My Heart be Damned (23 page)

“Do you need to call your dad?” Marshall suddenly asked. He was back to lounging on the armchair.

I shook my head. “No. They think I’m at Mercy’s.”

“Well, what about Mercy. You need to tell her anything?”

“I warned her in advance. Or I warned Sam. I warned one of them ...details are a little fuzzy right now.”

“Sam knows?” Marshall sounded irritated.

“No, he does not know. Not that it’s any of your business who I tell.”

We lapsed back into a silence that seemed as though it would go on forever. I shifted slightly, testing out my pain threshold. A stabbing ache rolled up and down my side, and I bit down on my lip, trying to block it out.

In the corner of the room, Marshall coughed. “Well, I’ll leave you to sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Just shout with that big mouth of yours.”

I ignored the jibe. “Where will you sleep?”

“On the sofa.”

“I’m surprised you’re not making sexual innuendos about me being in your bed right now.”

He shrugged. “I’m a little tired. Not really at my best. Give me the morning and I’ll be right back on track.” He winked and stood up slowly, seeming to stretch out his muscles. I wondered how bad his wounds were under his clothes.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” I said, looking down at the brown sheets. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Of course I would. I said I’d swing through. Couldn’t miss your birthday.”

My breath caught in my throat. He remembered. “Well, thanks.”

He nodded once and headed to the door. He paused as his hand reached out for the handle. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to know or be friends with, but I do care about you
Amerie
. I’m sorry I missed most of your birthday. I did get you something.” He reached into his left jean pocket and pulled out a small, black box. With amazing aim, he threw it so that it landed next to me on the bed. “It’s not much but... Happy birthday.”

I couldn’t manage to force another thank you out before he ducked from the room and shut the door gently behind him. My hands were shaking as I reached down to pick up the
jewelry
box. No guy had ever bought me
jewelry
before. Let alone, a guy like Marshall. With unsteady hands, I flicked open the lid and stared down at the contents in shock. He’d bought me a silver bracelet – beautiful, just like the kind I used to have way back when. There was one charm already hanging from the delicate link. A replica of my dagger.

The gesture was incredibly thoughtful, which meant he thought about me. I fumbled around with it for a few minutes, trying to open and shut the clasp with only one hand. When I finally succeeded, I stared at the dagger in a kind of daze. Marshall’s feelings for me were even more of a mystery now than ever before. If he even had any feelings for me at all.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Home Is Where You Avoid At All Costs

I barely slept a wink that night. Sleeping in Marshall’s bed was like a Marshall overload. His smell consumed me, taunted me, reminding me of something I could never have. Numerous times, I found myself stroking Marshall’s sheets or pulling them up around my face, so I could breathe in his scent. Once I
realized
what I was doing, I was mortified by my actions. I was acting like a crazy stalker girl, and it had to stop. But one thing was apparent, I was falling harder and harder for Dane Marshall − the boy that saved my life.

At times, I would drift to sleep, dreaming of assailants with faces I couldn’t determine, in woods that I wasn’t familiar. I was being chased, being taunted. But I’d always wake up before the fight began. Finally, I gave up on sleep and prodded my stomach gently. It was still tender, but the sharp pain had disappeared. I knew I healed fast, but I’d never had an injury this big, to test my ability.

Shaking my legs out slightly, I checked my body over before throwing the sheets back and scooting right to the edge. When everything seemed to be okay, I sat upright and twisted around to hang my legs over the side, which was when I caught a glimpse of the time on Marshall’s alarm clock. Only just past five in the morning. What was I going to do until Marshall could take me home?

I spied the bookshelf in the corner and found my answer. Those books had intrigued me the minute I’d laid eyes on them. And I could certainly find worse things to do than read to pass the time. With a deep breath, and hoping I wasn’t putting too much pressure on my body, I shakily got to my feet and waited. There was a slight pain, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Though, it did take me two minutes longer than it normally would have to get around the bed and reach the books.

There was such a selection. From fiction to non-fiction to non-human. My finger trailed the spines of the books, looking for one I wanted to settle down and read. My mum had a few books, but they were mainly about fighting techniques. Anything I wanted to know about the Damned, I had to ask her. Like the time, I decided that killing the Damned was unfair on the human host and opted out of doing that part of my job then too. I’d been thirteen.

