Girls That Growl (17 page)

He bows his head, placing it in his hands, and then scrubs his face. When he looks up I realize he may be holding back tears of his own. "I'm sorry, Rayne," he says. "But I just can't do this anymore."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"But we're . . . we're blood mates. We're bound together for eternity!" I protest, not willing to give in without a fight. "You can't just leave me. It's . . . it's like in my contract, right?"

"Contracts can be voided. Of course I'll make sure you have everything you need to live out your days in comfort. The coven does have strict rules about blood mate alimony and of course I will adhere to them."

My stomach twists in knots. I feel like I'm going to be sick. He's really doing it. Really and truly breaking up with me. "Jareth, please!" I beg. "Don't leave me. I want to be with you. Forever."

"Do you?" He suddenly looks over at me, his eyes sharp and piercing. "Because I don't get that vibe from you."

I swallow hard. "Uh, what do you mean?" I ask, wanting, yet not wanting to hear all the details of why I suck.

"Oh, I don't know," Jareth retorts. "Maybe it's because when I'm nice to you you're a total bitch back to me. When I worry about you, you accuse me of smothering you. When I'm happy and having fun you get annoyed. You're only sweet to me when you want something or it suits your mood."

I stare at my feet, wanting to protest, wanting to defend myself, but having no idea how to do it.

Because, I realize, every last thing he says is true. Why would he want me as a blood mate? I don't think I'd want myself.

"Look," he continues. "I just don't think this is going to work out. We gave it the old college try, but it's not happen-ing. When we get back from England I'll petition the council to release us from our bounds."

"But... but ..." But I can't come up with any more arguments.

"Don't worry, Rayne," Jareth says, his voice softening. "They won't cast you out. They'll try to set you up with a new blood mate. One you'll be more compatible with."

"But I don't want a new blood mate," I sob. "Please, Jareth. I don't want to lose you."

"Don't you get it, Rayne?" he asks, tears in his beautiful blue eyes. "You already have."

20

Ifeel like I've been crying for days. Curled up in the king-sized, four-poster bed at Appleby Manor, sobbing hysterically, barely able to breathe. Jareth took off soon after he made his pronouncement, saying he would be staying in an-other room tonight and would meet me to pick up the anti-dote tomorrow morning. I begged him to stay, made a complete fool of myself with my groveling, but it did no good.

Night falls and I realize I'm starving. I consider room ser-vice, but then decide that it might be best to leave the hotel room. Maybe I'll find Jareth in a local pub or something. Then I can talk to him again.

Maybe he just needed some time alone. Maybe he'll forgive me.

Yeah, right, Rayne. Keep dreaming.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

I choose a simple black dress from the wardrobe and pull it over my head. Then I slip on some black tights and a pair of boots. I don't bother with makeup and just throw my hair up in a ponytail. There's no one I want to impress here and, besides, there's nothing I can do about my puffy, tear-stained face and red eyes.

I lock the hotel room door behind me and head down to the lobby. I ask the concierge if he can recommend a place to eat. Somewhere that serves burgers extra rare. He suggests several pubs, including the one the wolves hang out at. But I want to avoid that place—don't want them to see me in my current state.

As I'm walking to the second pub the concierge mentioned, I pass a cyber cafe. I decide to go in and write a couple e-mails. E-mails to other people I've pissed off for no reason this past week. Maybe if I preempt them with an apology they won't write me off for life like Jareth has.

So I pay for an hour's worth of computer time, order tea, and sit down at one of the terminals.

Dear Cait:

I know you probably bate me and I can completely understand why. I'm really sorry for what I did and promise you I only bad the best intentions—
not that that excuses anything.

Anyway, I hope you are seeing a doctor for what we talked about before Mandy walked in. Whether you be-lieve me or not, I really care about you and don't want to see you hurting yourself. I beg you, Cait, just go to the school counselor and ask them what you should do. I'm sure they can help.

I'll be back in a few days. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I'll help you in any way I can.

