start.
I thought I’d been good at hiding my grief, but Cole could see it.
C’mon, sad girl , he’d said. Dancing makes everything better .
It was the first time I’d realized there was something about him … something more than human. Something irresistible.
It was also the first time I’d acknowledged the strange connection between us.
That connection only grew during our hundred years together in the Feed. It was still there at Jack’s graduation ceremony, when I’d felt him behind me before I saw him.
Even now I could sense his presence. His nearness. The band wasn’t out onstage yet, but I knew he was close. I stared at the stage. Past it. If the curtains suddenly disappeared, I knew I would find Cole in my direct line of sight. My tingling skin knew it as well. The connection would never break.
The lights dimmed, and the MP3s faded out. The anticipation was palpable. I glimpsed movement on the stage, but it was too dark to be sure. Then, in one sudden moment, the stage lit up, reflective light bouncing off chrome instruments, and there was the band.
Max on second guitar, his black hair longer than I remembered. Oliver on bass. Gavin on drums.
And there was Cole. Fierce and beautiful and seizing all the attention in the room with one sure strum of his guitar. His onstage glory hit me fresh, as if I’d been in a rainstorm for the past few months and the sun had finally come out.
I wondered if the other people in the crowd had that same reaction to him when he was playing, or if it was because of our distinct history—our literal tie to each other. The faces of the people around me showed that they felt it too. At least to some degree.
For me it was overpowering. I had to look away. Staying in one place became difficult, because my natural instinct right now was to storm the stage.
But when I felt Cole’s gaze on me, I chanced a look up.
In the sea of faces, his eyes somehow found mine, his face a strange mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t pinpoint. It had taken him seconds to spot me.
As he played, I could feel a change inside me. The black pit of guilt—the constant ache that had defined me since Jack disappeared—began to ease up. The viselike grip it had on my soul relaxed slightly.
For a split second the relief from my pain felt good. So good, I didn’t think I ever wanted it to end. But something wasn’t right; and, in the back of my mind, I realized Cole was feeding on my guilt.
Feeding on my emotions. Again. It’s what Everlivings did best. Cole was so good at it, he could focus on me from across the room and skim off my uppermost layers of emotions. The worst ones, like my guilt right now, were always at the top.
Cole was draining my guilt, and for a moment I let him. I angled my shoulders toward him to make it easier. The pressure, the weight of my pain—not just Jack, but also the pain of missing my mother, of disappointing my father, of abandoning my brother—began to ease away, releasing its constricting hold on my heart. I closed my eyes, and for a moment I let myself believe that nothing mattered.
I was alone. Surrounded by his music, all the tension in my body assuaged by the melody, each strum of his guitar pressing against the aches. Because that’s what Cole could do. He could make everything that mattered disappear. In a room full of people, he could make me feel as if I was the only one and that I had nothing to worry about.
Someone bumped into my shoulder, jolting me out of the daze.
“Sorry,” the boy dancing beside me said.
I blinked a few times at him, then turned toward the stage. Cole smirked and lifted his head up in a welcome back sort of way.
Ashamed, I tore my eyes away from him; and, with all the strength I could muster, I made my way to the exit, his music following me, reaching for me almost like the Shades in the Everneath had done.
I paused outside the club doors with a hand over my heart. The light feeling left and the full
I thought I’d been good at hiding my grief, but Cole could see it.
C’mon, sad girl , he’d said. Dancing makes everything better .
It was the first time I’d realized there was something about him … something more than human. Something irresistible.
It was also the first time I’d acknowledged the strange connection between us.
That connection only grew during our hundred years together in the Feed. It was still there at Jack’s graduation ceremony, when I’d felt him behind me before I saw him.
Even now I could sense his presence. His nearness. The band wasn’t out onstage yet, but I knew he was close. I stared at the stage. Past it. If the curtains suddenly disappeared, I knew I would find Cole in my direct line of sight. My tingling skin knew it as well. The connection would never break.
The lights dimmed, and the MP3s faded out. The anticipation was palpable. I glimpsed movement on the stage, but it was too dark to be sure. Then, in one sudden moment, the stage lit up, reflective light bouncing off chrome instruments, and there was the band.
Max on second guitar, his black hair longer than I remembered. Oliver on bass. Gavin on drums.
And there was Cole. Fierce and beautiful and seizing all the attention in the room with one sure strum of his guitar. His onstage glory hit me fresh, as if I’d been in a rainstorm for the past few months and the sun had finally come out.
I wondered if the other people in the crowd had that same reaction to him when he was playing, or if it was because of our distinct history—our literal tie to each other. The faces of the people around me showed that they felt it too. At least to some degree.
For me it was overpowering. I had to look away. Staying in one place became difficult, because my natural instinct right now was to storm the stage.
But when I felt Cole’s gaze on me, I chanced a look up.
In the sea of faces, his eyes somehow found mine, his face a strange mixture of surprise and something else I couldn’t pinpoint. It had taken him seconds to spot me.
As he played, I could feel a change inside me. The black pit of guilt—the constant ache that had defined me since Jack disappeared—began to ease up. The viselike grip it had on my soul relaxed slightly.
For a split second the relief from my pain felt good. So good, I didn’t think I ever wanted it to end. But something wasn’t right; and, in the back of my mind, I realized Cole was feeding on my guilt.
Feeding on my emotions. Again. It’s what Everlivings did best. Cole was so good at it, he could focus on me from across the room and skim off my uppermost layers of emotions. The worst ones, like my guilt right now, were always at the top.
Cole was draining my guilt, and for a moment I let him. I angled my shoulders toward him to make it easier. The pressure, the weight of my pain—not just Jack, but also the pain of missing my mother, of disappointing my father, of abandoning my brother—began to ease away, releasing its constricting hold on my heart. I closed my eyes, and for a moment I let myself believe that nothing mattered.
I was alone. Surrounded by his music, all the tension in my body assuaged by the melody, each strum of his guitar pressing against the aches. Because that’s what Cole could do. He could make everything that mattered disappear. In a room full of people, he could make me feel as if I was the only one and that I had nothing to worry about.
Someone bumped into my shoulder, jolting me out of the daze.
“Sorry,” the boy dancing beside me said.
I blinked a few times at him, then turned toward the stage. Cole smirked and lifted his head up in a welcome back sort of way.
Ashamed, I tore my eyes away from him; and, with all the strength I could muster, I made my way to the exit, his music following me, reaching for me almost like the Shades in the Everneath had done.
I paused outside the club doors with a hand over my heart. The light feeling left and the full
Similar Books
