Chapter 11
...
I woke up alone, thank goodness. I was a little sore, but nothing I would admit to. Plus, it was a pleasant type of soreness. My head didn't hurt, so it was definitely better than a hangover. My stomach wasn't churning, which was what usually happened after I took an assortment of things I didn't know the name of. This was definitely the best way to wake up after a night of having fun.
My clothes were actually piled beside the television and I stared at them for a long minute, unsure what was going on. It was only after I had padded over, shivering as I stood naked in the cool morning air, that I saw why Bryce had decided to be helpful.
On top of my shirt lay a hundred dollar bill.
I bit back the smile and grabbed my clothes. That asshole. The thin fabric did little to warm me up, but at least I was dressed enough to slip into the shower. A hundred bucks was a hundred bucks, but I wasn't going to walk through the halls waving it around, either. I tucked the money into the waistband of my shorts. He could afford it.
Bryce was going to have to work a lot harder than that to get me to stop liking him.
Finally, I ran my fingers through my hair on the off chance I would see Leech—I didn't care how I looked for Bryce, and he would probably tell his friend, but I didn't want to ruin Leech's opinion of me any faster than I had to.
So of course he was standing just outside the door.
"Good morning," he said. He had just come in from a run, but stopped and just stood there, looking at me funny. I hoped Savannah wasn't around just yet—she wouldn't believe I honestly hadn't meant to do what I had done. Not with the evil half-brother. I just...hadn't wanted to stop myself.
"I finally got Bryce to give up the bed," I said with a smile. It was none of his business, but I was used to instinctively hiding the things I wasn't proud of.
"That must have been a tough fight."
"I fight dirty."
He nodded, but didn't let me leave. Dying of embarrassment, he choked out: "I thought witches had silencing spells."
I blushed three shades of red.
Busted.
"Sorry."
"Yeah." He looked at me a moment longer, his face redder than mine, and then he turned and walked away. "I'll make you breakfast. Oh and Savannah wanted me to tell you she was most displeased."
"Savannah needs to get laid."
I called the understatement of the year down the hall. I didn't wait for Leech to respond, just headed towards the bathroom. That was unnecessarily awkward. If we had been making too much noise he should have just hit the wall to let us know. We would have kept it down, or at least remembered to use a spell of some kind to keep quiet.
Thinking of spells reminded me that I had to prepare that stupid brew this morning. Supernaturals were lucky in that only the really stupid ones picked up anything from unsavoury sexual encounters—STIs or spawn were both preventable either through supped up immune systems or magic powers. As long as you remembered to take it within...however many hours.
Not that it really mattered. I hadn't had my period in four months and there's no way Bryce let himself catch anything.
A glance in the mirror showed my back was much less bruised than I thought it would be. I was impressed. No obvious trauma to my person, a pleasurable soreness between my legs, a hundred bucks...I had surprisingly few regrets about last night. Life was less sucky than I thought it would be. Cool.
There was the whole awkwardness with Leech, but really, served him right for trying to be nice. Nice guys finished last—or were forced to listen as their friends got laid. I was only helping to teach him an important lesson. And he hadn't been willing to lie. He hadn't—why the hell hadn't he made her stay?
It was none of my business, so I got into the shower and stopped thinking about Leech.
As the hot water hit me, I remembered that Savannah and Bryce's father, Kristof Nast, scary, evil, Kristof Nast, had could have heard me. No sooner had I started to freak out, then I remembered that they were supposed to leave right when I went to bed. Besides, Savannah knew me too well. Chances were she had taken one look at my retreating back and known exactly how I was going to spend my night. Good. It was one thing to fuck a guy so the world could hear—it was another to do so while his father did.
I really hoped I hadn't managed to offend Kristof somehow; if the sorcerer got it into his head that I was somehow defiling his precious baby boy, I was going to be in a lot of trouble. Hopefully, he wouldn't care what happened to his son. Cabal father's rarely did.
It was only then that it really occurred to me that the Bryce I had slept with last was also Bryce Nast, as in Cabal sorcerer, as in...had bodyguards around him twenty-four seven.
Oh my god.
Grant and Paulson.
Paulson.
Paulson who could hear everything.
Oh my god.
