"Tell me about the girls you've been with, other than Kat," she says. "Anyone special? Anyone you miss?"
"No. Kat was my first. After her, I wanted to escape my life, just for a little while, and sex with strangers allowed me to do that."
"But pleasure doesn't last, does it." A statement rather than a question.
I answer anyway. "Not that kind, no." It's a reminder I need right now. I want this girl, but I'd only treat her like the others, and she deserves better. "You can trust me. I'll never hit and run with you."
"Hit and run. Nice."
"I'm a warrior poet. What can I say?"
"If you tell me you respect me too much to sleep with me, I think I'll go ahead and spill your intestines."
"Please. You'd have to break your famous control for that."
She curls onto her side to face me--but she doesn't relinquish my hand. "Famous? Do tell."
"You're a legend. Everyone watched you with Tiffany, knew you wanted to lash out at her, but you kept your cool and asked your questions in a calm, serial-killer kind of way, always rolling with the punches."
"Well, I learned from the best. My father was a different man for different people. His way of ensuring everyone loved him, I guess, and gave him whatever he wanted. No one saw the monster lurking under his smile." She traces her thumb over my palm. "You're good at what you do, too. And vicious. You go for the kill shot every time, without hesitation. It's poetry in motion."
"Yeah, well, you do this cool wrist thing that turns your swords into a pair of scissors. Your every motion is fluid. I do it, and I look like a three-year-old trying to cut along the lines."
"You never miss a shot," she says. "Sometimes I have to readjust my aim."
"You aren't afraid of needles. I see one, and I start crying like a baby."
"I've never seen you cry."
"It's on the inside."
She rolls her eyes. "Well, your tattoos are awesome."
I rub the one in the center of my chest. The heart I continually add to as my friends die. "Your tattoos far surpass awesome. I know you did the compass, but what about the others?"
"I did the ones I could reach. River did the rest."
Dude. "I know who will be giving me my next one. Hint--her name starts with Milla and ends with Marks."
"No way. The only other person I've ever tattooed is River, and only because he can fix everything I mess up."
"Flaws are human," I tell her. "I like flaws."
Her smile returns, slow and bright. "I always liked to draw, and one day River decided he wanted a tattoo. He stole the equipment and had me practice on oranges. When he decided I was good enough, he asked me to cover some of his scars."
Scars caused by their shit excuse for a dad. "Why Betrayal?"
She hesitates. "It's a reminder that the cost of betrayal is far too high."
Yes. Always. "Why the pink ribbon on your foot?"
An air of sadness overtakes her. "As a little girl, Caro and I... We..." Her chin trembles. "I loved to dance."
Treading carefully, purposely keeping my tone light, I say, "You can talk to me about her. I'll never use her against you."
She stiffens, sighs. "I forget you saw her death. But it's hard, you know. I want to honor her, but even saying her name fills me with guilt and regret. I didn't protect her."
"You were a child."
"I could have told someone what was happening."
"You were scared."
"And that fear cost me dearly. When she died, a part of me died with her. The best part. Her part. She made me whole. Now I'm only half a human, if that makes any sense."
"The guilt and regret belong to your father, sweet pea, not you."
"Easy to say, harder to accept."
I tighten my hold on her hand, letting her know I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.
"We wanted to be ballerinas, but we couldn't afford lessons. And even if we could, we couldn't have gone because, from the shoulders down, we were always covered in bruises. The pink ribbon reminds me of her, of our dream. To always hope for something better."
I smooth the hair from her cheek. "No one ever noticed, stepped in and tried to help you?"
"We moved around a lot. Mom homeschooled us until she took off. And we wore long sleeves all year round, even during the hottest part of summer. No one ever asked why."
I'm a no-good piece of shit. This girl has been to hell and back--multiple times--and I have only ever added to her problems.
"Why a compass?" I run my thumb over her wrist, surprised when her pulse jumps up to greet me. "To find your way?"
"Exactly."
I trace my fingers over a beautifully detailed dove. "And this?"
