Page 47

We both turned at the sound of running footsteps, Shaw’s hand disappearing in his light jacket. Sugar raced towards us, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

“Did you get her? Where is she?” His fear was like a living, breathing dragon coiling out of him.

“Sugar...” Shaw started.

“Shaw, you know, you know what they are doing.” Sugar flailed about, rapidly falling to pieces. “They’re hurting her, Shaw. They’re hurting her. They’re…” a choked sob cut off the worst of his imaginings. “It’s all my fault,” he repeated, pounding a useless fist into the wood of the scaffolding.

Shaw caught him by the scruff, holding the back of his neck and bringing their foreheads together. Sugar clawed at him, determined to vent out all his panic and let it consume him whole. Shaw fought him, fought for him, pulling Sugar back into the here and now with his touch and presence. Sugar finally succumbed to the offered compassion. Agony and relief warred in him, that delicious moment when there was finally someone to share your pain with.

Like a Scion.

I closed my eyes as jealousy tore through me. Warren had been the one to pick up my broken body and bear the weight of my pain. He had picked up my broken body that Saint had left discarded and worthless. Not just the physical pain, when he had to re-break my bones so they would heal right, but the emotional pain of the death of love. He took all the sorrow and grief and left me with just anger to enjoy on my own.

Finally, Shaw pulled the boy into his arms, his strong hand making circles on Sugar’s back, helping him pull himself together. I turned away, desperate for that feeling again.

THIRTY-ONE

TIFFANY

Just. Drink. The. Blood.

I was pacing the carpet again with exaggerated steps. If I stepped just right, the Converse I was wearing would squeak on the carpet fibers. I was trying to focus on anything but the ache and the cramping. Everyone else was in the workout room. Including the Snacks. It squicked me out referring to them like that. Sugar assured me they had come up with the name. None of them had a problem with this quid pro quo game they had going on. But it unnerved me. Lachlan too, I think. And they were all touchy feely with each other. I couldn’t stand to be touched right now. Every thing was too sensitive. I could barely stand the feel of clothes on my body. Showers were still a nightmare.

Lachlan busted in the room and stopped dead. He was rubbing his chest like he was stabbed or something. He froze when he saw me.

“I… I could go…” I got the sense that he was looking for some space. Or was he simply just very disappointed in seeing me?

He stepped all the way in and shut the door with deliberate care, stripping off his hoodie and dropping it by the door. He flicked his eyes to the bed and then squeezed them shut, like he was having a thought that hurt him. Whispering to himself, he looked up at me and his eyes… they were awful. Blue pits of some terrible emotion were poisoning the clear, cool color.

“What?” I said softly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Can…” he squeezed his eyes shut again, like whatever he was about to ask caused him physical pain.

Lachlan strode over and sank to his knees. He went to work untying the left sneaker and loosening the laces. With gentle touches, he had me shift my weight so he could pick up my foot and ease the shoe off. Then the other foot.

He sat back on his feet and looked up at me. All that dark emotion swirling, catching me in its maelstrom.

“Please.”

That undid me. Completely.

“Alright.” My voice was as soft and tentative as his. I was unsure of what I was agreeing to, and it didn’t matter.

He looped a finger in a belt loop and pulled me to the bed, popping his shoes off with more grace than I could have managed. He swiped the covers off the bed in one fluid movement. My heart started pounding for reasons I couldn’t quite name. He fluffed a pillow and dragged me down by the hip. I brushed the hair out of my face so my curls wouldn’t get between us on the pillow we were now sharing. He wedged a leg between mine, to connect us, draw me closer. His hands couldn’t find a place to rest. First on my hip, then stroking my arm, reaching for my back. His eyes were squeezed shut, blocking out me and the world.

“Lachlan?” I whispered his name. I wanted to reach out and stroke his cheek, but I wasn’t sure he’d welcome the touch. He was so agitated.

This wasn’t right, obviously, for him. He began orchestrating my body. He practically picked up my whole body to have me roll over. His strength was casual, but careful. He was fussing and curling me into a little spoon. He hooked a leg over my hip, trapping one of my legs. He nuzzled into my neck. His breathing was soft and uneven, almost like he was drowning and struggling for air. He scooped his arm around me, pulling me flush against his body. I had become a stuffie that a child desperately cradles when the monsters come out from under the bed. I stilled, settled in.

“Saint.” The word was hushed.

“Who’s Saint?”

“He… he left. Said we’d have eternity and left me for money.”

I nodded. He picked his head up to swipe my hair out of the way to rest his lips against my neck. I tensed a little, waiting for a bite that never came. Maybe he just wanted more skin contact. I moved slightly to get my arm into a more comfortable position. He used the opportunity to pull me even closer. I put my hand to my stomach. The cramping had eased to a dull ache, like a memory of discomfort.

“I…” he sighed, his eyelashes fluttered against my jaw. “A break up I could get over. It was easy to hate him because I had… Warren.” His breath got more uneven.