“It might have made me trust you faster if you’d told me.”
“Maybe, but it still wouldn’t have been right.”
Carmine’s lashes lowered, obscuring his view of her eyes, when she touched the back of his tattooed hand. He sucked in a breath, rocked by the feeling of her smooth skin on his scarred knuckles. “I would have trusted you faster… but I trust you more because you didn’t.”
Chapter Sixteen
It didn’t take toolong for someone to find Junger’s body. The news chalked it up to malfunctioning auto-blinds. He’d been working late. He probably didn’t notice when the blinds never came down to block out the rising sun. A freak accident, Patrol called it.
It was pure coincidence that news about a busted blood bride ring in Mooresville broke the very same day. Whatever attention the story about a local synth manufacturer dying a freak death might have garnered went up in smoke.
Atticus didn’t offer any details on what happened to Junger, but he did say his only regret was that he wouldn’t be able to give a similar ending to the rest of the crypt’s staff, but he reassured her with a reminder that life in a New Zone prison was in many ways a worse fate than death.
No one on Empire Estate seemed even a little bit worried that he’d be blamed for the murder, so Carmine did her best to put aside her worry over it. She didn’t feel guilt for his death, though Grim probably wouldn’t look approvingly on her for it, but the thought of Atticus suffering any consequences for seeking justice on her behalf made her stomach curdle.
As with all things, however, the sharpest edge of those worries dulled over time. She still thought of it from time to time, but other things took its place in the forefront of her mind.
For two weeks, she existed on a tightrope of anxiety as she navigated a new world. When she wasn’t sweating at the idea of it all being a trap — or worse, a dream — she fumbled around trying to figure out how to interact with the people who called the estate home.
Carmine thought Atticus was incredibly chatty, but she soon learned that compared to nearly everyone else, he was actually reserved. Compared toZia,Harlan’s greenwitch anchor and mother to little Serafina, he was downright taciturn.
Harlan was similarly quiet, though he could be prompted to speak with only minimal prodding from his anchor. When he did, everyone stopped to listen. Carmine had initially found him stern and intimidating, a little like the High Priest of the crypt, but the more time she spent in the Bounds household, the more she came to appreciate his quiet presence, his thoughtfulness.
Adriana was somewhere between Atticus and Zia. She liked to chat, but she had no problem with long silences, nor with the moments when Carmine said the wrong thing — an all too common occurrence. While Zia’s warmth was contagious, Carmine struggled to find her footing in conversation with her and generally preferred to sit back, letting the tide of her enthusiasm sweep her away into an ocean of comfort. Atticus’s sister paused much more often, allowing Carmine to work up the nerve to say something.
She quickly came to admire both women — Zia for her overflowing kindness and generosity, and Adriana for her fearless gentleness. Carmine followed them, learned from them, and whispered prayers for the Merciful One to keep them safe, to keep them close. She’d never had friends before, notreally,so she thanked the gods every dawn for every moment she stole with them.
And then there were the men. The very, very scary men.
She saw them most often in and around the guardhouse by the gate, but many of the men Harlan employed lived in stone cottages like the one she’d been given. They were mostly vampires — New Zone residents, she’d first gathered by their very particular way of speaking — but a few, like Michael the quiet, attentive demon, were other beings. A few sturdy-looking arrants. A lone gargoyle she only ever caught glimpses of. There was even a lynx shifter.
Atticus introduced her to them, explaining that they guarded the estate and would keep her safe, but something in his tone made it clear he’d be keeping a careful eye on them, which for some reason seemed to amuse the group more than anything. Only Michael remained grim-faced, his nod of acknowledgement solemn. Carmine had only been able to make the briefest eye contact before she turned toward Atticus and pressed her face into his shoulder, her face hot from all the attention. She’d abandoned her veil and still tended to forget that there was no curtain of hair at the ready, so she often turned to Atticus to hide away from the world.
In most ways, living on the estate was a dream, but that didn’t mean there weren’t struggles.
She felt too exposed all the time, too vulnerable. The learning curve for living outside the crypt was far steeper than anything she could have imagined. She often found herself frustrated at her own ignorance, at her awkwardness and fumbling with things that seemed to come so naturally to everyone else. Carmine privately grappled with the shocking amount of autonomy she had, too. Some days she loved her shorn hair, her new clothes, and other days she stared at them both like they belonged to someone else.
The freedom to do anything, to change any part of herself she wished, was by turns intoxicating and terrifying.
The only time she ever felt truly relaxed and comfortable in her own skin was when she was with Atticus. He never coddled her or became annoyed with her missteps. He simply gave her the tools to figure life out on her own, and when she needed help he was there, steady and calm, with a ready smile and a wink.
Among the myriad of everyday things he guided her through, Atticus taught her how to use her new cell phone, and he took her into town to register her new residence. That simple task she’d never even considered left her crying quietly all the way back to the estate.
It wasn’t the little packet with information on how her EVP residence application process would work, nor the fact that Atticus had confidently written down her home address as that of the estate that made her so emotional. It was the fact that she was no longer a ghost.
She existed on paper. She was going to be a citizen of the Elvish Protectorate. If she went missing or needed help or wanted to get a driver’s license, it would be noticed bysomeone.Because she’d be a person, not just an acolyte or a bride hidden away in the bowels of a crypt, with neither rights nor money nor even her own name.
She was finallyreal.
Atticus could barely get the words out of her, but he managed to piece it all together after he pulled over and held her by the side of the road for a while. He’d gone all mean and angry on her behalf again, but his hands were so gentle as they rubbed her back, touched the blunt ends of her hair, and wiped away her tears.
“I’d kill them all if I could,” he told her, “but since that’s not an option, I’m going to settle for making sure you get every damn good thing in life.”
She was too terrified of jinxing it to say so, but Carmine thought that he’d already given her everything she could have dreamed of.
Well… mostly everything.
He hadn’t claimed her.
