Page 24 of Bloodbane
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Nightmares and Misery
{ R U B Y }
I can’t hear the retreating footsteps over the pounding in my ears. I stagger to the couch and don’t even try to stop the groan as I flop down onto the three-seater. I might legitimately be losing my mind. But does that matter when my body has staged a coup and my brain is no longer in charge?
My body…
I do some quick calculations.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
Could it be something so simple? Could it almost be that time of the month in the middle of a murder investigation? The universe has impeccable timing to go with its twisted sense of humor. My period is always a trauma storm each month, only survived by bundling up in bed with painkillers, heat packs, and a wide variety of snacks washed down with clear spirits. And though this revelation at least solves the mystery of my out-of-control libido and aching body, the last thing I need right now is to be taken down by biology.
With a resigned sigh, I collect the bottle of scotch winking seductively at me from the coffee table. I always keep drinks on hand for company, of course—the bottle in hand is one I’ve had for over a year, but at this rate, it’s likely to be empty in a week. Trying to lose myself at the bottom of a bottle is a bad sign, but it’s been a hell of a week and I’m tired of taking one hit after another. I can’t bring myself to feel too bad about finding a way to soften the blows.
I pour myself a large helping before repeating the action for a second glass and setting it aside for Grayson. Grayson, who at this very moment, is upstairs in my shower, naked and wet. I lift the glass to my lips and take a long swallow before pressing it to my forehead. It’s wonderfully cool against my simmering skin.
Now that I have Grayson here, I’m not quite sure what to do with him. I know what I want to do to him, or, more to the point, have Grayson do to me, but fantasies aside, there is a slightly fuzzy sense of panic blurring the edges of my brain. I’ve never brought anyone home before.
Though not the most promiscuous person, I’m not a prude, either: I’ve had my fair share of casual hook-ups, but they were always elsewhere—another house, a hotel room… and once, regrettably, a bar bathroom. Home is too close, too intimate. Too messy. It invites intimacy and the possibility of a future, and that’s the one thing I can’t offer anyone, not while part of me remains trapped in the past. And yet, I brought Grayson home anyway.
I startle as my seat dips. So focused on my thoughts, I didn’t even notice Grayson. Now, I can’t look away.
“The robe didn’t fit,” Grayson answers easily at my stare. “These were in the linen closet. I hope it’s alright that I borrowed them?” His hair, now free of intricate braids, hangs loose and long. Water droplets escaping the damp strands roll down his neck, carving a path over the smooth, chiseled chest so unabashedly on display. The journey ends at the navy sweatpants, stretched to their limits, slung low around his waist.
I swallow thickly, then again to make sure I didn’t swallow my tongue. “Y-yeah, that’s fine. They’re Coopers. He crashes here sometimes when he’s had too much to drink, but, um, you must be freezing. I can grab you a blanket…”
Grayson waves off the offer. “It’s fine. The cold doesn’t bother me. And you were right—your water pressure is amazing.”
Your everything is amazing.
I clamp my lips together, unsure if I just voiced that thought out loud. I feel feverish, the wrong side of wild. I want to climb onto Grayson’s lap and rock in his lap until those stupidly sexy sweatpants are as wet as his hair. As wet as I am. I propel myself forward instead, downing the liquid in my glass before refilling my glass. I leave the cap off the bottle. Grabbing the second glass with my free hand, I offer it to Grayson before settling back onto the plush couch and taking a steadying breath.
“Yeah, it’s my second favorite thing in this place.”
Grayson eyes the glass in his hand but doesn’t take a sip. “What takes first prize?”
“You,” I mutter under my breath before clearing my throat. “The garage. When I’m not working on something for a paying client, I like to tinker with things. It helps pass the downtime, of which we have a lot of out here.” I eye Grayson and frown. “Usually, anyway. I guess that has to be put on hold for a while, though. At least until we can get the station fixed up.” I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the distracting burn in my throat. “What happened in there, anyway? With the shit show this afternoon, I forgot to ask.”
