Chapter 20
It had all happened so fast. Things had escalated before Luke could stop them.
They were arguing, both of them angry, and then Emmeline had slipped, falling, and nothing else mattered except for the way his entire heart had seized, as if somebody had plunged a hand into his chest and squeezed.
He had understood then that whatever they were fighting about was stupid, that it wasn’t worth it.
All he wanted was to make sure she was okay.
He hadn’t realized how agitated Torch and Sharptooth were getting, both protective and fierce. Not until it had been too late.
This should have never happened.
Luckily, the burns weren’t too bad, and Emmeline’s veterinary friend had set Sharptooth right. He had met Lavinia before when he’d taken the baby chimeras to the Animal Hospital; she was competent. He’d trusted she would do a good job, and she had.
All of that nasty business was over now, leaving him in the aftermath. He was in the barn, watching Sharptooth sleeping. She would heal in a few days, Lavinia had said.
Even after Lavinia had left, Emmeline had stayed. She was still here, now, having sent Torch and Motu away. He had texted Farhan to come over and keep Rhea and the baby chimeras busy and not to ask anything.
I’ll explain later, he’d written.
Fine, but you owe me, big time, Farhan had texted back.
Now, all that was left was quiet. He and Emmeline hadn’t spoken to one another.
He didn’t know what to say. It felt as if this could have all been avoided, like it was all his fault, and he was ashamed.
The barn was filled with soft golden light from one of the lamps, and they both stood by it, watching Sharptooth sleeping.
Emmeline fussed with her fingers. He saw her chin was trembling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice a whisper. He looked over at her, and she brought her eyes up to his. They shone with unshed tears. “Luke, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
His chest tightened with pain. “Hey, it’s not,” he said, going to her side. She squeezed her fingers tight, her knuckles going white. Her shoulders shook from the force of it, and he reached for her hands, pulling them apart.
“It was an accident,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “I know that Torch was only looking out for you.”
“I should have . . .” She broke off, shaking her head. “I should have . . .” she muttered to herself, and he could see the way that statement was unfolding in a dozen ways in her head, all the things she could have done better, all the ways she felt she should have taken control of the situation.
“Hey,” he said, voice gentle. “It’s okay. Things happen.”
“It’s not okay.”
“It is,” he said.
She quickly blinked away her tears. He had never seen her cry, but he’d seen her close a few times now, and each time was like a punch in the gut. Whenever he saw her eyes well with tears, he wanted to do anything and everything in the world to make them go away.
He wondered if she ever cried in front of anyone, if she ever let herself be anything but strong. But he could see she was breaking now, and so was he.
“How’s the head?” he asked, touching his other hand to the back of her head. He was glad her hair had been down; if she was wearing one of those massive clips of hers, it would have hurt much worse.
She winced a little. “Okay,” she replied easily, automatically. “A little headache never killed anyone.”
He frowned. He had noticed she always did this—acted fine even if she wasn’t. And she clearly wasn’t. She was like a lightbulb on the verge of fading, dim and flickering.
Luke let go of her hand and went to where there was a basket atop one of the piles of hay. He rummaged around until he found a painkiller and a small bottle of water, bringing both over to her.
Emmeline raised a brow. “You’re giving me chimera medicine?” she asked.
His lips twitched. “No, I keep these here for me when the babies get too hyper and give me a headache.”
“Oh.” Her lips tilted, and she took the medicine. He felt marginally better. “Thank you,” she told him. “And I’m sorry. Again.”
He furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry, too. For . . .” He trailed off, blowing out his cheeks. “For everything. For how I’ve been behaving all week. I’ve been terrible.”
She looked down at her hands. “You have been,” she said. “But I’m sorry, too. I could tell you were upset but I kept provoking you.”
He shook his head. “Stop apologizing. Please.” He brought his hand to her chin, tilting her to face him. “I shouldn’t have been so easily provoked.”
“I only came out to Bayview today to ask Flint what had happened between you two,” she said, voice quiet. The mention of Flint made Luke’s temper spike, but he swallowed his anger.
“You could have asked me,” he said. Her dark eyes held complaint in them, and he winced.
“I couldn’t,” she said. “You were angry all week, and even before that, you stormed off and didn’t answer my question.” She looked away, and her next words were hardly a whisper. “Even though you said you would.”
