Chapter 25 Christine
Christine
I lie on the double bed in the motel room, staring at the ceiling above.
It’s cracked in one spot and bellied slightly, a pustule of plaster that sickens me whenever I look at it.
The thin, scratchy blanket on the bed chafes against my outstretched arms. Despite the bold, sharp scent of cleaning fluid and room freshener, liberally sprayed to disguise the telltale odor, the stale reek of cigarettes clings to the walls.
I disliked my tiny studio apartment at the New Orpheum, but I hate this room. Walking in, I could practically feel the layers of filth saturating the carpet. But it’s all I can afford.
Despite my intentions, I didn’t drive far from Nashville.
Couple hours southwest, maybe, past the Amish community of Ethridge, into farmland.
By then, I was crying too hard to drive in the dark any longer, so I pulled off at the first shabby motel I found.
I’ve been lying here, immobilized by doubt and anxiety, for longer than I care to admit.
Instead of trying to figure out my problems, I ran away. I can’t decide if that was brave or stupid.
When my parents were killed, I didn’t run from the estate battle with the Progeny. I fought them, and I lost. That battle sapped all the fight out of me, and I’m tired, so tired I could cry, so tired I want to crawl into the dark gap under this bed and never move again.
Maybe I should have stayed in Nashville.
But a relationship with a god and a werewolf, plus the lead in a musical, plus my secret vampire lifestyle, all felt like too much work.
I’m not afraid of work, truly, but that kind of work—the work of relationships, of love, of trust—I’m too weak to take it on.
I don’t have enough hope to fuel that kind of energy.
Raoul and the Angel will be fine without me. Raoul is already softening, shifting into the morally gray space in which the Angel moves. He’ll make excuses for the blackmail thing, or maybe he’ll teach the Angel to do better. They’ll forget me and be happy together while I start over. Again.
Tears trickle from my eyes because I want that elusive thing called “unconditional love.” I want companionship, and I want family, but at the same time, I really, really don’t.
Family is a poison in the blood, one you can’t escape, and there’s no antidote except distance.
Even then, the symptoms of the toxin persist, curdling your soul and shaking your resolve when you least expect it. If only I could—
Someone knocks at the door.
I remain absolutely still, frozen with apprehension.
The knock is repeated, and then a low, musical, masculine voice murmurs something I can’t quite hear. A second voice, muffled and insistent, protests, “You can’t just go in.” But apparently he’s overruled, because the next second, the electric lock beeps and clicks.
I sit up, dashing away my tears and pushing back my hair, torn between shock and anger. My body is already keyed up, and the defensive surprise I feel makes my fangs emerge.
Raoul enters first—a wise choice, because I’m less likely to kill him. He’s wearing low-slung jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, like he threw it on in a hurry. He doesn’t have his glasses; he’s probably still wearing the contacts he wore to the party earlier.
His coppery hair is ruffled into a tangle that tempts my fingers. I want to separate the waves, arrange them, and massage his scalp while he relaxes and his eyes close.
“I tracked you by your scent,” he says apologetically. “Don’t be mad.”
“Don’t tell me how to feel,” I snap.
“Fair enough.” He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “It was his idea.” He steps aside, and the Angel enters my motel room.
He looks dramatically out of place here—tall, beautiful, and deadly serious, wearing a white mask over the right side of his face.
His black hair is perfectly coiffed in glossy waves, his red suit immaculate.
His eyes fix on me, their golden depths churning with blended resentment, hurt, and regret.
Raoul speaks again, his voice higher than usual, fragile with nerves. “Good news. Looks like my contacts stay in place when I switch forms, unlike my clothes. I guess I’ll have to get used to wearing glasses less often.”
I stare at him, unsmiling.
He clears his throat. “I had to run beside the truck in wolf form part of the time so I could track you. He drove. It’s a miracle we made it without him crashing into a tree or running me over.”
“I’m an excellent driver,” replies the Angel, still holding my gaze.
“I learn quickly. And tonight, Christine, I have learned that while you will accept my help in the form of lessons, you would prefer that any significant career goals are achieved on your own terms, without any hint of outside force or interference. Therefore, I apologize for using my influence in a way that made you uncomfortable.”
