“Get out.” I grabbed the first thing my hand touched—a stuffed penguin Mindy had given me and that I love—and threw it at her. It bounced off her shoulder, harmless but pointed. “I can’t talk to you right now. Just go.”
She went. The door closed behind her with a soft click that somehow felt louder than a slam.
I stood there in the middle of my room, breathing hard, the anger draining out of me as quickly as it had come. In its place was something worse. Something that felt a lot like guilt.
Mindy was scared. We were all scared. And I’d just thrown her out for saying the quiet part out loud—the thing we were all thinking but nobody wanted to admit.
What if Zane was exactly what his father made him?
What if blood really was destiny?
What if the demon essence in my veins meant I was destined to become something terrible too?
I sank down onto the bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and tried very hard not to cry.
I don’t know how long I sat there before the door opened again, soft and slow. Jared slipped inside, his hair still damp from the shower, and without a word he crossed to the bed and climbed in beside me. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest, and I let myself fold into him.
“You heard,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Stupid vampire hearing.”
I laughed, but it was thin. Because as much as I didn’t want to think it, I had the terrible feeling that my best friend was scared of me, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
“She doesn’t mean it,” Jared said quietly. “She’s just scared. We all are.” His hand moved in slow circles on my back. “She loves you. And she must love me, too. I’m irresistible.”
That almost got a real laugh out of me. Almost.
“If Zane’s gone bad,” Jared continued, his voice serious now, “it’s because of his choices, not his parentage. You know that. Hell, so does Mindy.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “So don’t you go forgetting it now.”
I didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer and silently hoped that Mindy remembered it, too.
22
KATE
Ifound Stuart in our bedroom—his bedroom now—packing the last of his things. The suitcase lay open on the bed, and he was folding shirts with the methodical precision of a man who’d learned to take care of himself long before I came along.
“Hey,” I said from the doorway.
He looked up, and something in his face softened. “Hey yourself.” He put down the shirt he’d been folding and sat on the edge of the bed. After a moment, he patted the space beside him. “I thought we already did the goodbye thing.”
“We did. I just keep thinking I should feel worse about this,” I finally admitted. “About us. About you leaving. And I do feel bad, Stuart. I feel terrible. But I also feel...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“Relieved?” he offered quietly.
I closed my eyes. “That sounds awful. True, but awful.”
“It sounds honest.” His hand found mine, and he laced our fingers together the way he had a thousand times before. “Kate, look at me.”
I did. His eyes were kind—they’d always been kind—and there was no accusation in them. No blame.
“I feel it, too,” he said. “The relief. But here’s what I’ve figured out—feeling relieved doesn’t mean we failed. It just means we’re being honest about where we ended up.”
“When did you get so wise?”
He laughed softly. “Somewhere between the coma and the visions, I think. Near-death experiences have a way of clarifying things.”
I leaned my head against his shoulder, and he let me. We sat like that for a while, two people who had loved each other, who still loved each other, but in a different way now.