Love, Rayne

I press send and then continue on to e-mail number two.

Dear Mom:

I'm sorry I blew up and pushed David. That was really uncalled for and I don't know why I did it. I'm going through something hard right now, I think, but it's not fair for me to take it out on you and David.

I'm glad you found yourself a guy that you love and I hope it works out between you two.

I'llbe home from Spider's as soon as we're done with our big school project. Probably tomorrow night.

And I promise I'll be a better daughter when I get back. And I'm going to go see someone about my anger issues.

I love you, Rayne

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

I also write an apology letter to David. Then I write an update to Sunny (the one person I haven't pissed off!) about the Lycan antidote and my clever cover story to Mom. I don't mention my breakup with Jareth. Some things are too painful to type into an e-mail.

After sending all the e-mails, I leave the cyber cafe and head to the pub for some food. I walk inside, saddle up to the bar, and start by ordering a pint of Bass. Might as well dull my sorrows with some alcohol. To my surprise, they don't even ask for my fake ID. Unfortunately, the beer itself is lukewarm and when I question the efficiency of their refriger-ation, the bartender laughs and says something that sounds a lot like, "Dumb Yank," under his breath.

"It's a custom in England to drink one's ale at room temperature," says an English-accented male voice next to me. I turn to see a teen around my age sitting down next to me.

"That seems like a lousy custom," I say.

"I always thought so myself," the boy agrees. "Bartender, get us two Coronas." He smiles at me. "Not very English, but at least they serve them cold."

"Cool. Thanks," I say, taking a closer look at my bar buddy and realizing he's extremely cute and totally Goth. He's got long black hair, piercing blue eyes rimmed with eye-liner, and a delicate face with high cheekbones. He's long and lean and dressed all in black, down to the polish on his fin-gernails.

Great. I finally meet someone in England who won't think I'm a freak and I haven't made any effort to dress cool.

"I've not seen you around," he says, as the bartender hands us our drinks.

"I'm just visiting," I confess. "I'm from America."

"Ah, America. I've not had the pleasure of seeing your fine country forme'self ," he says. "Though I've always thought it'd be a fantastic place to holiday. Go to Holly-wood, see all the cinema stars."

I laugh. "Well, I live on the opposite end of America," I say. "Like three thousand miles away from any movie stars."

"I'm Orpheus," the boy says, holding out his hand. Wow, what a cool name. I guess I should expect that.

Someone so beautiful could not ever have a normal name like Chris or Mike.

"I'm Rayne," I say, placing my hand in his. But instead of shaking it, he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of my palm softly. Just like knights in shining armor used to do. How cool is that?

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Rayne," he murmurs, not letting go of my hand.

I smile, feeling my face heat a bit. What am I doing? Sure this guy is hot and all, but I've been single for all of five min-utes. The last thing I need is to start hooking up with some-one random. Not when my heart still belongs to Jareth . . .

I scan the bar, looking for my ex. He's nowhere to be seen. Too bad. Maybe I could have at least made him jealous. Made him realize that though we have our problems, the last thing he wants is for me to start hanging out with someone else.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"So what are you up to this fine evening?" Orpheus asks.

I shrug. "You're looking at it."

"Surely not. You're all dressed up. You definitely need a place to go."

"I'm not really in the mood for parrying tonight, actu-ally," I say with a deep sigh. "To tell you the truth, I just broke up with my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry," Orpheus says in a sympathetic voice. "Though that's all the more reason to go out. To forget your worries and sadness. To have a good time and show the bas-tard you don't need him."

I think about it for a moment. Maybe he's right. Why mope around in a hotel room when I'm on holiday in England? This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Do I really want Jareth to ruin it for me?

"What did you have in mind?" I ask.

"There's a rave out in the woods tonight," he says. "If you're into that sort of thing."

Ooh, a rave. A real, English rave. Am I into that sort of thing? I am, I am.

"Where is it?"

"Ican take you, if you like. It's in the woods, not far from here."

