45
Yiran
The mellow scent of milk and black tea drifted into his dreams, and Yiran shivered awake. Dawn arrived with roads sleek with dew and fog covering the tops of the skyscrapers. He was thankful to have found a sheltered bus stop with a heating unit at some point in the night.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Therewasa cup of tea on the seat next to him. It was still steaming, but he was the only one at the bus stop. He sat up, catching a charcoal-gray wool jacket before it fell into the ground. Yuki’s. He must’ve draped it over Yiran to protect him against the cold. A farewell act, no doubt.
It was just as well that Yuki left. They could never work out. The night before proved it.
Yuki had returned to his senses quickly, and he’d become strong enough to push Yiran off even though he wasn’t fully satiated on spiritual energy. He’d drunk the bare minimum, but it had left Yiran drained and feverish. Sooner or later, the Hybrid would have to feed properly, or he would relapse again.
Yiran had seen up close how easy it was to flip the switch between man and monster. And while he’d chosen to save Yuki’s life, he wasn’t sure if he could come to terms with the fact that the one he’d saved might go on to kill another someday.
But he did know that he had come to a decision. A few decisions, actually.
Sighing, he glanced down the street. There was a figure in a billowing white shirt standing some distance away, chin tilted up toward the sky. The silly Hybrid was catching snowflakes on his tongue.
There was a funny feeling in Yiran’s chest. Yuki hadn’t abandoned him after all.
It didn’t take long for Yuki to realize he was being watched, and he jogged over. For someone who had been on the verge of death not long ago, he seemed to be in remarkably good spirits—and somewhat changed. There was no teasing veneer or pretense in his expression or manner, justhim, slightly awkward, standing under the scaffolding and looking at Yiran expectantly.
It took all of Yiran’s self-control not to pull him into his arms.
“Good morning,” Yuki sang. “Did you sleep okay? I was going to get you food, but I only had enough cash for the tea, and I didn’t want to take your wallet without asking. Do you want to get breakfast?”
“I want to talk to my father.” Yiran kept his tone distant. Formal in the way you would an acquaintance you’d only met once.
“Your father?” Yuki said, caught off guard.
“That’s why you’re here, right? As a spy and errand boy for my father. You’re here to make sure I have a way to contact him again.”
Yuki didn’t react at first. He stood and stared back at Yiran for a long minute, then at the untouched cup of tea. The light in his eyes seemed to fade, but he smiled. The same sly and slanted smile he wore on the highway when they first met, the calling card of a character he chose to play.
“Give me an hour, Song er shaoye, and I’ll make something happen.”
Yiran closed his eyes, pretending to go back to sleep. He was frustrated with himself, angry at his grandfather, disappointed in Ash, and way too curious about his father. He was mad at everyone and everything but the one person whose footsteps were growing softer. Farther.
Out of reach.
A black SUV pulled up to the bus stop, the tinted windows rolling down. Unexpectedly, Song Liming was in the driver’s seat. There was no one else in the car. No bodyguards, no posse. Dressed casually in a navy crewneck sweater and gray pants, he looked so ordinary it was bizarre.
Yiran got in, slamming the door as hard as he could just for the heck of it.
There was a hint of condescension in his father’s chuckle. “I’m glad you decided to take up my offer to further our conversation.”
As the car began to move, it crossed Yiran’s mind that he’d gotten in with no precautions. He’d simply accepted that his father meant him no harm. He hoped he was right.
“I have questions,” he said, relieved his voice had come out steady.
“Like I said, I only wish to share the truth with you,” his father said in a reasonable tone.
“Do you know where my mother is?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his father’s answer.
Yiran stared ahead, ignoring the jump in his pulse. “I want to see her.”
His father turned the steering wheel sharply. The car veered, cutting to the farthest lane. The entrance to a highway leading out of the city.
