Hello again! Have another chapter. I don't really like the direction it's taken but oh well.

Chapter 18

"There's just one thing I want you to do for me." It was the next morning, the morning of our departure, and I had one final request.

Luke was red-eyed and sleep-deprived, but on the whole much improved from last night. It was, as always, a thing of the past, never to be spoken of again. "What's that?"

"Meet Rachel. Come see her with me. I was thinking about what you said," I added before he could object, "about how to deny oneself is to deny oneself love."

A strange noise escaped his throat as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Did I say that?"

"You're right."

"Am I?"

"That's why I want to tell Rachel the truth. About me, that is."

He was looking perplexed. "That's . . . quite the commitment for you."

"Shut up. I need you there with me."

"To do what? Hold her down while you drain her dry? Thanks, but—"

"For moral support."

He laughed. "I'm not—" I fixed him with my most pleading look. "But it's—" I stared a little harder. "—it's the full moon this week," he finished lamely.

"I know a place."

He went because he had no choice (I controlled the purse strings, after all); I took him because I feared what he would do when left alone. We spend the flight sitting in a charged (on my end) silence. I was itching for any form of acknowledgment; a word, a glance, a gesture. Luke was having none of it. He stuck his nose in Sky Mall and didn't pull it out until we landed. The only words we exchanged were descending.

"Are you going to be sick?" He was looking very peculiarly at me.

"What? No. Why?"

"Your breathing's gone a bit funny."

"Has it?" I stared fixedly out my window, watching the city grow around us. "I was thinking."

"About Rachel? How do you think she'll take it?"

Surprisingly well, it turned out. As well as anyone feasibly can when they find out the bloke they've been shagging for the last year and a half has been fighting the urge to kill them.

It happened like this:

We were hardly off the plane when I reached into my pocket and dialed her. "You'll never guess where I am."

"Mmm, some warm sandy beach with that manic depressive of yours? Don't remind me. How's he doing?"

"I'm here."

There was a pause. "Here? Here as in Chicago, here?"

"Can I come over?"

"What, right now?"

I didn't tell her I had Luke with me. If she was surprised or in any way putt off by my "plus one" she didn't say so; she hit me, a mock-angry jab to the ribs. "Ass. Why didn't you tell me he was coming? I would have cleaned up my apartment. Or at least showered. Jeez." But her smiled brightened as she turned to him and said "Hello, Luke. I suppose it was inevitable that we meet."

She was, bless her, most welcoming and friendly toward him and appeared to take a genuine interest in what he had to say—which was very little. And Luke, though he hated me for forcing him along, was nevertheless polite and gracious to our hostess. He declined her invitation to join us that evening and elected to stay behind in her apartment. (When she learned we had not yet made hotel arrangements she insisted on having us over, said to worry about it in the morning. Her roommate was, fortunately, out.)

"You kids have fun now," Luke said in a tone that suggested it was the last thing he wanted us to do.

I blew him a kiss as we were walking out the door and laughed when he flicked me off in turn.

We went to dinner and then took a walk in the park. I told her everything. Well, nearly. I included the part with Luke harassing the girl but left out the part where I kissed him. It had been an impulse, a moment of weakness, nothing that needed repeating. I got very near to telling her the thing I meant to . . . but how do you tell someone something like that? Perhaps I had waited too long. We'd been together almost a two years, and yet . . . did she love me? I was almost positive I loved her. And then somehow we got on another subject and before I could stop it she reached up and kissed me.

We were making out by the time we got up to her floor. It was like being in high school—or what I imagine high school to be from all the 80s films I've seen, having never been myself. I'm sure it would have lead to some very X-rated stuff if we had not opened the door to see Luke strolling out of the kitchen, beer in hand.

"Don't stop on my account," he said by way of greeting.

I disentangled myself from her, pulled a face. "Remind me why I brought you with me."

He returned the gesture. "It's so much easier to ignore me when I'm in the same country."

He was right. I had forgotten about him. From behind us Rachel coughed.

I looked at her apologetically and did something I don't normally do. I apologized. "I'm sorry. I really thought he'd be more fun."