She was right. Guilt needled through him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Again. For everything. Flint is just—the worst. He’s part of the gang that runs the dragon races.”
While it was the dragons that raced, it was the chimera owners who arranged the races and flew spectators up, at least the ones who didn’t have dragons of their own.
No other animals participated in the races; griffins could just barely fly high up to the mountains where the races took place, and while chimeras could, they didn’t have the speed or aggression to race.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t know. But you’re right. Anyone involved in running the racing is someone to stay away from. Theirs is a whole different world. I remember my cousin Danny telling me as much when he used to race.”
“Flint is especially bad, so I react poorly whenever he’s concerned,” he said. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just . . .” He released a long sigh, then reached for her hand. “Em, I don’t want to fight anymore.”
It was true. He was either fighting her or himself, and he was tired of both. He was so tired.
“I don’t want to fight anymore, either,” she replied, squeezing his hand. Releasing a breath, she sat down, leaning against a stack of hay, and he sat down beside her, their shoulders pressed together.
She didn’t move away, and he relished the solid feel of her. He wanted to be her anchor, to be the thing she held onto when she was falling apart.
The hay was soft beneath them, comfortable even, and for the first time in a long time, he finally relaxed.
“Why are we fighting?” he asked. “I can’t remember anymore.”
She nibbled on her lower lip, and he watched her throat move as she swallowed. “Well, it all started when you broke Millie’s heart,” she said. The words were practiced, as if she reminded herself of them often, but her voice held no conviction.
“If it means anything, I never meant to,” he said. “I thought she was great, but once I realized I wasn’t interested, I wanted to be clear so there was no misunderstanding.”
She played with the ends of her long hair. “I know, I’m sorry,” she said. “You never did it with any ill intent—not like I did. Everything I did, I did to hurt you.”
“You were just trying to take care of your little sister,” he said. “Anyone can see how much you’re willing to do for the ones you love.”
She turned to look at him. “It was still wrong.” Releasing her hair, she took a deep breath, then said, “Clean slate?”
He nodded. “Clean slate.”
Her eyes softened, as if she was finally relaxing, now, too. Their gazes were locked, and it felt like the beginning of a book he knew would become his favorite story.
He was seeing a new side of her now, true vulnerability, and he could see she was frightened by it, but she didn’t look away.
She stared into his eyes just as intently, and he thought he could drown in the dark depths of her eyes.
They were such a dark shade of black it was hard to tell where her pupils began and ended, and he inched closer, staring, losing all sense of time and place.
Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and his heartbeat quickened.
Carefully, he lifted his hand, bringing it up to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered in her hair, his thumb grazing against her cheekbone. His chest ached.
She leaned into his touch, turning her cheek into his palm. Heat spread through him. Her lips brushed against his skin, sending sparks skittering through him.
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, and her lidded eyes made his stomach twist with desire.
She pulled back, then settled against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. He lowered a little so she could be more comfortable, resting his head against hers.
He remembered what she had said once, about how she couldn’t lose. It was why she was so cautious.
He finally understood a bit more of why she was resisting their connection, despite how obvious it felt between them. And it was okay; he didn’t want to push her. He just wanted her to know that if she bet on him, she wouldn’t lose.
They stayed like that for some time—until there was knocking on the barn door. Before Luke could respond, the door opened and Farhan entered.
“Mama said to call you in for dinner,” Farhan said. “And Emmeline, too.”
Embarrassment burned Luke’s ears.
“Hi,” Emmeline said, sounding amused. “Do I know you?”
Luke tried to give his brother a silent warning, and a mischievous glint entered Farhan’s eyes.
“I’d tell you if I didn’t care for my life,” Farhan told Emmeline, giving her a boyish smile.
“Oh?”
Farhan strode over, offering Emmeline his hand. “I’m Farhan,” he said, helping Emmeline stand. “Luke’s brother. I’m sure he’s told you nothing about me, since in comparison he seems pretty dull. I am the better Hayward man, after all. Ask anyone.”
Emmeline finally smiled, and Luke cut his brother a look. “Quit being so charming,” he said. He was the one who was supposed to be making Emmeline smile.
Farhan only rolled his eyes. “Ignore him, he’s always like this,” he stage-whispered to Emmeline. Then, he grinned. “Now, come on, I’m starving!”