some feeble little traitor?
But something in her knew he spoke the truth. They wouldn’t
see her as little or feeble. They’d only see the word traitor in massive,
blinding lights, and go after her with the same burning hatred destroying them
now.
“I’d rather be shot out there, than burned in here. I’d
rather run with you and know we were both free just before we got eaten or
sliced up or whatever else could possibly happen to us, than stay here like
this.”
He turned his head on the pillow, closed his eyes. Spoke in
a low, grave voice, “You don’t know what you’re asking. God, you just don’t know.”
Chapter Five
He’d seemed pretty set on no, after their last talk. So set,
in fact, that when he actually turned up in her room in the middle of the
night, she felt sure she’d cracked her head on something and started
hallucinating.
She thought about her idea in the lab—of werewolves who
could mimic each other. She thought about it long and hard as he shut the door
behind himself and closed them both into utter blackness, leaving behind
nothing of him and everything of some possible other creature. He could have
been anyone or anything in the pitch black, and she didn’t know which was
worse.
Putting her little nightlight on to see if it was some other
terrible thing instead, or keeping it off and sticking with the lack of surety.
In the end, she went with the light. And there he was, just
as bold as brass and twice as large, eyes gleaming with the now familiar sort
of hunger—so much so that she had to wonder if he hadn’t come here to escape
with her like some mental person. Maybe he’d done something even more mental,
like turned up at her door wanting sex.
“Are you insane? What are you doing here? Did you come all
the way down here from the ward? Holy crap—I’m only surprised the combined
hatred of a thousand people didn’t strike you dead as you flounced through the
corridors.”
“I didn’t flounce. I just walked. They don’t even lock the
ward door anymore—they probably think I’m simple.”
“They don’t think you’re simple, Connor, and they do lock
that door. Did you bust it open? I can’t believe you busted it open.”
“Listen. Serena—”
But she had to interrupt. She had to. She’d just noticed
something even more insane.
“Oh my Christ, are you wearing pants? Where the fuck did you
get pants? Oh they’ll just kill you if they catch you wearing clothes, they’ll
kill you—”
“Serena, I’m in your actual real, live room. I think we’re a
little past clothes-wearing.”
She fell silent, then, because by God he was. And he looked
so big in her tiny little space too, like a huge, impossible giant. He seemed
to swell against the narrow line of her bed and the tiny cupboard she kept her
few possessions in, head almost at the ceiling. Shoulders almost crowding
things out.
She didn’t know what to do or say on any level. Most of her
wanted to reach out a hand and touch his immense chest, just to see if he was
real.
“We have to go,” he said, and she needed to check that out
too. Were those the actual, honest-to-God words he’d honestly spoken?
“But you said that—”
“I know what I said. We have to go. Right now.”
“You could have warned me you were going to change your mind
in the middle of the night, Conn.”
It sounded a bit mealy and petty coming out, even though she
hadn’t intended it to be. This was all just so…and he just seemed so…well…
He seemed pale, and harried. And when he almost put his back
to her so he could start doing something ridiculous like rummaging through her
cupboard, she could see all the hackles on the nape of his neck had risen in a
weird, jagged line.
“I haven’t changed my mind. We just have to go whether I
want us to or not.” He passed her a jacket. The one she’d made out of seven
other torn and ruined jackets some scavenger trip had brought back. “Here, put
this on. It’s winter
But something in her knew he spoke the truth. They wouldn’t
see her as little or feeble. They’d only see the word traitor in massive,
blinding lights, and go after her with the same burning hatred destroying them
now.
“I’d rather be shot out there, than burned in here. I’d
rather run with you and know we were both free just before we got eaten or
sliced up or whatever else could possibly happen to us, than stay here like
this.”
He turned his head on the pillow, closed his eyes. Spoke in
a low, grave voice, “You don’t know what you’re asking. God, you just don’t know.”
Chapter Five
He’d seemed pretty set on no, after their last talk. So set,
in fact, that when he actually turned up in her room in the middle of the
night, she felt sure she’d cracked her head on something and started
hallucinating.
She thought about her idea in the lab—of werewolves who
could mimic each other. She thought about it long and hard as he shut the door
behind himself and closed them both into utter blackness, leaving behind
nothing of him and everything of some possible other creature. He could have
been anyone or anything in the pitch black, and she didn’t know which was
worse.
Putting her little nightlight on to see if it was some other
terrible thing instead, or keeping it off and sticking with the lack of surety.
In the end, she went with the light. And there he was, just
as bold as brass and twice as large, eyes gleaming with the now familiar sort
of hunger—so much so that she had to wonder if he hadn’t come here to escape
with her like some mental person. Maybe he’d done something even more mental,
like turned up at her door wanting sex.
“Are you insane? What are you doing here? Did you come all
the way down here from the ward? Holy crap—I’m only surprised the combined
hatred of a thousand people didn’t strike you dead as you flounced through the
corridors.”
“I didn’t flounce. I just walked. They don’t even lock the
ward door anymore—they probably think I’m simple.”
“They don’t think you’re simple, Connor, and they do lock
that door. Did you bust it open? I can’t believe you busted it open.”
“Listen. Serena—”
But she had to interrupt. She had to. She’d just noticed
something even more insane.
“Oh my Christ, are you wearing pants? Where the fuck did you
get pants? Oh they’ll just kill you if they catch you wearing clothes, they’ll
kill you—”
“Serena, I’m in your actual real, live room. I think we’re a
little past clothes-wearing.”
She fell silent, then, because by God he was. And he looked
so big in her tiny little space too, like a huge, impossible giant. He seemed
to swell against the narrow line of her bed and the tiny cupboard she kept her
few possessions in, head almost at the ceiling. Shoulders almost crowding
things out.
She didn’t know what to do or say on any level. Most of her
wanted to reach out a hand and touch his immense chest, just to see if he was
real.
“We have to go,” he said, and she needed to check that out
too. Were those the actual, honest-to-God words he’d honestly spoken?
“But you said that—”
“I know what I said. We have to go. Right now.”
“You could have warned me you were going to change your mind
in the middle of the night, Conn.”
It sounded a bit mealy and petty coming out, even though she
hadn’t intended it to be. This was all just so…and he just seemed so…well…
He seemed pale, and harried. And when he almost put his back
to her so he could start doing something ridiculous like rummaging through her
cupboard, she could see all the hackles on the nape of his neck had risen in a
weird, jagged line.
“I haven’t changed my mind. We just have to go whether I
want us to or not.” He passed her a jacket. The one she’d made out of seven
other torn and ruined jackets some scavenger trip had brought back. “Here, put
this on. It’s winter
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