t want to hear a peep if I notice you struggling to breathe or if your heart rate picks up.”
I can’t help smiling as I follow her orders. It’s been so long since someone was there to patch up my boo-boos after a fight. Having someone know who I really am… it feels good.
“Thank you.” Encompassing the swell of gratitude in those two little words will always be impossible, but I try anyway.
Fresh, unrecycled oxygen greets my lungs, and I have never been so happy for the ache of them pumping on their own.
“Good?” she checks.
I nod slowly, not willing to push anything that could spike my heart rate. “How long was I out?”
“Three days.” Her fingers stroke Apollo’s fur, navy blue painted tips disappearing beneath gray and white. “My parents were a wreck, you know. Dad helped Zane get you home, but he had to go back for the supplies.”
I close my eyes and try to pull up any recollection of those moments, anything to trigger the details George is dancing around.
“Not to mention the car.”
The car. Dents and scratches are probably the tip of that iceberg. And it’s not exactly something to be claimed on an insurance form. “Charade is going to kill me.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “You took a knife for him. Play your cards right and he just might let that one slide.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Just bat your pretty eyelashes at him, give him one of your doe-eyed, long-suffering looks. He’ll come around, trust me.”
I choose to ignore that last remark. “What do you know about this C person hunting Charade?”
She rolls her eyes, but lets it go. The seriousness in her tone when she responds makes me sit up a little straighter.
“It’s not that he’s hunting Charade. He wants Zane. It’s personal for them. It sucks that you got thrown into the middle, but Zane thinks you’re the key to this whole thing.”
He told me as much my first day here, didn’t he? I saw what C did to Zane and Moira. He’s a psychopath, a man without a conscience. And now he’s looking for me too.
“You know who I am. What we’ve done to each other. Would you trust him, if you were me?”
She smiles, blazing and beautiful. I see in her eyes the kind of hero I want to be. Someone who doesn’t wait for dark and its sheltering shadows to help. Someone not afraid to stand in the light.
“Probably not,” she admits. “But I’d do it anyway. Failure is better than letting fear get in the way.”
And if Charade is the man he claims to be, could I live with myself for letting him face C alone?
“Where is he?”
“You really shouldn’t be up yet.”
It’s a losing battle. I think she knows that, which is why George dutifully leads the way. I’m winded and sluggish, but I’m alive. I don’t want to waste any more time.
We walk through halls that are actually beginning to look familiar.
I don’t really know how to feel about that.
I moved into my apartment the moment I received my first check from my new job.
I had been saving, always saving, working retail and odd jobs after school for what felt like forever, but it was worth it.
That new independence. Not having to worry about keeping my secret life hidden at home.
And it was nice, but the apartment never felt like this.
George stops in front of a pair of leaded glass doors.
The panes are full of light and green things in varying hues, a stone walkway stretching in either direction to circle a large conservatory.
Warmth and the sweet smell of decomposition mixed with something rich and earthy filters through the cracks in the door.
“You aren’t coming?” A flutter skitters through my abdominal muscles when she shakes her head.
“Stick to the path,” she says, curling her fingers around one of the handles and twisting. The door swings inward with a soft creak. “Don’t trample my tomatoes. If it comes down to my two favorite F-words—fighting and fucking—do it in the mint patch. That stuff is impossible to kill.”
I flip her off, laughter shooting pain through my lungs when she returns the gesture.
The scents of earth and growing things fill my nostrils, dirt and clay, citrus and sage. The room is larger. Rows of leafy trees and vines spread out in all directions. The air is warm and humid, light magnified and diffused by the opaque walls and ceiling making up the space.
Charade sits on a stone bench on the opposite side from the entrance, draped languidly across its surface in what can’t be a comfortable pose. His head rests in the palm of one hand, fingers bracing his forehead on the bench’s arm and covering his eyes.
It hits me again, like it did in that crumbling study hours ago—how beautiful he is.
Then that vibrant gaze, mesmerizing in its brilliance, falls on me. Half-mooned shadows dance across the tops of his cheekbones. Stubble colors his jawline. It won’t be long before it’s considered a proper beard. His clothes, though clean, lack his usual care and precision.