He was going to think I was trash. Or that I moonlit as a sex phone operator. I could barely remember half the stuff I had said last night, but I knew that it hadn't been lady-like at all. It had been downright nasty, but it was the sort of stuff you said in bed when you were too horny to realize how stupid it sounded in real life. It wasn't the sort of stuff you wanted anyone who you weren't actively sleeping with to hear.
Not only had it been crude but it had been private. It hadn't been said for an audience. It was like someone had been watching the whole time. I felt almost nauseous.
Stumbling out of the bathroom, my hair dripping water everywhere, I found Bryce coming out of the kitchen. He must have gone running with Leech, because his shirt was soaked with sweat, his face flushed. With half a smirk, he said, "Sleep well, Gillian?"
I slapped him.
He tried not to smile, but I was too pissed to care that I was amusing him. "You prick. How come you didn't say anything? How come you didn't warn me that you had your entourage listening to us? You should have told me."
Bryce stopped looking pleased with himself and started looking nonchalant instead. "I did say it was a bad idea. But don't worry about it. Leech is a good guy. He would have tried to tune us out—"
"I'm talking about the Expiscor you have hanging on your every word. My every word. Seriously, Bryce, how could you not warn me?"
And because I wasn't going to cry in front of him, I got the hell out of there. Without looking back, I hurried to the living room, sitting down in front of the television. Concentrating completely on the remote and not the humiliation I was feeling, I didn't bother looking up when Bryce came in the room.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see him hovering by the side of the couch for a moment before sitting down on the couch, careful not to touch me. I said nothing. He sighed. The only reason I didn't tell him to just fuck off was that he actually seemed less than sure for once. That's why I settled for stony silence.
"I'm sorry."
That was something I would have bet good money I would never have heard him say, not sincerely at any rate. It didn't make me feel better; I didn't answer.
"Gillian, could you listen to me first? Please?" He put his hand on my leg and I would have pulled away, but I think I really would have burst into tears. "Gillian?"
"I'm listening."
"Paulson wasn't listening last night. He's listening now, guaranteed. But he wasn't listening last night. The second you pulled off my shirt, he turned off his powers for the night and started doing perimeter checks the old-fashioned way. I guarantee it."
"How can you be sure?"
"It's in his contract. He has to listen to everything I do at all times, but I got Grandpa to stick in a clause that he has to turn it off if I'm with a woman and clothing comes off. Since his soul hasn't been sucked into hell yet, I can promise he wasn't listening. Okay?" I thought it over. Not fast enough. "He didn't hear anything you wouldn't want him to. I promise. But if you still don't feel comfortable with it, I can always have him killed."
"Really?"
"Just give the word. But you should know that if I did think he had been listening I would have already killed him."
I brushed away the tears, turned my head and gave him a tiny smile. "I just...I can't believe I forgot about him."
I went back to pretending to watch the news, still not entirely comfortable with the situation, but—and wasn't this the weirdest thing?—trusting Bryce. It wasn't hard to imagine him having Paulson killed just because he had overheard something Bryce had forced him to listen to. The true test would come later, of course. Would Paulson still be able to look me in the eye? I hoped so.
Bryce didn't leave. "Anything else you want to yell at me for?"
"Not in particular. No."
"Nothing?"
"No." This time I smirked. "Though you did underpay me."
"Mental," he muttered, before getting up and walking back out of the room. I giggled and this time I actually cared when the news came on. More election crap—Super Tuesday hadn't solved the problem at all. They would still be arguing in November.
Bryce came back in the room, carrying a bowl of cereal and a glass. He thrust the cereal at me, with a muttered, "Leech," but held the glass tightly in his hand. The sugary mess was even stranger looking than yesterday, but I ate it anyway.
"Aren't you going to drink that?" I asked. Bryce was staring at the glass as I scooped up cereal.
"It's for you."
"You brought me milk, too?"
"Not quite."
The way he said it told me exactly what it was. "I would have taken care of it. Actually, I would prefer to brew it myself if you don't mind."
"Too fucking bad. I'm not taking chances. Do you have any idea how much my illegitimate brats would be worth?"
"Probably more than you do. I pay attention to Cabal business; I don't get distracted screwing New York."
"I can do both." He thrust the glass in my face. "Drink up."
I took the glass and then stood up, placing both it and the bowl on the table instead. Bryce half rose from the couch, but I stopped him, coming over and straddling him. My arms were wrapped tightly around his neck.
"No sense in wasting it. What time did you say your brother was coming?"
"An hour." Bryce's hands slipped to the curve of my ass. "Maybe longer."