Grayson’s fingers tighten around the glass. He doesn’t answer.
“Grayson?”
No matter how I turn it around in my mind, I can’t figure out how the lock had been busted and Grayson ended up outside his cell. Cooper hadn’t been any help: after he’d taken a knee to the face, it was lights out. The only possibility is an impossibility… though there’s been a lot of that going around lately.
Everyone’s heard the tales of little old grandmas lifting cars off of their grandchildren, and feats of superhuman strength in extraordinary circumstances that no one can make sense of later. Maybe the lock is rusty or damaged. I can’t ever remember having the occasion to test it out. But could Grayson really muster enough force to break metal? I sigh, flipping my ponytail off my shoulder. I’ve long since learned that things aren’t always black and white, but I’m getting sick of living my life in fifty shades of maybe.
Grayson’s low voice drags me from my frustrated contemplation.
“Do you believe in fate?”
Fate. I turn my glass around in my hand, watching the light catch and dance through the amber fluid. A familiar hardness grows in my chest—armor plates sliding into place.
When I was a child, I wasted too much energy and too many tears thinking about fate. Because if it is real, what had I done to deserve the cards life had dealt me? Why would destiny’s deck have been stacked against me from the outset? No, better to accept that there’s no cosmic plan—shit just happens and you try and survive it the best you can.
“I believe that life is hard. It knocks you down repeatedly, and you have to drag yourself to your feet over and over again. I think the only real forces at work are choices, consequences, and luck—both good and bad—but putting blame on fate’s shoulders, or saying something is destined to be gives people an out, like life’s happening to them. It’s the difference between giving up control and taking responsibility.”
The corner of Grayson’s lip crooks up. “So you’re saying you haven’t given it much thought.”
The tension thrumming through my body breaks with a snort of laughter. “Is this the part of the conversation where you try and change my mind?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Usually, the only people who talk about fate are the ones who believe in it. They talk about it and try and convert others—kinda like vegans. It’s funny though, you don’t strike me as a pro-fate type of guy.”
I follow the slow glide of Grayson’s finger as it circles the top ring of his glass—round and round and round. It’s hypnotic, and I startle when the movement stops abruptly and Grayson leans forward to discard the still-full glass on the coffee table.
“Would you agree that some occurrences in life, the odds of them eventuating are… improbable to say the least, if there is nothing but sheer, dumb luck at play?”
“Maybe, but improbable doesn’t mean impossible,” I counter, unconvinced.
There’s a consideration to Grayson’s gaze as if he’s weighing up just how much to push in the face of my resistance.
“When… where I’m from, my kin believed without question. Gods and men, all were equal in the eyes of the Norns—the Fates. They possess the power to shape destinies: to pull strings and cut them as they see fit.” A strange sadness weighs down Grayson’s words. “I’ve had what seems like an eternity to contemplate fate. I’ve come to think of it less like a rigid blueprint and more like a constellation: a cluster of important events that are predestined, but the shape a life takes depends on how they’re connected.”
I pull my legs up and settle cross-legged facing Grayson. I pointedly ignore my knee pressing gently against his outer thigh. “That doesn’t make sense. If the events are inevitable, why does the path you take to them even matter? The outcome will always be the same.”
The fragrance of my own shampoo sweetens the air as Grayson shakes his head and snowy locks dance over bare skin. “The moments are inescapable but the outcome remains unwritten. You may be destined to meet someone, but whether you end up as friends or lovers—” a tremor runs down my spine at the way the word rolls off Grayson’s tongue, “—is down to your choices. But if your destiny is tied to another’s, the Norns will keep tangling your threads together, throwing you in each other’s paths, even if you don’t understand why at the time.”
“So fate is half-assing it? Giving us enough free will to make us think we’re in control when in reality, we’re just puppets in some sick, twisted game?” I can’t keep the skepticism from my voice.
