chapter X
Sawtooth mountains of Idaho, present day
“HEY,” I SAID, WALKING toward Michael along the path to the little training shed. He was sitting there on the ground staring into space, the graying clouds of a potential thunderstorm looming over the mountains beyond.
He looked up at me when I spoke. “Hey yourself,” he smiled.
I sat down next to him, looking out at the view along with him. “So now we’re fake smiling at each other? We’ve come a long way in no time at all.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” He seemed agitated. “Look, I hate to ruin the mood, but we need to get out of here and quick. The Brotherhood is probably already headed in this direction. They will want to finish the job.”
“The job, huh. I know. That’s what Kim said you called me.”
He sighed. “That was the wrong thing to say.”
“Why? Seems like it was honest. What’s wrong with that?”
He let out a heavy sigh. “Nothing; I—”
I could tell I was irritating him. Not what I wanted. But I couldn’t help myself. “You know what…you have a lot of explaining to do.” How can I defend him to Kim and then stab him in person? Arrgh!
His eyes took on a deeper look. This time he did not sigh. “I know.” He was looking right at me—into me. “I know.” He looked back out into the mountains, the forest, the meadow, all of it on parade in front of us, a total gift. “If anyone knows where they stand, it’s me. I have a lot of work to do. But it has to start with getting us—you and Kim and me—out of here. Like now.”
“Michael, I—”
He grasped my arm and raised his voice a little. “Stop it. Trust me, I know. I know, okay? But you have no idea what kind of danger we’re in. If you’ve ever trusted me, you have to trust me now. You have to let me lead. This is the only time I will ask for your permission in this. I know I don’t have much to go on; you don’t have much reason—any reason, really—to open yourself to me again. Not after what I did. I know it; I know it; I know it. I don’t need you to freaking harp on me about it in order to know it.”
“Whoa, dude. Just stop right there.”
“Airel, we don’t have time for this! Don’t you understand that we’re in danger right now? Every second we waste talking about this touchy-feely bullcrap is a second taken away from our lives! I’m just concerned about our safety—”
“Oh, heck no. Michael, you are crossing a line. I’m not trying to attack you here.” But I was, in a way.
He stood and began to pace. He talked with his arms, pleading with me. “Airel, please. I understand already that you’re upset with me for what—for everything that I’ve done. I don’t need to talk about it—”
“Well, maybe I do! Did you ever think of that? Huh, traitor?” Oh, no.
My words cut him deep. I could tell that I would regret them for the rest of my life; it was one of those things I would never forget: how he looked at me then.
“Please…”
Who’s the traitor now. I reached out to She, but all I could sense was glib satisfaction coming from her. She didn’t care much for him from the beginning, evidently. Great. Just great. I can tell how this is going to end. “I’m sorry, but there is a difference between forgiveness and trust.” I was really desperate and confused.
He continued to look at me with those ice blue eyes. If it is true that the eyes are the window to the soul, I had seen his. It was honest, clean, rough and dangerous, and I wanted every bit of it. Regret for my rash words was already heaping itself on my head: hot coals.
“We really don’t have time for this, okay? I want to leave this place with you. At my side. I want to protect you from what is already coming for us. But you have to trust me.”
I looked at him, tears already clouding my vision. I shouted at him, “Do you have any idea how difficult that is going to be?! For me?!” I wanted to punch something.
He came closer.
“Keep your distance. I will hurt you.” I remembered Kreios’s teaching in the little training hut behind us, that mixing my abilities with raw and undiluted emotion, anything other than love, was very dangerous and almost impossible to control.
He simply said, “Go on. I deserve it.”
“No! Stay back. Please.”
He walked closer, his arms out, ready to enfold me in his embrace, I wanted to feel those arms wrap me up nice and tight, good and strong, smell his skin, feel the soft spikes of his hair as my hands and fingers interwove themselves in it. I wanted to surrender to all of the nameless feelings and potentials that cavorted within my written-back-together heart. But I felt the danger. It was coming at me from inside, deep. It was coming at me from outside, near, far.
He came still closer, within an arm’s reach.
“Michael!”
His face was inches from my own and I could smell the masculine cleanness of his breath on my lips.
I did what any girl might have done. I collapsed into a sobbing mess in the arms of my lover. He was flawed but strong enough. Filled to the brim with courage, and all of it for me. I let myself go, let myself cry for a good long time.
The gray clouds overhead then burst, drenching us both to the bone.
I thought of how horrible the world was to have given a place for people like Stanley Alexander to live and exist. I thought of how painfully dear to me my parents were. Would I ever see them again? I thought about Kreios and wondered why he would have abandoned me, even if he did think I was dead. Wouldn’t he at least have wanted to bury my body? Maybe he just couldn’t deal with it. I thought about Kim and how much I loved her, how sorry I was for how she had been caught up in all this nonsense with me and my drama. And I thought about Michael.
That’s when the storm within started to finally clear up.
We were soaked, our clothes clinging to our bodies.
I pulled back from him. I felt bad; his shirt was covered with rain, with my tears, slobber, and snot. I wiped my nose with my shirt front, revealing part of my stomach as I dabbed at my eyes with it.
He pulled me in close to him again, but not all the way—his eyes were locked on mine, the puffs of our breathing intermingling in the misty aftermath of the storm.
He leaned in, but off to one side, brushing the softest, gentlest kiss against my cheek and then pulling back. “Airel,” he said, his voice a husky whisper.