But I know the emotion he’s capable of.
He fights to gain control over it now.
“Why did we never go?” I ask when he does not continue. Through the ransacked cavern of my memories, I search. I try to find the reason. Surely it must be there, somewhere.
“Because you got sick just four days after we planned it,” Cyrus says. His words come out sharp and filled with emotion. “Four days later, you drained not one, but two of the feeders. Five days later you felt too tired to get out of bed. Seven days later, you went through a dozen feeders, and it was never enough.”
His voice cracks and he suddenly goes quiet.
More tears roll down my face, but not for myself.
I can picture his face. How it is crumpled in emotion. How his skin grows red. How his lips quiver. How he holds a hand over his eyes, trying to rub out the emotions.
A small sob slips between my lips. Once more I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to hold myself together.
“Twelve days after we planned that trip, I held you in my arms as you looked up at me. You were too weak to move. But tears trailed down your cheeks as you looked up at me.” Cyrus’ voice trembles as he tells me the story.
And I realize, I don’t remember any of them. Not a single one of my deaths.
And for that I am grateful.
“I whispered that I loved you and that I would search for you again, until I found you,” Cyrus says. His voice sounds tired.
I purse my lips together for a moment, gathering myself. I wipe the tears from my skin. “Which death was that?” I ask. I don’t really want to know. But I do need to piece myself together.
“The sixth,” he tells me. “When you wore Edith’s face.”
Edith. I nod. The recollection of what he says, of being that woman with the blonde hair comes floating through my memory, but only as tangible as fog.
“You never asked me to call you any of their names before,” Cyrus says, bringing focus back to me. “Why did you ask me with this one?”
And despite how complicated that answer should be, the answer comes to me, crystal clear, in a single instant.
“Because she, I, wanted you to love her, as just her,” I answer honestly. “And because I think, that in some small measure, you did.”
He does not say anything. I can feel his turmoil, the struggle inside of himself.
Cyrus’ devotion to Sevan is unlike anything this world has ever seen before.
I understand that he cannot admit it. Even to himself. Even to me. Even to Logan. Especially to Sevan.
“I don’t know who I am more, Sevan or Logan,” I say, finding calm in my voice. “I don’t even know who I want to be called. I think it changes moment to moment. I suppose I’m both, and will be until I die again, however soon or far away that might be.”
“Don’t,” Cyrus says, life sparking into his voice again. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s okay,” I say hollowly, because I don’t really mean it. “I’m only trying to tell you that I want you to think about it. About your heart. About your truth. Because I’m trying to accept myself, as more than one person. I hope you’re one day able to be okay with loving all of the people I am and have been.”
“Logan,” he says, and a small smile forms on my lips, because he knows exactly who he’s talking to in this moment. “I…”
“I just needed to hear your voice,” I say, cutting him off. “And I wanted you to know that I do miss you.”
The words don’t express how badly I do.
“Please,” he says, his voice sounding defeated. “Come home.”
I shake my head. “It isn’t time yet,” I tell him. “I’m not ready. And there are still some things I need to take care of.”
He’s quiet for a moment. I know the struggle this must be for him. He’s a man who tells people what to do. He does not have to wait for them.
But he will wait for me.
“Alright,” he accepts. “I will continue to try to understand. But Logan?”
My heart skips a beat at hearing him call me that.
“Yes?” I breathe.
“May I please call you?” he asks. “Just from time to time? It’s a relief just to hear your voice.”
I smile. “Yes, that would be alright.”
I can feel it. Clear across the world. Continents apart. His smile.
“I’ll talk to you later, Cyrus,” I say.
“Goodnight, Logan,” he says. And I smile, too.
“Goodnight.”
Chapter 10
I’ve never been anywhere near this far east, so it’s kind of disappointing that I’m doing all this travel, and it’s in the dark.
We leave Texas behind, and then cross through Louisiana. The terrain is so flat, it feels weird to me. Like I’m too exposed. I’ve gotten used to mountains surrounding me my entire life.
“So, are you originally from Mississippi?” I ask Rath.
“I am,” he says with a grim nod.
“Then why don’t you have a Southern accent?” I ask, teasing just a little.
He looks out the window. “It was part conscious effort, part that most of my communication was with someone who did not have one.”
“My grandfather,” I say, clarifying.
Rath nods.
“How old are you?” I ask. “And what exactly are you? Because I can tell you’re not a vampire, but you certainly don’t smell exactly human?”
“Look at the stones on Logan!” Eshan says from the back seat. “I’ve been wondering the whole time, but I sure wasn’t going to call his species into question.”
My face flushes, but really, I want to know.
“I’m old enough to think the world has become a better and worse place than it once was,” Rath says. “And as for what I am? I am just a man.”
“Being vague is your game, I guess,” I say with the shake of my head. “Man of mystery.”
“My past is complicated. There are some very dark times I went through,” he says as he looks out into the dark. “It’s a burden I do not feel the need to share with anyone who doesn’t absolutely need to know.”
I glance over at him.
I think I always knew it. You don’t carry around that kind of darkness in your eyes, don’t always hold that kind of grim, somber look on your face, without some kind of hardship in your past.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
The GPS says we’re only an hour away from Silent Bend when Eshan starts breathing hard. I look into the back seat, and see that his eyes have begun glowing a faint yellow.
Suddenly a little burn ignites in my own throat. I swallow once, but the fire grows hotter by the moment.
I haven’t drunk since I was in Las Vegas.
“Pull over now,” Rath says. “Better you drink farther from the House. It’s one of Alivia’s rules. If you must drink fresh, you do it far from Silent Bend.”
I look over at him, my brows furrowing.
But as I look back at the cooler in the back seat, I see that it’s empty.
I take the next exit. And dread forms a thick knot in my stomach when I think about what Eshan and I are about to do.
But my hunting instincts go into overdrive the minute we park in the lot of a gas station.
“If either of us takes things too far, shoot us with those darts,” I instruct Rath. With a look in Eshan’s direction, I grab the front of his shirt and yank him out of the car.
He was staring at Rath like a meal.
We wait in the shadows, silent. And when a trucker totters out of the side bathroom, I don’t hesitate.
I grip him by the front of his shirt, yanking him to me.
My fangs sink into his neck, instantly paralyzing him.
Gross. He tastes like stale nachos and day old donuts.
But the first pull of blood brings a moan from my lips.
Eshan takes his wrist, and sinks his fangs into his flesh.
We’re both brand new vampires, Eshan and I. No new vampires have very good control in the beginning.
I know this.
So I was kind of counting on Rath having to use those darts on us.
I’m not surprised, when after six good pulls of the man’s blood, Eshan jerks away with a groan of pain.
A moment later, a strong hand clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me firmly away.
I face him, a hiss on my lips, my fangs bared.
But Rath’s face is only calm, his eyes determined.