Grayson’s eyes flick to the center of my chest. “The car accident when you were a child, I believe it was predestined. The only variable outcome was the victims: you, your parents, or all. Or perhaps just the creature that your father swerved to miss.”
The mention of the accident sends a shock of ice through my veins. Familiar anxiety builds quickly, but I fuel my anger in an attempt to burn it away. I don’t want to dismiss Grayson’s beliefs, but my opinions have been set by blood years ago.
“I love the idea that people are brought into your life for a reason, it’s very Hallmark Channel. But not everyone has warm and fuzzy intentions—not everyone ends up as a friend or lover. It means monsters are put in your path on purpose. People who are incapable of delivering anything but violence and pain are sent into your life, why? For shits and giggles? To see if you can survive them? That doesn’t seem very fate-worthy to me. Surely destiny has better things to do than deal out nightmares and misery.”
“Unfortunately, one side of the coin cannot exist without the other. Diamonds are formed by pressure, steel forged in fire. If we are the sum of our experiences, would you still be you without having overcome that which caused you pain?”
“Arguably, I’d be a better version of me,” I say darkly. “Less broken.” The memories pull me down into the deep, murky terrors of the past. The ones that are always there, waiting to drown me. “That night, when my parents died, I did, too. Not figuratively—literally. I died on the operating table three times before they stabilized me. It took more bags of blood than I can count to keep me alive, and for what?” My words pick up pace as they tumble from my lips. A dam of thoughts and fears never voiced finally breaks free and I am powerless to stop them. “Do you think it was fate’s plan for me to survive all of that just to be an orphan? To be ripped away from the only family I’ve ever known? To be forced to live in hell, through years of torture and torment, raised by some asshole who professed to love my father like a brother, but took the greatest joy in breaking me down—body and soul—just because he could? No. There was no grand plan in that, Grayson, only choice. His choice to treat me like that, and mine to escape the moment I had the chance. Life is hard, I know that better than most. The cost of breathing is a pound of flesh, and I have paid mine many times over. So no, I don’t think I’m wrapped in invisible strings, dancing to the tune of some unseen, omnipotent force. Things do not happen for a reason; they just happen. All you can do is treasure the good and survive the bad—forget what you can, and find a way to live with the rest.”
Grayson’s face darkens with each new revelation until there’s no light left—even the silver of his eyes has turned obsidian. “There’s something I need to tell—”
Rough scratching—the sound of claws on wood—reaches me just as Grayson surges from the couch, going from sitting to standing so quickly that I have to blink rapidly to refocus my eyes.
“Whoa, easy there, cowboy. Jumpy much? It’s probably just a squirrel.”
Tension radiates from Grayson’s body so intensely that the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. His stare remains trained on the front door.
“It’s not a squirrel.”
“Whatever it is, it’s outside and we’re inside, so it’s all good.”
“Stay here.”
Grayson’s body is in motion before I can protest.
“Wait!” With a sigh, I down the last swallow left in my glass before discarding it on the table beside Grayson’s still full one. I stand quickly, doing my best to ignore the slight spinning of the room. “This is my house, and you’re my guest. If anyone’s investigating mysterious noises in the dead of night, it’s me.”
I rush to slip between the solid wall of muscle that is Grayson’s chest and the front door. But he just reaches past my cheek and slides the deadbolt free.
“No.”
“Uh, don’t ‘ no ’ me. I’m—” A crash outside makes me jump, and my head jerks back and connects with the heavy wooden door. “ Ow, fuck. ” Just perfect, another ache to add to my already impressive laundry list. “Alright, how about a compromise? I’ll go outside and check, but you can come with me… for backup. But a word of warning, if it’s a bear, I’m going to hightail it back into the house without waiting for you, and I suggest you do the same.”
I flash a grin before spinning and reaching for the door handle. It’s not a bear, I’ll bet my life on that. It probably is a squirrel, or raccoon, or maybe wolves. My pulse skips faster. After my last encounter, I might prefer the bear. My hand trembles as I open the door and step outside.