"Good," I said, pulling off his shirt. He silently laughed as I went to kiss him. He was a little bit sweaty from his run, and his lips were a little chapped, but that really didn't seem that important. I pressed against him because it felt good. Since I was a dirty whore and everything, I might as well enjoy it. I began kissing him harder, lips traveling along his jaw. He whispered into my hair:
"Gillian?"
I grunted my response, having more important things to do than answer properly. His hand started creeping under my shirt, fingers dancing against my ribs. His voice was quiet, much gentler than I thought it could be when he asked, "Dana MacArthur was your sister, right?"
I froze, my brain unable to process what he was saying. He shouldn't have known about that. He shouldn't—how the hell did he know? And what right did he have? The Nasts had killed her. He was not allowed to say her name.
I sprang off of him, knocking into the table, spilling cereal and potion and old magazines and remotes. I didn't care. I had to get away from him. Because he wasn't supposed to know. He couldn't.
"Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me!"
"Gillian—"
"It's none of your fucking business. I don't owe you anything, anything at all, so just leave me alone!"
Suddenly he was in front of me, hand on my mouth, arm crushing me to him. I was so shocked I didn't even think to fight back. "Shut up, Gillian. Shut up or Leech is going to come in. He hates taking me on, but he won't stand by if I'm making a girl cry, so shut up. He could fucking kill me, so please, just keep quiet."
We stood in the middle of the room for a long second, surrounded by strange liquids and soaked papers. When Leech didn't burst through the doorway and kill anyone, Bryce relaxed and let me go.
"What do you want?" I demanded.
An explanation? Just like everyone else. We're so sorry for your loss even though we had written her off as a lost cause a long time ago. Why don't you tell us how you feel? Share, Gillian, we're here for you now that you've already lost everything. I was snarling before I knew it.
"You have no right. No right at all. You don't get to kill someone and then feel sorry about it." My lips were dry and I desperately licked them, trying to will the salvia back.
"You have got to be kidding me," Bryce snapped. "Christ, Gillian, I was barely out of high school when that happened. I didn't fucking do anything to her."
"No one ever did."
"I'm not apologizing for something that I am in no way responsible for."
"Don't use words you don't understand, Bryce. You might hurt yourself."
"Get over yourself, Gillian." Then his voice got quieter, softer. Like he remembered I was breakable all of a sudden. I wasn't. I had been to hell and I was still here. I kept going back and I was still here. Everyone I ever loved, everyone I met; they were dead, but I was alive. He couldn't break me. "Listen, I didn't realize the two of you were related until last night. I didn't mean to bring it up. I should have known—"
"You think you know? What could you possibly know? She's dead and everyone keeps acting like they knew her. Well, they don't. She was my sister. The rest of you can just go to hell."
Because just because I had a dead sister didn't mean that's all I was. It didn't mean there was something wrong. Just because Dana had runaway and never come back didn't mean I couldn't be happy...I had to get out of that room. Bryce didn't know anything about fleeing. There was no need to run when you snapped your fingers and everything hurried to fix itself. He caught my arm, just the same.
I don't know why I was crying. I was ashamed and scared and all alone but I had been this way for most of my life. Dana was mine and he had no right. But I let Bryce lead me to the couch because I really did have no one else.
Dana's story eventually ended with me. And no matter how hard I tried, it wasn't a happy ending.
I had been twelve when Dana died, killed by a vampire who was trying to make the Cabals pay, because no one had bothered to step in when Thomas Nast ordered his girlfriend killed. My Dad had worked for the Cortezes, but that didn't matter. The vamp was looking for Cabal runaways—he didn't get the chance to kill her right away, but she never woke up from the coma he put her in.
Twelve had been a bad year for me all around: my sister was dead, my mother had refused to go see her own daughter while she was in a coma, my father had arrived too late to take me anywhere but to the funeral. I was mad at the world. That's when Paige first taught me magic, taught me things I had no idea existed. The knowledge saved me, pulled me back from the brink. It offered me a goal, something to strive for, something to live for that wasn't just hate. The magic was enough. But no one believed me.
When your sister died, when you stopped talking to your mother, when your father was never around, you were supposed to have something wrong with you. At least, according to Paige and Lucas. They paid for the therapist—they were still paying for the therapist. I couldn't afford to tell them to stop. I needed them too much.