She shook her head as shed her things. Keys. Purse. Shoes. "Speaking of fun, I don't know what you might have in mind for tomorrow, but I happen to be in possession of four passes to the Lincoln Park Zoo. If you're interested."

"Well?"

"Well what?" he asked.

"What do you think?" I gestured toward Rachel, strolling along ahead of us with her friend Ashley, no doubt whispering about me as they stopped to watch the sea otters play.

"Dunno. She's all right, I suppose. A bit strange." Then he asked, because he knew he should: "What do you think?"

We paused by the polar bear exhibit, on the pretense of reading bulletin. I considered a moment. "I think it's a shame we'll be ruining her evening."

"You're telling her today then?"

"I don't think I can do it alone." I glanced meaningfully at him, dazzled, for a moment, by the brilliant sun setting behind him and the way it seemed to set his eyes on fire.

"Don't look at me. I'm not going to do it. Honestly, I don't know why you haven't told her already."

"Told me what?"

Rachel's bright, chirpy interjection made us both start. Her eyes flicked between us in mock-suspicion.

"How pretty you look today," I replied too quickly.

She snorted. "I'm sure. But thank you anyway. 'Bout ready to head out? Ashley has another date."

We were back at her flat within the hour. She set about making dinner almost at once. "Hungry at all?" she called from the kitchen while Luke and I were still taking off our shoes. "I think I've got some chicken thawed out . . . Ah, yep. There it is."

"No," I said, going after her. "No. You've done enough already. I won't have you cooking us dinner, too."

"No?" She looked amused.

"No," I repeated. "Luke can do that. Go away."

Luke came in scowling as Rachel went out laughing. "Don't volunteer me like some—"

"Actually, Rachel," I called out nervously.

She wandered back in. "Yes?"

"I wondered if I might have a word."

She blinked. "Yes?"

"Perhaps in the other room."

Luke remained in the safety of the kitchen as I slowly told Rachel my story in the living room.

Her expression was at first amused. Then perplexed, confused, concerned, startled, shocked, wary, frightened, and finally peaked with a frantic glance toward the door, as though calculating her chances of escape.

I was afraid she would bolt.

She didn't.

Perhaps fear kept her in her seat.

When I was finished, when I had said all I could say, she was quiet for a long time. She blinked several times in rapid succession, as if waking from a restless sleep. "Well," she said at long last, "you certainly wouldn't know it to look at you."

To which Luke, appearing on the edge of the room, chuckled and replied "D'you know, I've thought the exact same thing."

I glowered. "Nice to see you two taking this seriously."

Then, to my immense surprise, she cracked a grin. "Are you one, too?" she asked Luke.

The question, for whatever reason, made him blush. "N-no. I'm . . ."

"He's a werewolf," I finished helpfully.

"Silly me. Of course he is," she laughed flippantly. And I realized—

"Rachel, we're not joking. I, I wish we were but it's all true."

Then Rachel did something I've always loved about her: she held up a hand. Which meant she was right on the verge of saying something intelligent and therefore sexy. "Let's get one thing clear: I don't deny the existence of vampires or werewolves. I mean, if God can create something as absurd as Rick Santorum, I doubt anything is impossible for Him. However, it's lot to process in one afternoon. I think I might need some time" —her voice was rising with panic; she looked panicked— "or air." She bolted from her chair, escaping down the hallway to her bedroom.

I got up to follow her when Luke, to my surprise, touched my arm.

I looked at him.

"Let me."

I seemed to stare at him for ages. At long last I nodded, sat back down.

I caught bits and pieces of their conversation, but on the whole I was too afraid to listen.

He knocked at the door. "Rachel? Listen, I know we only just met yesterday and you've no reason to believe me, but I know a little of what you're going through. Can I come in?"

It took some time, but the door eventually opened. "What can you know? Have you been blinding screwing him for the past year, too?"

"No, but I didn't always know he was . . . well, it was a shock to me, too. I could tell you the story if you like. It might help."

The door closed again.

