I didn’t answer, I couldn’t.
I felt his presence hovering outside the door, the pressure buzzing against my body. Then he was gone and I was left aching and hollowed.
I drew in a shuddering breath, hauled myself off the floor and shampooed my hair until I was sure there was not a drop of blood left. I switched off the taps and stepped out. I wiped the steam off the mirror and stared at myself.
The face looking back at me was a mess. My hair was flat, the whole left side of my face resembled a puffer fish. A cut positioned below my eye beamed red, a large inky bruise circled the eye. The other eye was bloodshot from crying. A split seeped from the corner of my mouth. But it was my eyes that held themost disturbing revelations. I caught a snippet of the broken part people seemed to sense and reel away from. My eyes were not warm like they usually were, there was no soft glow illuminating from them, no childish banter peaked their surface. They were the color of green mould growing in the depths of a black cave—a rippling, dark pit.
I dropped my eyes away and focused on my aching side, the left side of my ribs were swollen and stealthy shades of indigo blue. I didn’t bother to brush my hair, I left it tumbled, dishevelled and wild.
I got dressed into pyjamas, threw on a matching robe and sat on the bed. I didn’t want to face anyone. I wanted to curl up and allow sleep to cradle my thoughts. But I was parched dry, and my head pounded from dehydration or concussion—maybe both. I needed water. I headed downstairs. Each step shot an angry jolt through my chest. I fought to keep the pain from my face. Karson watched me descend, I was glad when he didn’t speak. I went straight to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, shut the fridge door, opened the bottle and took a few sips.
“Did you find them?” I heard Karson ask.
“Not yet. Monique and Michael are still looking. They’re probably witches. A member of the public called it in to Matt, raving about people flying through the air, a girl with superpowers. I wiped his mind. Matt’s chasing up their names.”
Hesitantly, I stepped into the room, my emotions barely in check. I kept my head lowered, so my hair curtained the bruised side of my face.
“Hey there, Rocky,” Ethan said. I put the water bottle on the coffee table and glanced up. The humor collapsed, anger replaced it. His eyes became black and furious. His face stiffened, he stood perfectly still as if he wasn’t even breathing.
I swallowed heavily.
Then, as quick as his anger came, it fell away and his face softened. He flashed forward, gently touching the injured cheek with the tips of his fingers.
“That’s one hell of a bruise you got there,” he said softly.
I tried to be brave. Trauma depleted my strength. Slowly, I lost the battle. I felt my lips tremble. My eyes burned. I held my hands tight by my sides and I stood shaking, uncontrollable tears sprung to the surface.
“Hey,” he said tenderly, “you’re safe, you’re alright.”
Unquestionably, I was not alright.
I launched into his arms and hugged him. He held me stiffly at first, and then hugged me back harder. Pain barrelled through my chest and I flinched. He eased his grip. His arms cocooned my body. He placed his hands softly around the small of my back and stroked in long sweeping motions up and down my spine. His breath warmed my neck. I closed my eyes, rested my head on his shoulder and sank into him. I felt safe in his arms, finally.
And I felt. And I felt… like I washome.
“It’s alright, Amy.”
“Your training saved my life,” I sobbed, tears and snot seeped into the white linen of his shirt. “Without it . . .” I didn’t finish. Without it, I would be, what? Dead? Raped? Tortured? A shudder wracked my body.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you.
Those three simple words choked me up all over again and made me cry even harder. I stayed in his arms for quite some time and yet somehow not long enough. But to survive in this world I knew I had to be tougher. I drew a few deep breaths and stepped out of his hold.
“Sorry,” I said, looking at the large wet patches that had penetrated the fabric of his shirt, revealing the outline of his chest.
He grinned. “You’re not the first girl to leave wet patches on me, Amy.”
I laughed, which re-split my lip and it began to bleed, seeping down in a slow sluggish trail.
“Ethan,” Karson roared and, without me even realizing he’d moved, Karson became a human blockade between us.
I glanced, confused, at Karson, and then back to Ethan. He dropped his head and turned away, but not before I noticed the black of his eyes, glinting almost wickedly, like spiders’ eyes. I’d never felt unsafe with Ethan, but I didn’t realize the extent of his desire for blood. Of course he’d be thirsty, he hadn’t been away, or picked up, for a few weeks now. He’d hung around with me, making sure I was okay. And he’d suffered for it.
Both hands flew up to my lips to cover the offending wound. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s not your fault, it’s mine.” Ethan said thickly, keeping his head turned away and going straight to the whiskey bottle to pour a drink. He gulped it down. He poured another and gulped that down too.