"You're familiar with Scripture, I'm guessing. You wear the Lord's Prayer."
"I am, and I do." Before she died, Cole's mom took us to church every Sunday. I saw--see--so much of myself in our lessons. Good versus evil. Dark versus light. Hope versus defeat. Forgiveness versus resentment. "The dove represents love, joy, kindness, patience and peace."
"That's right. I thought if I couldn't have those things in real life, I could have them in my skin." She scoots a little closer. "What about your parents?"
"I don't know my biological parents. I was adopted as a kid, and my parents loved me, they just weren't equipped to deal with someone like me. A little wild--"
"A lot wild."
I grin. "A fighter. Ornery. A sass mouth, my mother used to say. She and Dad were killed by zombies. We knew nothing about Blood Lines, and three undead were able to enter our home. They sensed me, but reached my parents first. I heard screams and raced into the living room. My parents didn't know why they were in pain, patches of their skin turning black, but I did. I could see the monsters. For the first time, my hands lit up, which is the only reason I survived."
"I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you. My aunt and uncle raised me after that, but they were even less equipped to deal with someone like me. An outsider. A weirdo. And wow, look at me, complaining. I was never beaten."
"Like that matters. You shouldn't compare your pain to mine. You suffered, plain and simple."
I trace the shell of her ear. "You make me wish..."
A shiver dances over her. "What?"
I caress her jawline, the line of her neck, the rise of her shoulder, reveling in the softness of her skin. The goose bumps rising in my wake entrance me--and once again I'm hard as a rock.
"What?" she repeats softly. "What do you wish?"
Not going to hit and run, remember? I force my arm to my side and roll away from her. "Nothing. I'm tired. Good night, Milla."
There's a slight pause, a crackle of disappointment before she responds. "Good night, Frosty. Sweet dreams."
Awareness erodes my delicious lethargy, and I blink open my eyes. I'm warm, toasty and relaxed...and I'm in a room I don't recognize. Before I can work up a good panic, memories flood me. The Z-battle and near defeat. Tiffany. Wrestling with Frosty--being caressed by him, sharing stories with him. Sleeping next to him.
Tingles raze each of my nerve endings. As I scan the layout of our bodies, I realize I'm not next to him anymore. I'm freaking on top of him!
His heart thumps against my temple, and his luscious heat envelops me. One of his arms, firm and sure, drapes my lower back, while the other nestles in my hair. My legs straddle one of his. Hello, Seabiscuit.
I've never woken up with a boy. Mace always took off before sunrise, not wanting River to see us together "until we're ready to share our love with others." Liar! The rest of my losers took off soon after they'd gotten what they wanted, leaving me confused and just plain sad.
I like this. I like it more than anything ever...which is the very reason I gather the strength to stand and tiptoe to the bathroom.
Sore muscles scream in protest as I brush my teeth and hair and take care of business. When I exit, Frosty is still sleeping, thank God; I'm able to sneak out of the bedroom undetected.
/> I take a few wrong turns and end up back where I started, bumping into Chance as he quietly shuts Love's door. Of all the people in all the mansions in all the world...
I sigh. "Kitchen?" I ask, not really expecting an answer.
"This way." He waves me over, shocking me to the depths of my soul when he wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Thank you. For what you did last night. Without you, Love would have died."
I stop, utterly floored. "You really care about her. Like, seriously care."
I didn't ask a question, but he stops, too, and gives me a nod.
"But why...?" Am I really going to do this? Put myself out there? Make myself vulnerable to a guy who hasn't spoken to me in four months? Who has every reason to spurn me? Whom I have every reason to spurn? I might have put him in danger by working with Anima, but long before that, he hurt me by leaving me the morning after we hooked up. "Why didn't you care about me?" Yes, I'm really going to do this. I deserve answers. "Why did you cut and run after one night?"
Remorse darkens his eyes. He presses his forehead against mine, an action I've missed, something he did long before hooking up with me. "I wanted it to be you. My forever. But wanting something doesn't mean it's right for you. And yes, I should have talked to you about it, should have opened up, but I took the puss way out and I'm sorry."
