The Ylem (28 page)
“Cheer up.”
“Uh-huh,” I muttered and headed upstairs.
I picked something really simple to wear, a
purple stretch tee—so tight it looked like a second skin—and skinny
jeans. Nothing too exciting. But even if I felt low, when I looked
at myself in the mirror, I knew I had to improve my appearance. I
decided to add some mascara, a bit of black eyeliner and some curls
to bring out the waves in my hair. Definitely more party-oriented.
Even my eyes looked greener.
“Honey!” my dad called from downstairs.
“There’s someone looking for you!”
Already? He didn’t even call to tell me he
was on his way. “Coming!” I shouted. I turned off the lights and
rushed downstairs. I could hear my dad talking non-stop, as if he
was with a friend.
Poor Dean. I hoped he hadn’t suffered my
dad's onslaught of questions. It wasn’t until I got to the living
room though, that I realized I was completely mistaken. About
everything.
I froze.
“Honey, you look beautiful,” my dad said.
I couldn’t take my shocked eyes away from the
person standing next to him. Was I dreaming? His eyes were locked
on mine, too, the intensity in them softening my knees.
“Ahem.” My dad cleared his throat, trying to
catch my attention. I turned my head in a haze. “Here are the
keys,” he said, handing them to me. “I haven’t found a hide-a-key
yet, so you’ll have to take them with you.”
I nodded, looking down at the keys in my hand
and putting more attention to the ragged edges of the metal than
I’ve ever done before.
“Okay, it’s time for this old man to go up
and pack his things for tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.” He
kissed my forehead and told him. “Take care of her.” And left.
We were alone.
I fixed my eyes on the floor, as if the
swirling lines on the wood held the truth of the world. “What are
you doing here, Tristan?” I finally said.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said in a quiet
tone.
I looked up. “I'm about to leave.”
“I know. It won’t take too long.”
He’d never looked as jaw-droppingly-gorgeous
as he did now—the way his long-sleeved black shirt clung to him,
enhancing the emerald in his eyes, and the way he was looking at
me—it melted my insides. Just a few seconds looking at him and I’d
already forgotten what troubled me.
“Fine,” I said, lightheaded.
“Could we go somewhere else?”
Somewhere else?
“I'm waiting for
Dean,” I said, regretting the words when they came out. “And the
party—”
“I can take you.”
The phone rang, not giving me time to ponder
on his offer. I turned and went to the breakfast counter to pick it
up. “Hello?”
“Kal?” The voice said.
“Hey, Dean.”
“I'm leaving the house. You ready?”
“Um…actually, I'm glad you called. My dad
wants me to, uh, stay a little longer—he’s going to take me,” I
lied, feeling horrible.
“Oh,” he uttered, disappointed. “Okay…then,
I’ll see you at the party.”
“See you there,” I told him. But I was going
to do my best to not let that happen, I decided. Something told me
this was a once in a lifetime opportunity I had with Tristan.
It seemed unreal to have him here, in my
house, in my living room. I could sense him looking at me from
behind, his deep stare raising goose bumps all over my body. Was my
back on fire? My breath turned shaky.
“You had a festive dinner,” he said, surely
noticing the birthday banner and the balloons.
I turned and looked at him. “Kind of,” I said
embarrassed, my cheeks flushing into the brightest pink.
“I wonder why you didn’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t want to.”
He sighed. “Actually, that’s why I came.” he
stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets.
“You figured it out, huh?”
“My father told me.”
Julian had been helping mine all week with
some project. My dad asking for cake recipes and birthday banners
must’ve been pretty obvious.
“And to be honest, I came to save you from
going to that party, too. I know you don’t want to go, and frankly,
I don’t want you to go either. It makes me feel…I just don’t like
it.” He lowered his eyes.
He doesn’t like it
. My heart beat
wildly, like some savage drum.
“Not to mention when I saw you walking down
the stairs,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
What? Do I look that bad?
“I know…but
I don’t have dressy clothes. I'm not used to these things so I
don’t—” He was staring at me disbelieving, frozen in amazement.
“What now?” I asked confused. Was he noticing something else?
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I shrugged. I knew I wasn’t
dressed right to go to a party. The only thing that set me apart
from my usual look was the makeup and the hair.
“Kalista,” he said with a deep voice, putting
great consideration into his next words. “You look beautiful. I'm
glad Dean didn’t come to pick you up tonight. If he’d seen you like
this,” he stared at me, giving me a bone-melting once-over, “he
would’ve been in huge trouble, like me.” He ran his hand through
his stylish hair with a nervous smile.