I could admit I wasn't always the most stable of people. I liked to party (hard, because why would you waste your time being cautious about it?) but a tendency to do drugs did not mean there was something wrong with me. If drugs and magic sometimes caused a few unexpected problems, I had only ever hurt that one guy and he had been a jerk anyway.
Maybe I wasn't what you would call normal. Maybe Paige wouldn't have been so adamant about making me talk about my feelings if I had cried just a little harder when my dad died. But even thought I loved him, he hadn't been around me for years. There was only so upset I could be. I cried for Dana instead.
"You could have just said you didn't want me talking about your sister," Bryce said as he handed me the box of Kleenex. "It would have been easier."
"Shut up," I muttered. "The fact that you are still trying to bring it up? Not the smartest thing you've ever done, Bryce. I clearly don't want to talk about it." I blew my nose. "How the hell did you even figure it out?"
He was silent for a long time. So long I thought he had decided to drop the conversation entirely.
"I bet you think we deserved to lose Joey," he said eventually. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know everyone else thinks we brought it on ourselves, and you have a better reason than most. But...Joey was my cousin. And he killed him. I know all their names."
I finally looked up at him. Bryce was staring somewhere over my shoulder. I didn't attempt to deny it—I thought the Nasts deserved whatever happened to them. If anything, I thought they should suffer more. And I couldn't say I was sorry, because there wasn't any sympathy left in me anymore. I didn't know what to say, so I took his hand instead.
"You were there, weren't you? Right on the scene." He had been standing nearby when the vampire succeeded in capturing the prized target, the grandson of a Cabal CEO. "Paige and Lucas said you and Sean were with them."
"Did they tell you I saw it?"
I shook my head and he laughed, this terrible sharp sound that made me cringe.
"Well, I did. I saw…I saw it all and I didn't do anything. I watched him kill my cousin and only when it was over was I able to open my mouth. All I did was tug on my big brother's shirt. I couldn't even make the words come out. So I am the fuck up you think I am, Gillian MacArthur. Aren't you happy you were right?"
"You're not so bad," I whispered.
"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say and you've given me a hell of a lot of options. Bet you think I'm sorry, too."
"You are. I saw your back, remember?"
"Joey hated being called Josef. Thought it was pretentious. It would have bugged the hell out of him."
"Right." Because you weren't being sentimental if you were being annoying. Annoying was better than caring. Anything was better than caring. The world was out to teach one lesson and that was it—everything and anything was better than giving a damn. But I never could stop myself. "You're not a monster, Bryce."
"Yes I am. I killed your sister, remember?"
I shook my head. He didn't get to take credit for that. That was all on me.
Neither of us was sure what to say next, so we settled into silence, studiously not looking at one another, though his thumb was tracing patterns on the back of my hand. There wasn't really anything to say. I wasn't good at silence. Maybe that was why I always had to fill it with lies.
"Why are your hands so callused?"
"What?"
I turned his hand over in mine, comparing the two. His was twice as big, but both were wrecked beyond belief. "Your hands are almost as ruined as mine. I did gymnastics for years. What's your excuse?"
Bryce ran his other hand through his hair. Looking up, I noticed he still didn't have his shirt on. Sometime during the night, I had managed to claw his shoulder. I couldn't believe he hadn't said anything. "I play the guitar and a bunch of other shit. Over the years it just sort of got worse."
Of course, he was some kind of musician. I was that predictable.
Leech appeared in the doorway. "Bryce, Sean's—what the hell happened to my table?"
"I'll have Paulson clean it up later," Bryce said, standing up. "What about Sean?"
"He's on the phone." Leech looked between the two of us, not buying the story for an instant. But he didn't push. Maybe my red-rimmed eyes or the rather desperate look on Bryce's face told him it wasn't a good idea to challenge us right now. There was a phone in his hand and he held it out. Bryce took it, grabbed his shirt, and didn't look back.
"I'm going for a run," I muttered.
"There are people out there who are trying to kill you," Leech reminded me.
"So?"
"Gillian—"
"Maybe I'll get lucky." He wasn't impressed. He was also a giant. I sighed. "I'm going to go change. I'll meet you in the kitchen, okay?"
He nodded, still reluctant to leave me alone. I pushed past him to the bathroom. Once the door closed behind me I went to the sink and splashed cold water on my face. Because if I looked like nothing had bothered me, maybe it hadn't. Right?
...