SIX #2
He snorts. “That’s hardly fair. You haven’t spent enough time with me yet to make that kind of statement. Our time together has been too limited.”
“And you’ve used that limited time very horribly,” I point out, as though he needs to hear it.
Kaito nods as if he’s actually considering it before he simply says, “Fair.”
I stare at him, that word again ringing in my head. Fair. So simple, no argument, no push, no demand. Just acknowledgment, as if my anger doesn’t faze or bother him. Like it’s not an insult to him. As if my fear doesn’t offend him. Like he can hear both and still choose not to crowd me.
Suddenly, the roof starts to feel too small. I stand, swallowing hard while doing my best to ignore the blaring protest from my knee, and point a finger toward the broken attic window two roofs over.
“We move before it gets too dark,” I tell him.
Slowly, he sits up, pressing a hand to his bleeding side. “Wait, together?”
I look at him, then at the blood, the street below, at the place where his fingers had wrapped gently around my wrist and let go first. The answer should be no.
I know it should be, and yet, the word doesn’t slip off my tongue like it should.
It should be the easiest no I’ve ever given.
Hell, I’ve said no to much safer options.
I’ve said no to safer people in better situations.
I’ve left people behind because helping them would have meant risking myself, and I’ve survived six years by making the hard and tough choices that have kept my skin firmly attached to my body.
However, there are still Zeds below us, the roof is getting colder by the second, and Kaito is looking pale enough that I firmly believe he won’t make it to the next street over if I even consider leaving him alone.
That shouldn’t even be my problem.
Except, apparently, it fucking is now.
Nodding once, I say, “For now.”
The words taste weird on my tongue. Dangerous, somehow, but they’re out there now. There’s nothing I can do about it. Kaito’s eyes hold mine for a long moment, dark and far too steady after all he’s been through, and he nods in easy agreement. “For now.”
I turn away before I do something stupid, like wonder why his voice makes those two words feel a whole lot less like a temporary arrangement and more like a promise.
“Keep up, Alpha,” I demand sternly.
Behind me, Kaito huffs another quiet laugh, and I ignore the way my insides turn inside out at the sound of it.
“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” he teases.
I completely believe him, though.
And that’s the biggest problem of all.
Getting off the roof is another, because apparently getting off is somehow worse than getting onto it.
Primarily because getting onto it involved immediate death, which is simple in its own morbid way.
You move or die. Pretty sure you can’t really debate much with that.
But getting off the roof with a bleeding Alpha, a throbbing knee, one useful backpack strap, and an entire lifetime of trust issues is something I consider significantly more challenging.
This shit just got complicated real fast, and I have no one to blame but myself.
And the dumbass Alpha I should have tried harder to ditch before he followed me here.
Keeping low, I cross toward the broken attic window I spotted yesterday, keeping one hand braced against the damp shingles and the other close to my knife.
Kaito follows behind me, a little slower than I’d like, but much quieter than someone his size has any right to be.
He doesn’t complain, doesn’t ask for me to slow down, nor does he make any ridiculous Alpha remarks about being fine while actively leaking blood over some random person’s roof.
In fact, the sheer lack of complaining is starting to make me feel suspicious.
Glancing back once, I internally curse when he catches me doing it. Because of course he does. Why not? Everything else today has gone to hell in a handbasket.
“I’m still standing,” he assures with a tired and pained murmur.
“I’d hardly call that standing. You’re crouched on a roof,” I contradict, because that’s apparently what we do.
Kaito scoffs softly. “It counts.”
“It absolutely does not count,” I argue, shaking my head at the lack of bite to my words.
The attic window is just ahead, cracked open just enough to suggest someone or something once escaped through it.
Either that, or someone or something tried to get in.
Neither option makes me particularly giddy, but there are snarling Zeds below us dragging themselves around the side of the house, furious that gravity and a little help from yours truly have robbed them of tonight’s dinner.
As soon as we’re close, I retrieve my knife and slide it between the jagged bits of glass, nudging the curtain to the side.
