The Taking

I was sure I was forgetting to relay some vital piece of information, something that would convince him I didn’t deserve to be carried away by Agent Truman and his agents in one of their black vans with the tinted windows. I tried to make it sound somehow logical that I was going to age slower than everyone else and that I no longer needed normal amounts of sleep or food.

Tyler didn’t comment.

Heck, he barely blinked.

He just did that thing where he went all silent and introspective, as if he was assessing every word. Every syllable while I sat there, terrified I was losing him.

My chest tightened as I waited for his verdict. And then I realized what it was I’d forgotten.

“Here. Let me show you.” I rotated on the overturned crate I was sitting on across from Tyler.

I spied the box knife on top of a stack of old magazines. It was the kind with one of those razor blades that can be raised and lowered with just the flick of a thumb. I snatched it and, before I could chicken out, took a deep breath and flipped my wrist over, ready to slice into my own flesh.

But before I could prove I wasn’t lying about my ability to heal—that what I’d told him was the God’s honest truth—Tyler’s hand shot out and snagged mine. “Have you lost your mind? There’s no way I’m letting you cut yourself.”

I looked up, searching his earnest green eyes. I wished I knew what he was thinking, wished I could see inside his head.

I lowered the blade, nodding considerately. Because I didn’t have to be a mind reader to recognize that look: I’d pushed him too far.

“I understand,” I said at last when I couldn’t take another minute of his placating gaze. It was the same look I’d given my dad when he’d first tried to tell me where he thought I’d been for five years. Humor mixed with pity. “I get it. It’s too weird. Accepting that I’m still sixteen is one thing, but this . . . that I was abducted and experimented on . . . by aliens . . .” I made a face to drive my point home. “It’s too much. I know how it sounds, and if I were you, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me. I mean . . .” I looked down at myself, at the blood on my jeans and at the box knife in my hand, and let out a derisive laugh. “So crazy, right?” There was nothing more for me to say. Nothing I could do but wait for him to make up his mind about whether he was okay with this. With me.

Tyler’s grip on my hand tightened. “You think I won’t believe you unless you cut yourself? You think you have to prove yourself by showing me what you can do? Jesus, Kyra. Jesus. Haven’t I already convinced you . . . I trust you.” He loosened his hold, and without thinking, I did too. The box knife dropped to the floor between us.

Tyler got up and stared down at me. “You’re stupid,” he stated matter-of-factly, and I shot to my feet, immediately taking offense.

“You’re stupid.”

He laughed then. “No, I mean you’re stupid if you think I’d give up on you that easily.”

My voice lowered to barely a whisper. “But even if you believe it . . . how can you even want . . . ? God, it’s just so . . .” I exhaled, trying to get rid of all the awkwardness bundled up inside me, vibrating my every nerve fiber. “I’m not going to age, Tyler. I’m a freak.”

“Okay, now you’re just insulting me.” Tyler reached over and put his finger beneath my chin, dragging my eyes to his. Not that I’d want to look anywhere else. I could stare into those eyes for the rest of my life—which, evidently, was a lot longer than his would be. “God, Kyr. I don’t care about any of that.” His finger moved away from my chin and lingered near my jaw, caressing, stroking, making it hard to pay attention to his words. “I care about you. You, Kyra. The you I know. The you I might be falling in love with. It doesn’t matter to me how old you are or will be; all I care about is who you are, and that hasn’t changed from this morning. You can’t stand there and tell me you’re not that same girl, because I’m telling you, you are. You’re more perfect than anyone I know.” His hands slid up to my cheeks until he was holding my face. His mouth was mere millimeters from mine, and I could taste the intensity behind his words as his breath fused with my own. “The person you are has nothing to do with anything you’ve just told me about healing or aging. It’s your memories and life experiences, your hopes and fears and dreams and passions that make you who you are, and none of those things have changed, have they?”

I shook my head, fervently wanting to feel half his passion as our lips nearly brushed. My breathing was already coming in shallow gasps, and my eyes stung as I blinked to hold back my tears. It hadn’t escaped my notice that he’d said he might be falling in love with me.

His grip on my face remained secure. “I’m glad. I’m glad you’re back here with me. I’m glad you’re mine instead of Austin’s.” His lips were soft as they grazed mine at long, long last. “And,” he said, pulling away just enough so he could add one more thing, “everyone else will feel the same way I do if you just give them a chance. If you don’t believe that, then you’re underestimating them. They’re your family. They love you.”

I grinned, unable to stop myself. “They’ll be glad I’m yours?” I teased.

He dropped his hands to my waist and tugged me until my hips were pressed against his. “You know what I mean. I think you need to tell your parents the truth. What you told me. They’ll help you figure out how to handle that agent guy, and if he’s really as dangerous as you say he is, they’ll keep you safe. That’s they’re job. That’s what parents do.”