That's something, at least. An answer. "I guess I forgive you," I say, remembering the way Ali forgave me. Can I do any less now? Besides, Chance wants what I want. A love to last the ages. Something powerful and unstoppable.
What Kat and Frosty had.
Frosty claims he doesn't love her anymore. Is he just fooling himself?
Could he ever love me?
Do I want him to?
"Enough mush. Let's get some breakfast." Chance urges me forward. We're about to snake the corner when Frosty's voice snaps behind us.
"Milla."
Chance and I turn in unison.
Frosty is scowling, but--shocker--it's not directed at me. "Here's your new phone." He tosses the device at me, but his aim sucks and I have to dive to catch it. "Don't leave the house." He slams the bedroom door, and if there'd been portraits on the walls, they would have fallen.
O-kay.
"Well. That's new." Chance pulls me back into motion.
"Guys barking orders at me?" I snort and pocket the phone. "Hardly. But I think he dislikes you more than he dislikes me. What'd you do to him?"
He casts me an amused grin. "I'm surprised you can't guess."
"What do you mean?" What am I missing?
"Just...be careful with that one. He might have forgiven what you did, but he'll never forget."
A lump grows in my throat. After last night, I'm not just crushing on Frosty. I'm falling for him. Hard. I want him. All of him. The good, the bad and the ugly. I want to wake up in his arms every morning, and fall asleep with him every night. I want to fight for him and even with him, and then I want to make up with him. I want to guard his back and know he's guarding mine. I want to laugh with him and hold on to him when I cry. I want to know, finally, I'm someone worth anything.
But I'm not dumb. Not always. I know he'll never be able to give me those things.
The scent of bacon and eggs reaches me, and I latch on to the distraction as if my life depends on it. In the kitchen, Reeve stands at the stove, stirring a pot, while Ali sets the table. Bronx and Cole are squeezing oranges for juice; it's such a domestic scene, I'm momentarily speechless.
I take out my new phone, snap a picture and send it to Frosty: Breakfast almost ready. Bacon, eggs, biscuits & gravy.
His reply comes a few minutes later. I'd rather have chocolate cake.
I type, Well, then I guess the theme of the day is disappointment. Take what's here or starve.
As I'm sneaking a piece--or six--of bacon, Frosty comes down to join us. How does he feel about me? Our gazes meet, and for a moment, only a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist--
--I'm in our bedroom...the bed...the two of us snuggled close. Desire floods me, a tidal wave I can't contain, pulling me under, drowning me--
--but I'm back in the kitchen a moment later, my cheeks burning bright red. We just had another glimpse of the past, but this time, we experienced my longing for him. Now he knows how I feel. And that makes me wonder...
Why are his cheeks red?
"Frosty!" Ali rushes over, wincing a little with each step. She hugs him. "You're joining us for breakfast? Is it Christmas?"
He jumps up and down and claps like he's only five years old. "Christmas! Where's my present?"
"Right here." She pretends to unwrap her fist and extends her middle finger. "Do you like it?"
"Love it. But it's too much. I can't accept."
She holds the finger to his nose. "I insist."
"You are such a brat." He bats her arm away. "I'm not sure how Cole puts up with you."
"He realizes I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him." She fluffs her hair. "That's how."
Cole winks at her. "Took the words right out of my mouth, Ali-gator."
When the rest of the household wakes, we hold a meeting to decide what to do about Rebecca, and what to do with Tiffany. We can't reach an agreement about Tiffany--half of us want to keep her caged, the other half want to set her free and follow her, hoping she'll lead us to Rebecca, while two holdouts (cough, Frosty and River, cough) just want to kill her.
In the end, we decide we need a strong defense before we can even think about playing offense. Even if it means giving Rebecca time to plan her attack. So, we spend the first week fortifying security on the house. More cameras in and out, motion sensors, trip wires on every door and window, all of which can be activated with a single press of a button. We also pour Blood Lines around Shady Elms, trapping any surviving or new zombies inside a select area. Humans can still enter and leave at will. During the day, the zombies will seek shaded areas, leaving the humans alone. At night, nothing bad will happen as long as those humans stay away.
