Nathan snorted. “Well, when you—a human who has little knowledge of the situation aside from vague rumblings in the Chicago underground—frame it that way, in the context of the knowledge you don’t have, I really can’t argue.”
When he tries to, Nathan can be an incredible ass. “I filled him in on the details on the drive up here. To save you. Which he helped with. You’d be in your sire’s living room sipping tea right now, if he hadn’t. So, can you at least pretend he’s a human being, worthy of respect?”
We sat in silence for a minute. I studied Nathan’s face, amazed as ever to watch it visibly healing. My head still throbbed. I probably had—and would have—a fractured skull for a few days. The pressure behind my eyes forced my eyelids closed, sleep making my thoughts heavy. Just as I dropped off, I roused myself. “I’m sorry, I’m falling asleep,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.
Nathan patted my shoulder, urging me to lean against him. “Go ahead, get some rest.”
“No,” I protested. “We’ve got to keep an eye out, in case—”
With a beleaguered sigh, he wrapped his arm around me. Not around my shoulders, but around my head, bringing his hand to neatly cover my mouth as he pulled me close to him.
Bill chuckled, and Nathan dropped his arm to my shoulders. My eyes eased open for a moment and I saw Ziggy, still unconscious, like something out of a dream. He was alive. And he was back home.
Morning came too soon.
Lately, it always seemed to come too soon, Max realized. When night was the time for him to be up and moving around, cleaning, doing laundry, going to the bar, hanging out, the night seemed to be plenty of time to get everything done. He’d even found himself bored on occasion. But now, when he had to tear himself away from Bella’s warm, soft body, the night seemed unfairly short.
Now, the dawn loomed on the horizon, and with it inevitable separation. He was trying hard not to be morose, but it was more difficult than he’d expected. A few months ago, he would have been aching for a fight, any kind of danger to break up the monotony of the everyday. And it never occurred to him then to worry about what would happen if he didn’t survive. Bella was his everyday now, and it terrified him to think he might not get back to her.
He supposed he was the perfect example of “be careful what you wish for.”
Rising from the bed as gently as he could, trying not to wake Bella until absolutely necessary, he reached for the jeans wadded up on the floor. He pulled them on, set a teakettle of blood on the hot plate by the bathroom sink and went out to the balcony while he waited for it to warm.
The sky over the lake was a black-tinged blue, turning slowly golden near the eastern horizon. Some mornings he saw pink reflected on the clouds. Some mornings, the sun seemed to just appear; one moment it was night, the next, day, without him even noticing. It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced in his human life, definitely nothing he’d purposely hung around to watch in his vampire days. Usually, it put him in a great mood. Now, as the sun rose in the east, his gaze was drawn to the runway at the cliff’s edge. The jet parked there had its lights on, a small truck was stopped next to it.
“Great, don’t rush me along or anything.”
“Max?” Bella’s sleepy voice called. “You are already awake?”
He strolled into the bedroom, his heart catching in his throat a little bit at the sight of her, struggling to sit up, reaching for her robe that was impossibly far away. How would she fare when he was gone? Sure, one of her surly relations would probably help her, but how could they be there for everything she needed? How could anyone take better care of her than him? It was another reason that he would have to make damn sure to stay alive and get back to her.
As if she’d read his thoughts, Bella’s expression turned dark. “Do not look at me with such pity. I am capable on my own.”
“I know you are,” he said, trying not to sound patronizing but handing her the robe all the same. “I’m just worried that you won’t have everything you need here. That you’ll be…neglected.”
She arched a sardonic brow. “You think I would tolerate being neglected?”
“I think your family will take better care of you than they would me, were the situation reversed.” Max helped her ease her arms into the robe, lamenting the loss of all that tight, tanned skin from his view. He didn’t want to be so shallow as to add “see my girlfriend naked again” to his list of reasons to survive.
“That is probably true,” Bella agreed, then, slowly, she said, “I…have been thinking. About you leaving.”
The smell of the blood alerted him to the imminent prospect of overwarming, and he went to the bathroom to retrieve the kettle. “I’m listening.”
“I thought perhaps…” She hesitated, as though it was difficult for her to speak. Max supposed he should worry that she would say she thought the separation was a good idea, that they should make it permanent, but he couldn’t quite get to that state of hysteria. He knew Bella too well, and he was secure enough in their relationship to know that whatever she would say next would be something along the lines of “I want to do something incredibly stupid and dangerous to protect you that I know you will reject outright.”
“I want to gather a few of the women, the other magic workers, and maintain our contact with you while you are gone. Perhaps we will be of use—”
“Until your father finds out, hates me more, banishes you and the other women—” Max interrupted, only to be cut off again by Bella.
“My father will not banish me. Sometimes I fear he cannot make the best decisions for the pack when acting as both my father and the pack leader.” She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand. “I worry what will happen when werewolves become involved in this fight. My father only sees himself as potentially being rid of a nuisance.”
“Thanks,” Max interjected.
“He has no concept of how enraged the Soul Eater will be, and what repercussions might affect the pack as a whole.” She looked to Max, golden eyes pleading. “Please, just keep in contact with me. I will rally support quietly, and when the time is right, if the time comes, I will be able to do my part.”
One thing Bella wasn’t good at—the only thing Bella wasn’t good at, actually, if Max didn’t count being humble or ugly—was being helpless. And he sympathized with her. There were times in the past when he’d gone about crazy waiting for orders from the Movement to go ahead and do what he already knew would have to be done. But he didn’t trust her father not to banish her or, God, hurt her, even. Julian was, after all, the man who’d tattooed multiple lines of ancient prophecy into Bella’s skin when she was a teenager. It might be a cultural difference that kept Max from understanding Julian’s motives, but culture be damned, he wasn’t about to let Bella’s father’s weird vendetta against him harm her.
But then again, Bella had been a teenager once. She’d probably defied her father’s orders hundreds of times then without being caught. And pack pecking order or no, Bella’s aunts were frightening creatures who would bristle like porcupines if anyone, Julian included, tried any funny business.
“Fine,” he conceded wearily. “Do what you have to do. But I want no part of it. Plausible denial is the best tool one can possess in some situations.”
“Come,” she said, putting her arms out to him. “Help me into the chair. Then get yourself some blood and we will watch the sun rise together.”
It was as much of a goodbye as he knew he would get from her.
I