And yet I have to.
He slides me a look. “It matters to me.”
“What are we hoping for here?” I snap. “I’m leaving soon.”
“So? Ever heard of phones? Emails? I’ll be out of here in a year. We could see each other again.”
His words make my heart trip. “You can’t be seriously suggesting …”
Suddenly he pulls the Jeep into the lot of a frozen-yogurt shop. Slamming it into park, he turns to face me, his arm sliding along the back of my seat, bringing him too close. “All I’m saying is that I like you. A lot.” His hot gaze scans my face and I cease to breathe. “There hasn’t been anyone in over a year for me. No one has even …” He shakes his head as though words aren’t enough.
With a breath, he tries again, looking beyond aggravated. “I haven’t been interested in anyone, haven’t felt this way about a girl … ever. I didn’t know I could. You’re different.”
I wince, thinking just how different I am.
I watch him, drinking in the sight of him, mesmerized, wondering why there hasn’t been anyone like him before. Why couldn’t I affect anyone in the pride like this? Or maybe better yet, why didn’t anyone affect me?
“Tate—” I start to say, bowing my head slightly, but the words never come.
He never lets them.
He reaches across the space separating us and seizes my face in both his hands, dragging me close.
Yes. It’s all I can think, feel. My body sighs the word, relaxes, melts into him as his lips steal mine, as his hands slide into my hair.
I feel cold and hot all at once as I coil my arms around his neck. My skin shivers, snaps, and pulls. I arch against him, feel a purr building inside me.
My hands settle on his shoulders, clinging, reveling in the feel of his muscles bunching beneath my hands. His scent is all around me, his taste, his strength. My belly dips and quivers. “Az.” The sound of my name, a low rasp against my mouth, undoes me.
My fingers curl into his shirt, clench the fabric, yearning to tear it so that I might feel his skin. Unappeased, my hands fly to his face, caressing the smooth planes of his jaw and cheeks.
My control slips, falls away from me. I’m lost to sensation—to him, his hands delving in my hair, pulling my head back so that he can deepen the kiss even more. His lips brand me. Consume.
And then there’s me. The hot little vibrations that start in my chest ripple outward and suffuse my body like water filling a vessel. The invigorating pull of my bones. The wild tingling in my back. The prod of my wings, eager to break free …
My eyes fly open in panic. And that’s when I glimpse it. My hand on his face. The blue shimmering on my flesh. Oh God! No!
We both jump at the sudden blare of a horn. Laughter carries from a passing car as I wrench myself away, turning my back on him. I hug my arms close to my chest, panting gulping breaths. I force my draki back down before he sees the evidence of just how different I am.
I press a hand to my stinging lips. They feel tender and bruised.
His breath falls raggedly behind me, filling the small, charged space.
“Az—”
I shake my head hard, fiercely, not trusting myself to speak, unsure what will come out. English? Or the language of my kind?
He ignores my childlike gesture. “I want to see you again. However long you’re here. Every day.”
Elation fills me. Followed just as quickly by an almost visceral dose of regret. What am I doing? I’m toeing a dangerous line. One misstep and I fall over the edge. And when I fall others go with me. To start with, my family.
How can I have a relationship with him? He can never know what I am. And if he can’t know that, can he ever really know me? What’s the point?
I clear my throat, speaking softly at first, testing, “Please take me home.”
“Did I frighten you?” Concern rides his voice. “I thought you were into it … me … was I wrong?”
“No.” I shake my head, unable to let him think that. I more than liked it.
I feel his eyes on me, but train my gaze on the window, my back still to him, daring not to look at him again until I’m safely in hand. Nor do I need to sink into those eyes again.
If I look, I’ll crumble. I’m pretty confident of that.
I hear him slide the car into gear. “This is right. You know that. You feel it, too.”
Biting my lip, I concentrate on the passing scenery on the short drive to the road near our rental house. Except he doesn’t stop the Jeep where he parked it earlier tonight.
“This isn’t the way,” I murmur.
“It’s the right way. What I should have done earlier.”
A quick survey assures me that my skin doesn’t shimmer anymore. I glance at him sharply then.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you home.”
And then I recognize that he’s on the road that leads to the front door of our rental. “You can stop here.”
His jaw tenses. “I’ll drop you at the door.”
“No. Really. Stop here.”
“Why? Are your parents really overprotective or is it something else? Are you ashamed of me? Is that it? You have some boyfriend back home?”
“No! You don’t understand.” We’re getting closer now and the panic rises swiftly inside me like an oncoming tide. “Stop!”
He slams on the brakes. My hand flies to the dashboard, balancing me. Now it’s my harsh breathing filling the truck. I glare at him.
“Tell me we can meet tomorrow.”
Not trusting myself to speak, afraid the only words I’ll say are when and where, I shake my head. Fumbling for the door handle, I push it open.
I don’t look back as I hurry the rest of the way to the house. I can’t.
The porch light is still on and so is the upstairs light in my parents’ room. I slip inside quietly, careful of my steps on the creaky floor.