I frown, trying to think of what to say. It’s a decent apology, but I’m still angry. I still feel like he hasn’t paid for what he did or fully realized how it hurt me.
At that moment, Raoul coughs and mutters, “Grovel,” which pulls my attention away from the Angel.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” I tell Raoul. “You had no right to track me down. Just because you’re a wolf now doesn’t mean you get to hunt down vampires.”
“That’s not at all what I—”
“And why are you even here?” I rise from the bed, shaking, trying to keep my voice steady.
“You told me your family is already behaving in the same abusive, overbearing way they always have, ignoring your preferences and your consent, and yet you refuse to set boundaries. I won’t be linked to a family like that again, Raoul. I refuse.”
“You want me to break ties with them?” He plunges a hand through his hair, then shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, Christine.”
“It is that simple.”
“It was easy for you. Your parents died.”
His eyes flare wide the next second, like he realizes how horrible that sounded. But it’s too late. In one tempestuous surge of grief and rage, I leap at him.
We crash against the wall, sliding to the floor in a tangle of limbs and claws. I snarl in his face, my fangs a bare inch from his nose.
“You’re a fucking fool!” I yell. “Nothing has been easy for me. My parents killed my brother and sister. They turned us all, but only I survived the transformation process. They raised me as their Chosen—their one perfect vampire daughter. Survival of the fucking fittest. I hate my life, Raoul, do you understand? I hated my family—I still do. I miss them, and I despise them, and I live with that contradiction every day. I hate myself, and I hate both of you, because you want to drag me into that trap again, bind me with love and chains and shadows until I can’t extricate myself from the knot we’ve become, no matter how much I might want to.
I won’t be trapped like that again—I won’t. ”
“I’m so sorry,” whispers Raoul. He lies quietly beneath me, his handsome face somehow strong and soft at the same time.
His long fingers curl around my arms, not resisting, simply touching me.
His warm green eyes sing so much love into mine that I can’t bear it.
I shove his face aside and graze my fangs along his beautiful throat.
A dizzying blaze of bloodlust rushes through my limbs, searing the inside of my skull. My fangs elongate farther, and my mouth waters for the taste of his blood. It will be warm and sweet, like him.
“I can end this,” I breathe against his skin, against the hot thrum of his pulse.
“I can kill you, and then you can’t follow me anymore.
I won’t have to love you or leave you. I can kill the Angel, too.
He’ll let me, won’t you?” Still crouched over Raoul like a cat over its prey, I turn my head briefly aside, looking to where the Angel stands, tense and silent.
“You hate yourself, too. That’s why you wear the mask. ”
His lips part, and a flicker of pain crosses his face. “I don’t know if I can die.”
“Shall we find out?” I turn back to Raoul, inhaling the savory heat of his flesh. Widening my jaws for the bite.
“Kill me first,” says the Angel calmly.
My head swerves toward him again.
“I mean it,” he continues. “If you are so terrified of loving us that you have to eliminate us entirely, take me first. My end is long overdue. I should have perished under the ground and faded into oblivion centuries ago. You forget, my darling, that I know what it is to be trapped, bound to an existence I did not choose. I thought perhaps I had survived the long darkness for this—for you. For a chance at pleasure, creative joy, and true happiness. But I have ruined it all by my actions. I frightened you and hurt you instead of protecting and cherishing you.” He comes swiftly forward and kneels beside me and Raoul, his face twisted with agonized passion.
“Kill me first. I deserve death far more than I deserve your love…or his, though he gave it to me so willingly.” He looks down at Raoul with pained affection, then returns his fierce golden gaze to me. “Kill me, darling, for failing you.”
The monster in me assents greedily. I’m a split second away from lunging forward, ripping open his throat, and gulping down his rich blood.
Kill me, darling, for failing you.
He did ask for it.
But as my muscles twitch, preparing to pounce, Raoul whistles slowly and says, “Now that’s how you grovel.”
We both look at him, stunned.