“
Amerie
,” she’d said patiently. We were in our special room down in the basement of our old house. No one ever came down there, and no one was ever at home when we trained. “You have to send the Damned souls back to Hell. If you don’t, they’ll kill innocent people.”

“But what happens to the person?” I demanded. “I don’t want them to just die. That’s not fair.”

She smoothed out her dark, brown hair – hair the same
color
as mine - eyes glistening as they always did when she got to speak about being a Hunter. “You don’t kill the person if you use a Blessed weapon, remember? I have lots, and you’ll have lots too. It just sends the soul to Hell, but it leaves the person unharmed. Trust me. I did show you once. When you were six. But you probably don’t remember now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You did? What happens to the person? Do they suddenly wake up? Do they remember anything? What do I do? Do I take them home and help them to bed?”

She laughed at me with her husky, light laugh. A laugh I missed every single day. “We don’t have enough time or resources to do much for them,
Amerie
. Try not to leave them in the middle of the road. But, yes, they’ll wake up after ten minutes or so. They won’t remember a thing and just make their way home. Some people put it down to nervous breakdowns. Others blame stress or alcohol. But they will always wake up,
Amerie
. Always.”

I never had a need to question her or ask for proof. My mum never lied to me about Hunting. She was always very open and honest about that, especially the dangerous parts.

My fingers stopped on a particularly old, brown book. Going with instinct, I yanked it out, being careful not to disturb the already frail seams. Then I perched myself in Marshall’s armchair, curling up as
comfortable
as possible, and began to flick through.

It was a diary. A very old diary, in a woman’s handwriting, and the more I read, the more I began to identify with the writer. She didn’t document the problems with being a Hunter. She documented the fights she got into. The trouble she found. The types of Damned she ran across. I wasn’t even half way through when my eyes shut and wouldn’t open.

This was how Marshall found me. He gently prodded me in the shoulder.

“
Amerie
,” he whispered.

My eyes flickered open, and I startled, not knowing he was standing so close to me. He was bent over the chair, his nose inches away from my own. His clothes were fresh, and his hair, still wet. He’d just showered. Quickly, I made a mental note of the page I was on before closing the book and slipping it to the side. Weirdly, I felt embarrassed that I’d been caught reading it.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked. He crossed the room and pulled open the curtains, letting light pour in.

My hand flew up to my eyes, trying to block the light. “Ouch! Did you have to do that?”

He didn’t move from the window, but stood leaning against the wall beside it, arms folded, eyes fixed on me. “Well?”

“Oh,
erm
, yeah, much better. I moved. As you can guess. So I’m probably fine to go home now. But,
erm
, you won’t tell anyone, will you? I mean, Albert or whoever. It’s kind of embarrassing.” I fiddled with the hem of the t-shirt nervously.

He shrugged. “It happens to the best of us. Be happy you survived it.”

“Because of you,” I muttered. I wasn’t sure if he heard it because he didn’t react. After a few tense moments, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked over to me.

“Breakfast?”

I shook my head. “I’m alright. I just wanna go home and have a bath.”

“Okay. But make sure you don’t do anything to pull your stitches. Those things were a bitch to sew. You really do have skin like an elephant.”

I ignored him.

“I’ll get you a coat and drive you now,” he said, heading out of the room.

I watched him go, feeling somewhat sad that I was leaving. The first time I’d been inside his house and I’d been restricted to one room without him. I wanted to be nosy and look around. Was this the house he shared with his parents? Or did he live alone? I couldn’t see Marshall living at home like a good boy. Not when he liked to do things in his own way all of the time. When he finally came back, he held a plastic bag with my outfit, clutch bag and dagger in it, and a coat in the other hand. I slid on the coat from my position on the chair and gently stood up, so he could make the bed.

“I found a book on your shelf. You don’t mind if I borrow it, do you?” I asked, just as his phone rang.

“Hmm? Yeah, whatever,” he answered before flicking his phone open. He disappeared out into the hallway, his phone call a bunch of whispers and hushed sentences. As if I cared, what his phone conversation was about.

But I did care. I strained my ears to listen, which was just when he happened to hang up and burst into the room.