I didn't see how the story of a five-year-old being rescued by a dark stranger was going to help, but Luke told it anyway.

"And then, at University, I ran into him again. I always had this nagging feeling like I knew him from somewhere but could never quite place him. I was curious about hi, as if drawn to him by something invisible, and I found myself wanting to be friends with him. Me. Who rarely wants to be friends with anyone."

Rachel laughed. "I felt the same way. In South Africa. He was, I dunno, different somehow. It's never boring, that's for sure. You know, he talks about you sometimes. I think he worries."

It was then that I stopped listening, hearing all I could bear.

I lost track of time. Ten minutes, twenty. Forty. Finally, Luke ran out of words and the two of them emerged smiling and whispering like the best of friends. They sat on the couch together, side by side, and looked at me. There was no trace of fear on her; she was resolved, her expression set, eyes piercing, determined to have it all out. Only her left hand gave her away. Resting on her lap, she touched each of her fingers in turn with the pad of her thumb, a tell that meant she wanted desperately to cling to something. I usually offered her my hand. I couldn't offer it now.

Luke, on the other hand, well, the smile fell from his lips the moment she took her eyes from him.

I shot him a "why are you doing this?" look.

He gave an infinitesimal shrug before he slipped into that vacant, gloomy stare I knew all too well.

"Well," Rachel began, "Luke managed to clear up a few of my larger concerns, but I do still have a few questions."

"Yes, anything," I breathed, hardly daring to believe this was happening, that she had decided to accept me and—more importantly, I think—to forgive me.

"Why did you wait to tell me until now? For that matter, why bother telling me at all?"

I felt my cheeks grow hot. They were just the questions I didn't want asked. Because the answers were still unknown to me (though I had nearly guessed at it). Because there was really only one answer to each of them—i just hoped Luke wouldn't be in earshot when I had to say it.

Luke caught my expression and, bless him, took the hint. But when he tried to make his excuses Rachel caught his sleeve, never taking her eyes from me. "No. Stay. Please. I want a witness." I couldn't help thinking that what she really wanted was a bodyguard.

He sank back onto the sofa.

"Rachel," I said in my most pleading tone. When that didn't work I had no option but to blunder on. "I . . . because I—I mean, I wasn't sure, but lately I've been thinking that . . . I . . . love you."

"No." She was shaking her head. "You can't do that. You can't tell me our entire relationship has been a lie and then think 'I love you' will magically fix it all."

I looked pleadingly at Luke, thinking, I don't know why, that he would be able to do something. He wouldn't meet my gaze. I looked again at Rachel, feeling utterly lost. "I don't . . . didn't expect it to fix everything" —I'd expected it to go over better it was true, but— "but it is the truth."

I realized even as I was saying it that it was a lie—At least, it wasn't the whole truth. It was the answer to her second question (why I bother to tell her at all) and a partial answer to the first. I hadn't told her sooner because I had been—still was—busy looking after Luke. Because we'd only come to her now because going back to Brookshire seemed impossible. Because even when I was thinking of her I was thinking of him. I looked from her to him, wondering how this could be true. How could I love her and yet—. Luke looked up from his knees and the look on his face was . . . hurt. He looked hurt. I looked back at Rachel. She merely looked exasperated.

"Can't we do this privately?" I hardly recognized my own voice.

Luke left.

Rachel and I had it all out.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," I said when I had come to the end. "I've never done this before."

"Been in love?" She slid a little closer.

I pressed her hand in mine. "I've done that, once or twice. I've never told them what I've told you though."

She smiled a little. "What makes me so special?"

"I don't know."

There was a pause, a natural yet strained silence.

"Listen, Kai, since you're being so honest, it's only fair to tell you that I don't know if I love you yet. I'm very found of you, I like you a lot, but, even though this doesn't change everything, it does change some things."

"I know."

"I still want to see you."

"Do you?" I sounded surprised.

She smiled again. "Yes. Why don't you ask me to dinner? I want to hear more about you and Luke."

I almost laughed. I couldn't think of a worse possible thing. "No, you don't. Trust me."