The attic is dim, cluttered, and thick with dust. Boxes are stacked under the slanted ceiling, water stains have spread all over the walls, and a broken rocking chair sits long discarded near the window, the seat bogged down with a thick blanket of dust. I pause, listening for anything within.
There isn’t any movement, no wet breathing, no dragging of feet. Still, I wait.
Patience is a virtue, Maine would tell me. Patience keeps you breathing.
It also makes you feel like a paranoid gargoyle perched on a roof while the guy behind you bleeds profusely onto the shingles like he’s trying to leave his mark wherever he goes.
Sadly, it looks like we’re embracing the gargoyle life today, because I don’t move for a full minute before I ease myself through the window.
My boots land on old floorboards with only the slightest creak. I freeze, knife lifted at the ready, every single muscle in my body poised and waiting for anything to answer. It doesn’t, and I release my held breath slowly as I check the attic quickly.
When all is clear, I look back at the Alpha and quietly command, “It’s clear. Come on.”
Kaito moves instantly, and again, his obedience crashes into something weird in my chest. He approaches the window with the utmost care, one hand braced on the frame while he keeps the other pressed tightly to his side.
“Glass,” I warn quietly but sharply.
He nods. “I see it.”
I raise an eyebrow that he doesn’t see and question flatly, “Do you?”
With a twitching mouth, he replies, “Yup.”
“Huh,” I quip. “Figured I’d check, because you also saw a half-collapsed apartment building and thought, ‘Oh wow, what a marvelous place to die.’”
I catch the amusement on his face as he retorts, “Technically, I found supplies.”
Offering him a dry look, I question, “And did you keep those supplies, perchance?”
His mouth opens, and then it closes. It opens again, and literally nothing but a defeated sigh escapes.
“My point exactly,” I say, nodding like I’ve won something.
Kaito doesn’t bother with another reply, simply choosing to climb through the window slowly.
His teeth are clenched so tight I can hear them click when his side catches on the sill, and I wince with a phantom pain right before I move before I can think it through.
I grab the front of his jacket, tugging him firmly, hauling him forward enough to make sure he doesn’t fall right back out of the window.
He lands closely. Maybe a little too closely, because I’m suddenly doused in his scent with a speed that makes my head spin.
It rolls over me like a gentle wave, the burning wood and worn flannel scent now wrapped in blood and pain.
I have the sudden thought that he smells like a campfire seen through a cabin window, warm and distant and certainly not mine.
My Omega, the traitorous little bitch, seems to disagree with that last part, and it’s that that has me releasing his jacket as if it just burned me. With a low mutter, I say, “How about we don’t fall out of windows?”
“I’ll add it to my growing list,” he agrees.
“Great. And while you’re at it, you can add following strangers to it, too,” I add, shaking my head at him.
Kaito gestures his head from side to side. “Eh. That one’s more like a guideline than an actual rule I should follow.”
I stare at him, and he looks back with a pale face and eyes too bright for the gloomy attic that we’re now standing in. “You know, you’re really good at testing my commitment to not shooting you.”
“Noted,” he responds quickly with a firm nod that almost seems mocking at this point.
Before I can berate him again, a thump sounds from outside, followed by the scrape of dead hands against the wood siding.
Kaito and I go still, sending each other weighted looks.
Thankfully, the Zeds haven’t figured out how to climb yet, but they’re close enough to smell us if the wind happens to decide to change directions.
Well, they’ll certainly smell me, blockers be damned.
After all, fear is loud. Fear makes everything worse.
Stepping away from Kaito and closer to the attic window as much as the wonky frame will allow, I ease the curtain back into place just to break up any movement from inside. Then I gesture to the attic stairs.
“Quiet,” I whisper, pressing a finger to my lips with only my bandana separating both.
Kaito nods before we descend into the second-floor hallway one cautious step at a time.
The house smells as bad as the Zeds outside, dead but not freshly so.
That’s a very important distinction, because freshly dead has a thick wetness to it.
Old death becomes a part of the walls, bled into the wallpaper and dust until the whole place seems to exhale when disturbed.
A cute little holiday home.