“Good news,” he exclaimed, smiling as if I hadn’t seen in ages. “Albert found out what the ritual’s missing. Apparently, Seal hasn’t even been able to figure it out yet. So, if we find it first and destroy it...”

“Then no ritual,” I finished. His happiness flooded through me. This was great! It wasn’t just about my blood anymore. “So, what is it and where do we find it?”

Marshall bit down on his lip. “That’s the problem. It’s something called ‘A Coat of
Tarham
’, but we have no idea what it actually is or where to find it.”

“So how do we find it if we have no idea what it is?”

“Research,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Lots and lots of boring research. Get ready for Albert to load you up with books, because you’re gonna be spending a whole lot of your free time looking up this thing.”

With one last look at the bedroom, I wondered if I’d ever step foot in again, we slowly headed for the door. Marshall appeared to live in his very own bachelor pad. Everything was spread across one floor, and decorated in creams and browns. Because
there were only two other doors, I gathered most of the place must have been open planned. The doors were shut, though, so I couldn’t be nosy.

The Honda was parked outside, and as Marshall helped me into the passenger seat, I
realized
I
recognized
the street his building was on. It was a street I’d go past on the Tube and often stare at in envy. Though it consisted of mostly skyscrapers, the apartment buildings were all new, and each floor had its own balcony. I looked up as Marshall reversed out of the parking space, and tried to work out which floor was his.

“Don’t be surprised if you see me hanging around where you are,” Marshall suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“Until we find the answer to this ritual thing, I still need to keep an eye on you. Which means me, being wherever you are.”

“That sounds creepy.”

“Most girls would be grateful to have a sexy guy like me following them around, but you complain. Twisted.”

“You’re twisted,” I said childishly.

He ignored me. “Anyway, I’ll try and stick to the shadows as much as I can so you can still do whatever it is you do when I’m not around. When your stomach is better, we’ll get right back to training.”

I mock saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Glad you’re taking this seriously.”

I couldn’t tell if he said it sarcastically or not, so I left it. Less than five minutes later, we pulled up outside of my house. My dad was going to have a lot of questions when I walked in wearing men’s tee shirt and shorts and only a pair of socks on my feet. If the fates cared for me at all, they wouldn’t be home. I looked to the drive, holding my breath. Dad’s beat up car was there, but Cindy’s was gone. With any hope, that meant they were both out of the house.

“I’ll be around,” Marshall said, nodding once at me.

“Okay. See you then.”

“Need any help?”

“I got it.” Without bending, I grabbed the plastic bag with one hand and pushed open the door with the other. I knew he was watching me, probably immensely entertained at my slow pace, but I didn’t turn around once. When I reached the front door, I rifled around in my clutch bag for my keys and slid inside. I didn’t stop moving until I’d finally climbed the two flights of stairs to my bedroom. By the time I dragged myself in front of a mirror, my stomach was throbbing painfully.

The pain became a distant memory the moment I saw what had become of my hair. My whole face twisted into devastation. That wasn’t hair on my head. It was like something a cat threw up. A very sick, old cat. Tentatively, I reached up and patted my head. I hadn’t brushed my hair in almost 2 days, and parts were curled, and others straight making it seem as though I had an uneven haircut. The only saving grace was that my makeup hadn’t run, and I hadn’t bruised on my face either.

With a sigh, I limped into the bathroom next door. I shut the door bent over the bath, and turned on the taps, wincing when I jolted my wound. Then I stripped off Marshall’s clothes, vowing to keep them for as long as he didn’t ask for them back. The bandage came off next, and I stared down at the scar, wondering how Marshall had stitched me up so professionally. I was supposed to have been trained to fix wounds, but I’d never gotten that far. First aid, sure. If someone choked on a carrot, but stitching up a wound? I couldn’t even stitch holes in my clothes.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the bathroom door, and I jumped, swearing under my breath. Fresh pain burst through my stomach again. I grabbed whoever’s gown hung on the hook on the wall and wrapped it around me before yanking open the door. It was Dad.

“When did you get back?” he asked.  Even though we hadn’t been living here long, Dad looked totally different. He looked healthier, happier, like the man that I remembered growing up.

“Just now,” I answered, tightening the gown around me. “Just gonna have a bath and probably watch some TV in my room.”

“You enjoy your birthday?”