She’s real.
I didn’t really believe it until that moment. All the dreams. All the fleeting half glimpses. Even seeing her so clearly tonight. All of that could’ve been a mistake somehow. But now I have her—in my room. In my arms. And despite anything my eyes just saw, she feels human.
She feels like me.
A tiny thrill jolts me as my fingers part her lips. They’re even softer than I imagined. Yeah—I imagined them. I dare anyone to try being haunted by a hot girl for ten years and not think about kissing her.
I place the bottle against her lips. Will she be able to swallow if I pour it into her mouth? Or will she choke?
I pour just enough to wet her tongue, not breathing until I see her swallow. It’s surreal watching her lips close and the muscles in her throat contract. Little, normal things in such an impossible situation.
I still can’t believe I’m actually holding her. My fingers tangle in her hair—the same dark, wavy strands that always swirl around her face in the dreams. I’m glad it’s not in the tight braid she was wearing earlier. She looks softer with it loose. Gentler. She still has a strong jaw, but it balances her wide eyes and full lips.
Back to her lips. I can’t stop staring at them.
Dude—not now!
I pour more water in her mouth, and this time she drinks faster. She downs the rest of the bottle, but she still hasn’t fully woken.
I scan the room for more water, freezing when she moans.
I set her head down and back against the farthest wall. I have no idea what will happen when she wakes up, but having some distance between us seems like a good idea. She may look gentle when she’s sleeping, but there was something in the way she carried herself earlier that I definitely don’t want to get on the wrong side of.
She moans again and rolls to her side. I glance at my door, hoping my parents haven’t heard. But I don’t have time to worry about it because the next second she jumps to her feet.
She wobbles, taking deep breaths as she squints at her hands. I can’t tell if she knows I’m there.
I clear my throat.
She tenses, then turns toward me, her face a mixture of fear and pain and uncertainty.
“What did you do to me?” she whispers.
“Wait—what? I didn’t do anything.”
She moves forward, wincing with each step. I try to back out of the way, but she’s quick—way too fast for someone who was just unconscious. She corners me. “What. Did. You. Do. To. Me?”
“I swear, I didn’t do anything.”
She grabs my shoulders, insanely strong for a girl her size. “I can feel it, Vane. What did you give me?”
Her voice is louder now—loud enough that my parents might be able to hear. But I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. I’m almost ready to call for help. Her nails cut through my shirt, digging into my skin.
I grab her wrists and try to pull her hands away, but she fights me. “Relax, okay? I gave you some water—that’s it.”
“Water?” Her arms go limp.
“Yeah.” I point to the empty bottle near her feet. “Just water. Nothing else.”
“Water,” she repeats, sinking to the floor.
I glance at the door, wondering if I should take my chance and run, get as far away from whatever she is as I can. But I can’t leave. Not after ten years of wondering about her, dreaming about her.
She lowers her head, letting her hair fall across her face. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Uh, yeah—I helped you.”
“Helped me.” An oddly hysterical laugh slips out of her lips as she looks up, peering at me between the wild, wavy strands.
I stare into the same dark eyes I’ve seen every night. Every time I close my eyes. I always thought they were beautiful. Almost hypnotic. Powerful, even.
Now they look defeated.
As if confirming my thoughts, she curls her knees into her chest, hugging them with her arms and rocking back and forth.
“You didn’t help me,” she whispers. “You just killed everyone.”
CHAPTER 8
AUDRA
My eyes burn in a way I don’t understand. Then something wet streaks down my check.
A tear.
Everything inside me knots with a mix of fear and rage.
I shouldn’t be crying. Not because I have to be brave or strong or maintain any of the other aspects of my oath. I physically shouldn’t be able to shed tears.
The fact that I can means it really is too late. My body’s absorbed the water. I’ll be weakened for months.
Just like my father was the day he died.
My shoulders shake as a tremendous sob overcomes me. I want to tear at my skin, scratch deep and hard, like that could somehow scrape away the water inside me. But it doesn’t work that way. I’ve suffered so much to avoid my father’s mistake, gone to such lengths not to tie myself to the earth. But I never planned for this. Never considered that joining the wind would make me faint, or that Vane would give me water to revive me.