Also, we don't know which of the recruits we can trust, but we do know we can't allow Rebecca to swoop in and one, kill them, two, turn them into zombies, or three, use them as bait. So, River assigns his most trusted slayers to follow and guard them and continue their training, even though they aren't allowed back inside the house.
The next week, we practice fighting, trying to strategize around our lack of abilities, as well as deal with--and use--my thanatos. After my trial by fire, I had to admit there was no avoiding the ability. I quickly learn that keeping my emotions under control is the key to my success. When I'm angry, the energy that leaves me is sharp and cutting. When I'm frantic, the energy is choppy and shoots out in bursts. When I'm calm, the energy is less sharp, less cutting, and a constant flow.
Reeve and Weber create different serums, hoping something will spark dynamis in at least one of us. So far, no luck. How are we going to heal from battle? How are we going to defeat Rebecca?
Finding out she's back in the game has jacked up my protective instincts to the max. I refuse to leave Frosty's side. I even follow him into the bathroom one morning--you're welcome, Ali. Yeah, he promptly kicks me out and slams the door in my face, but I stand guard outside. To get to him, Rebecca will have to go through me.
But while I'm more determined than ever to save him, he's more determined than ever to ditch me. The only time he seeks me out is at night, and only because we share a room. He no longer sleeps on the bed. He makes a pallet on the floor. We don't talk the way we did our first night here. In fact, we barely speak at all. We definitely don't look at each other. Too afraid of having another vision, I suppose.
The times he manages to lose me--like now--are agony for me. To be honest, though, that agony is nothing compared to what I feel whenever he's near. One glance, that's all it takes, and I'm solely focused on him, everything else forgotten. My skin pulls tight over my bones and I go liquid inside. I lose my breath. I ache.
I hate it. I love it.
At least Kat approves of my dedication to my job. She appears to me to tell me I'm doing such a good job it's almost like she's doing it.
I use the opportunity to question her. "Do you guys date up there in the holding zone, or whatever?"
"Yeah. People date, get married. All the good stuff."
"Are you dating anyone?"
Twin pink circles dot her cheeks, and I gasp.
"You are!"
"I'm not," she says, glaring at me. "I'm really not."
"But you're interested in someone. I can tell."
"Oh, just shut up! And don't you dare tell Frosty about this. I don't want him hurting any more than he already is. Not that there's anything to tell him, because I. Don't. Want. Anyone," she snaps before disappearing.
Please. I could be water boarded, and I wouldn't tell Frosty about this. But knowing she has moved on and she's happy rids me of a lot of my guilt.
Soon after our exchange, Cole corners me in the locker room. It's just the two of us, and he looks ready to commit murder.
"What are you doing to my boy?" he demands.
"What do you mean?"
"The way he follows you and watches you... I'm not sure if he wants to choke you or screw you. If you're antagonizing him--"
"I'm not. And what do you mean, he follows me?"
"If you're teasing him--"
"I'm not!" I repeat. "Now, about him following me..."
He purses his lips and storms away.
After that, I keep watch for Frosty. Another week passes and I discover he does follow me. I confront him about it, expecting him to admit he hoped to catch me doing something wrong, but he is more embarrassed than angry--as if he watches me because he wants to, maybe even hopes to protect me.
I just... I don't know what to think anymore.
I'm running the treadmill to expel some tension and build my stamina when my phone beeps. I see Frosty's name on the screen and bite my lip to stop a grin of happiness. He's speaking to me again?
A treadmill expert, I don't have to stop the machine to read it--or reply. (Don't try this at home.)
Frosty: I'm hungry. Make lunch?
Me: Sure. I'll make U a sandwich. In never. Make sure U set UR watch
Frosty: It's set for Maypril 32nd, 1:63 a.m. But I don't want a sandwich, I want pizza.
Me: Name 1 thing wrong w/a sandwich
Frosty: It's not pizza
I snort. He's got me there.