I half expect to see Dad asleep over his books, but the living room is empty. I poise a foot over the bottom step, freezing at the sound of Mom’s voice.
“In the kitchen, Az.”
I bring my foot back down, a sinking sensation settling in my stomach. Sighing, I turn and move into the kitchen.
Dad’s there and I’m sure surprise crosses my face. It’s way past his bedtime. He rests his cheek in his hand and his eyes are bleary as he stirs a cup of verda tea.
Mom turns from the sink. “Where have you been?” Her gaze flicks over me. “Not swimming, I see.”
“No.”
“Then where?” She brings her mug to her lips and takes a sip. “Or should I ask with whom?”
An entire world of answers skips through my mind. Lies all. In the end, I settle for the truth. “I met someone. I was out with him.”
Dad wakes up a little bit at this announcement. “Him?”
“Yes. He’s a local.”
“You were with him when you went out last night, too, weren’t you?”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “You knew I snuck out last night?”
A small smile plays about Mom’s lips. “I’ve known every time. Here. And when you sneak off with Jacinda back home, too. Not much gets past me.”
“How come you didn’t say anything?” Suddenly I feel a little bit foolish remembering all my efforts at stealth. So unnecessary. Here and, apparently, at home.
“Your father and I are trying to give you your space. In a year, you’ll be taking your tour. We won’t be with you.” Her lips twist into something between a grimace and a smile. “At least that’s what you keep reminding us. Well. If you’re going to be on your own soon, then it seems rather silly to curtail your activities now.”
I scrutinize my mother like I’ve never seen her before. Like I can’t recognize her. She sinks into the chair across from me, taking another sip from her mug. “So this boy lives in town?”
I nod dumbly, looking back and forth between my parents, baffled at how accepting they are of the fact that I’ve gotten myself involved with a human boy.
“Yes. He’s very … nice.”
“Will you being seeing him again?” Dad asks. Like it’s fine if I do.
“You don’t care?” I look at each of them. “You think that’s a good idea? He’s a human.” Why are they so calm? “Shouldn’t our contact with humans be superficial? That’s what you’ve always said before.”
“It doesn’t matter what we think, Az,” Mom says again in that thoroughly unfazed voice. “What do you think?”
They’re serious. They’ll support me in whatever decision I make. I’m free to make my own choices … and it kind of terrifies me. Whether I want to see Tate again or not is entirely up to me.
My shoulders slump where I sit and I stare down at my hands on the top of the table. Who am I kidding? I can’t stay here and not see him. He’s awakened something in me, and I won’t be able to stay away now. He doesn’t even have to come back here. I know where he lives now. I can easily find my way there. All of which is horrible considering that our relationship will be built on lies and someday, ultimately, I’ll have to tear myself away from him. If not now, eventually.
I raise my gaze to their expectant faces. They watch me, waiting for an answer. I inhale. Exhale. “We need to go home.”
Mom cocks an eyebrow, the only outward sign of surprise. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”
10
It doesn’t take long to pack the following morning. Mom and Dad are waiting downstairs by the time I finish, their expressions still mild and calm as ever. I can’t say the same for me. What I glimpsed of my reflection in the mirror brought to mind a horror movie. My hair hung a wild mess down my back. Shadows smudged the skin beneath my eyes, making my blue irises stand out almost eerily.
“Az, are you sure?” Mom asks when she sees my face.
I wave a hand. “Yeah. It’s easier if we just go.”
My parents exchange a look, then Dad picks up my bag and heads to the car. I follow him outside, watching as he hefts it into the trunk.
“Gotta say I’ll be glad to be sleeping in my own bed again,” he announces, and I realize that he’s really just suffered through this all for me. So that I could have this experience.
And I’m running away from it. A bitter taste floods my mouth. I feel like an awful daughter. An awful draki … I risked much last night, nearly manifesting in front of a human.
Mom wraps an arm around me. “You okay?”
“I—” I want to speak but no words emerge.
“Az?”
I stare out at the lake. At the smooth, glasslike water. What am I going to do on tour? Hide? Never speak to a single human the entire year or longer that I live among them? How far does my cowardice run?
Suddenly a Jeep rolls down the gravel driveway.
Mom’s voice is a breath near my ear. “Is that …”
I nod, my gaze fastened to the windshield. The early morning sun casts a glare on the glass, making it impossible to see his face. But I know it’s him. I feel his stare on me. My skin heats and tingles with familiar awareness.
The vehicle rolls to a stop. The door flings open and he’s stepping out.
His hair looks wet and crisp from a shower. He buries one hand in a jean pocket as he advances. In his other hand, he holds a small box.
Presumably for me. A present? Warmth spreads through my chest. The gesture is so charmingly sweet. The kind of thing you’d see on TV. I never thought a boy would come to my door bearing gifts.
“Hello, sir. Ma’am.” He steps forward and shakes hands with both my parents. “I’m Tate Parkson.”
“Tate.” They greet him, introducing themselves in turn. Like it’s something they do all the time. “I’m Sobha.” Mom motions to Dad. “And this is Roan.”