Breathless: A Firelight Novella (HarperTeen Impulse) (8 page)

Tate’s fist flashes past me so quickly it’s a blur. I hardly see it connecting with Brett’s face—only hear the crunch of bone on bone. Blood spurts from Brett’s nose.

Brett drops his arm from my waist and lurches back with a cry, his hands cupping his nose. “You broke it,” he cries, his voice muffled.

The other two guys, also football players from the size of them, pile out of the truck with loud whoops, ready to defend their friend. They charge Tate. I don’t think. I react, jumping in front of him.

“Stop!” I shout, holding up a hand as though that alone will ward them off.

Tate’s breath is hot in my ear. “You don’t need to protect me—”

I wave back at him, continuing to glare at the other boys in front of me. “Unless you want me to go to the police and explain how it’s not safe for a girl to walk the streets of your town without getting accosted, you better get back in that truck and leave.”

“Go ahead. Weaver’s grandpa is the sheriff,” one of the boys suggests.

“Oh.” I cock my head. “Then I’m sure he’ll love to hear how his grandson groped me and is driving around drunk.” I settle the full force of my glare on Brett, who still clutches his nose, blood seeping between his fingers.

After a long moment, he replies, “Come on, guys. Let’s go.”

Tate and I watch them climb up into the vehicle and drive away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mutters. “I had it under control.”

I face him. “Three against one? Those are odds you’re used to?”

He angles his head and studies me strangely—like
I’m
strange. “I was defending you.”

I prop a hand on my hip. “Was this about me? Or someone else?”

He sighs. “Hailey and I have been done for a year now. She’s my sister’s best friend. That’s all there is to that. This”—he waves a hand in the direction Brett drove—“was me trying to stop that jerk from putting his hands all over you.”

I shrug, trying not to let his words soften me. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters to me.” He drags two hands through his hair. “This night has not gone the way I planned.”

“You had a plan?” I cross my arms over my chest, unable to stamp down my curiosity.

“Well, for one, I didn’t plan on my ex barging into the house and making a scene. Or the jerk school quarterback making a pass at you.”

My lips quirk. “Ohh, that wasn’t part of your plan?”

He stares at me, some of his frustration giving way for that other expression of his. The one that makes my knees go weak and my skin tug and warm simultaneously.

“I’m really sorry,” he says in a low voice, taking a step closer to me. One step too close. This near, I can inhale him, drink in his smell. Like the soft, crisp aroma of water with an underlying hint of pine. A purr builds in the back of my throat.

I blink and shake my head, swallowing against the rumbling threat of draki speech. I could just imagine myself speaking in the draki tongue. How fantastic would
that
be?

“I’d like to go home. Now,” I blurt, stepping around him, my voice rough and scratchy but still human, thankfully. I climb into the passenger side of his Jeep. After a moment he gets behind the wheel. With a ragged sigh, he slides into drive and pulls away from the curb.

Silence stretches between us. I clutch my thighs, my palms curving around my tightening, rippling flesh as if I can hold myself together that way and keep from splintering apart. Keep that feral part of me from bursting free. At least until I’m tucked away safely in my room.

A
s we leave the lights of Main Street behind, he clears his throat beside me, almost like he knows our time together is drawing to a close and is preparing to say something, the last words between us. My chest hurts just thinking about it, and that tells me just how wrong this is … Him. Me. Us. I shouldn’t care this much after so short a time.

“I really am sorry about tonight. It went about as bad as it could go.” He glances in my direction, his gaze pausing on my legs, on my hands glued there.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say again, sipping the air-conditioned air, hoping to cool the heat spreading out from my core. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead.

And it really doesn’t matter anymore. I believe him when he says he and Hailey are over. I believe him. I
like
him. I’m crazy attracted to him. This gorgeous boy who looks at me with devouring eyes. How can I resist him?

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.