Here's the point where common sense stands up and waves his little red flags in front of my face, reminding me that the guy's a complete stranger and I'm about to head out into the woods alone with him.

What if he's an axe mur-derer?
common sense demands.
What if he wants to chop you up into little
bits and feed them to his pigs?

My common sense can be way overdramatic. Which is why I barely ever listen to it. Instead, I remind it that I am a vampire, and thus immortal. The axe may tickle a bit, but it won't render me helpless. And he really doesn't look like a pig farmer to me. So unless the guy's got a wooden stake in his pocket (or is he just happy to see me?) I'm totally safe.

Unless this guy is actually Lone Wolf. The one who infected all the cheerleaders . . .

But no, that's stupid, I remind myself. Shantel said that guy was a total jock. Blond and beefy and Brad Pittesque. This guy is dark and thin and looks much more like Ville from HIM than Brad. There's no way it's the same person.

"Okay. Sounds like a plan."

I wonder for a moment if I should tell Jareth where I'm going. But I have no idea where he is or how to reach him. Not to mention he'll probably get allpissy if I tell him I'm go-ing to a rave in the middle of the woods. He's worse than my common sense when it comes to things like that.

The bartender comes over to drop off the bill. Orpheus plunks down a couple of brightly colored English bills and tells the guy to keep the change before I can even reach in my purse. Nice.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

"If some surfer dude with a dumb Batman shirt comes looking for me," I tell the bartender, "just say me and my new friend Orpheus went to a rave. Tell him I'll be back by morning." There, that ought to cover me. By the time he starts looking I'll already be back.

"Ready?" I ask Orpheus. He nods. "Then let's go dancing."

+++

We're only out in the woods about ten minutes before I can feel the bass deep in my bones. A few minutes later I start seeing flashing lights through the trees. I smile. Orpheus wasn't lying. There is a rave.

And it sounds like it's hop-ping. I'm about to have a very good night. I'm going to dance and party and not think about Jareth for one second. Starting now.

We step into the clearing. There are probably two hun-dred kids here, all gyrating to a hard techno beat.

A makeshift tent in one corner houses the DJ booth, and a large dreadlocked man wearing headphones on one ear master-fully spins the tunes. They've got generators set up to run the flashing, multicolored lights and there's even a refreshment stand serving water and juice.

"Wow!" I say, though of course my voice is completely drowned out by the music. "This is amazing."

Orpheus grabs my hand and drags me into the center of the action. We're soon enveloped in a pool of sweaty people— black, white, Indian, Asian, fat, athletic, Nicole Richie-thin. All together, dancing as if there's no tomorrow, no world out-side this circle. It's as if they're one mind, one body, all serving a common purpose. All worshipping the techno beat. I'm to-tally digging the vibe already and I start dancing, determined to have a good time.

Orpheus beckons one of the dancers over and they talk in each other's ears for a moment. I can't hear what they're say-ing over the music, but watch as Orpheus gives the kid a wad of bills and the kid slips something in my new friend's palm. Hmm. I'm pretty sure I know what's going on here.

Sure enough, Orpheus turns back to me, smiling, and in-structs me to open my mouth. I shake my head.

One, I'm not really the druggie kind of girl. I'm mean, sure I've experi-mented, but only in safe, controlled environments, sur-rounded by friends.

His face falls and then he offers again.

"Come on," he says. "It'll help you forget your troubles and just enjoy the night."

I hedge. I mean, technically I am a vampire. I'm immortal. The drugs won't hurt me. And it
would
be nice to just leave everything behind and float away in a drug-induced haze. All I've done lately is work. I mean, why did I become a vampire in the first place if I intended on living life the same way I al-ways have?

But all the justification in the world won't reconcile that years of "just say no" that were beaten into me through televised PSAs as a child. And logic keeps reminding me that I'm out in the middle of the woods with a stranger. The last thing I need to do is lose my head.

"No thanks. I'm good," I tell him, though I'm sorely tempted to just say yes. "Let's just dance, okay?"