When was the last time he slept?
“About time.” A small smile curls the corners of his mouth before he straightens, stretching his back and making room on the seat. “Live, die. Die, live. I didn’t think you’d ever make a decision.”
He sounds just like Charade, calculating and provocative, but the bite isn’t there. I look into his eyes and see my own mortality reflected there.
I want to say something playful or funny.
Something to reassure us both that we’re alive, but for once I’m all out of sarcasm.
I hesitate only a moment, then I launch myself at him.
My arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close.
His stubble scratches my cheek, and I close my eyes against the threatening overspill of tears, inhaling his scent with a heaving breath as his heat fills me.
“I would have died if you hadn’t been there.” Some remote part of my brain recognizes that I’m not only talking about that one night.
His voice is almost robotic and hollow, little more than a whisper. “You don’t know what I had to do to keep you alive.”
I shake my head. I knew from the moment I woke up, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it. The connection with our powers, the shared moments and memories. A dream that wasn’t just a dream. “You could have died.”
“I know.” His head drops to my shoulder, his breath warming the fabric of my shirt where his mouth rests against it.
Finally, his arms settle into the curve of my back. And in the weight and safety of his arms, I let the tears fall.
“It took days,” he whispers, the words as reverent as a prayer. “I lost contact each time I fell asleep, but every time I woke again, you looked better. Your complexion a little brighter. Wounds more healed.”
“You’re insane.”
“You ran because of me.”
I pull back to look at him, his arms tightening briefly before letting me go, as if he is as starved for connection as I am.
My eyes trace the contours of his face, cataloging every familiar detail and savoring those that are new.
My fingers sink into the soft hair framing his forehead, nails gently scratching as I sweep the hair back. He shudders under my touch.
My fingers linger at the nape of his neck, and I can feel him watching me but I can’t take my eyes off the fine line crossing the top of his lip, just to the right of his Cupid’s Bow.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and I cradle his head in my hand.
I lean into his space slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants.
Then our breath is mixing and my palm is pressing against the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“I ran because of this.”
My lips press against the scar in a chaste kiss, then drift downward to brush against the soft, full lips that have haunted me more nights than I care to count. He gasps at the contact and I swallow the sound. It turns into a low, throaty groan at the first sweep of my tongue against his.
For once I don’t let myself think of the consequences.
I melt into him as he cups my cheek, the other splayed across my lower back, pressing me closer.
He takes control, angling my head to allow him better access.
My heart thunders in my chest as he deepens the kiss.
He caresses my arm, goose bumps trailing in its wake, and interlaces his fingers with mine.
“Wait.” I let out a noise of protest as he breaks the kiss. “We can’t.”
“I’m so sorry.” I pull back as though burned and rise to my feet. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Wait.” He tugs on my hand, still encased in his. I stumble as our arms go taut and he refuses to let go. He pulls me closer, until I am standing between his legs. “Look at me, Kaye.”
My cheeks burn. I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes. He stands, and I try once again to move away, but he still won’t let me. His body is flush with mine, his hips pressing just below my belly, our chests touching with every breath. His free hand tips my chin.
His gaze snares me, holds me captive as he skims his lips against the back of my hand. “You have no idea how long I have waited for that, but I can’t do this if you don’t trust me. Too much is at stake, and I respect you too much for that. Can you honestly say you trust me, Checkmate?”
“I’ll help you with C,” I deflect.
He sighs, his arms falling away. His forehead presses to mine until he’s all I can see. His pupils are dilated, blown wide as if I am the light he desperately needs in the darkness of shadow. His lips part, the tip of his tongue darting across his lower lip. I drag my gaze from the sight.
“I want to take you somewhere,” he says. “If you don’t trust me after, I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to let you go, Kaye. Not anymore.”
A chill races across my skin as reality sneaks in and I remember exactly who he is. What he can do with even the smallest touch.
What will happen when we are enemies again?
More concerning is the thought echoing in my mind long after I leave him there:
For this man, I might just be willing to break.