I almost fell to the floor. The sight of this
gorgeous, confident guy feeling nervous in my presence melted my
insides. Somehow that sweet contradiction made me dizzy.
“Do you want to go somewhere else?” he
asked.
I nodded without thinking it twice and went
to grab my coat. Tristan had already opened the door for me, so I
stepped outside and waited for him. It wasn’t until I heard the
door close that reality hit me. I was alone with him, in the dark,
with a full moon glowing in the skies. A chill of excitement ran
down my spine.
“How did you get Chloe to let you come to my
house tonight?” I asked as the car snaked down through a symphony
of curves.
He smiled. “She’s between the devil and the
deep blue sea, remember?”
Right. Because she’d tried to hurt me and
neglected her duty. I wouldn’t have imagined I was going to be glad
she’d done it. If it wouldn’t be because of it, he wouldn’t be here
next to me.
“Why don’t you want people knowing about your
birthday?” he suddenly asked, intrigued.
Not that question
. “I…it's because of
all the attention.”
“You know that’s not the reason,” he said,
turning to look at me.
“I just don’t like all the fuss. Yeah, that’s
it. I don’t like the fuss.” He furrowed his eyebrows, still not
convinced. “I'm telling you the truth, Tristan, really.”
“No, you’re not.”
Why does he need to be so perceptive?
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. I know I
still don’t deserve your trust.”
I sighed. The truth was he did deserve it.
He’d opened up with me about everything. So, I decided to do the
same. “My mom,” I sighed, looking down. “My mom died on my
birthday. That’s why I don’t like to, I don’t know, celebrate this
day. It's like I'm celebrating the day of her death.” I grimaced.
The thought of it made me feel like a filthy cockroach.
After a few long seconds of silence, his hand
reached mine, slowly, tentatively, brushing it with a soft caress.
It was a quick gesture, but oh, it held all the power in the world.
I looked up and found his eyes gazing at me. “You’re not
celebrating her death, Kalista. You know that.”
I averted my eyes before I melted into a
puddle of warmth.
The engine of the car suddenly turned off.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, darkness surrounding us. Maybe we were out
of gas. There was nothing around, much less an emergency phone. Not
that any of that was needed. One of the pros of being seated next
to a super-telepathic-person. He only needed to reopen his mind and
send an SOS to his pack.
He leaned forward to grasp something in the
black shadow of the backseat. “What are you doing?” I asked more
intrigued.
He sat back, holding something in his hand.
“I want this to be a true surprise,” he said, stretching a piece of
fabric in front of him. “And to do that, I need you to let me put
this around your eyes.”
Blindfold me?
“Is that necessary?” I said. “I'm an easy
person to surprise, really.”
“It won’t be the same if you don’t cover your
eyes,” he said with a soft, persuasive voice.
“What if I use my hands?” I suggested.
He bent towards me. “You would snoop.”
Holy cow
. His face was too close. The
short distance sent electric bugs to my stomach. “I won’t.” I lied,
knowing I would peek for sure.
“You know you will,” he smiled, bending
closer.
Danger. Danger
. “O-Okay.” How could
I've said no? He was unfairly persuasive. I was beginning to think
he used these wicked methods on purpose.
He grinned and drew back his head. Totally
wicked. “May I?” he asked, pulling up the piece of folded
fabric.
I nodded powerlessly and closed my eyes,
gluing my palms nervously against my thighs. He pressed the fabric
gently against my skin and knotted it. Then, he paused, and I could
feel his face closer, the warmth of his skin more intense. The
darkness shrouding my eyes enhanced my senses and, for unknown
reasons, the distance separating our faces had shrunk. A part of me
wanted to take down the blindfold from my eyes to see if he was
about to kiss me, or if I was simply imagining things.
He cleared his throat and the warmth faded.
“Is it too tight?”
“Um, no, it’s, uh, perfect,” I told him,
pulling up my hands to feel the fabric. “It’s actually really
soft.”
“Good,” he said with a smile in his
voice.
The engine’s roar burst into my ears once
again and the car started rolling. “How long am I required to have
this on?” I asked, realizing I wouldn’t last long with my eyes
covered. Patience wasn’t one of my strengths.
“Not much,” he said with wicked glee.
How weird. A few seconds later, a strange
force pulled my head back. Perhaps I was tired. I was always weak
when Tristan was around.
Puny immunity.
“You never explained the thing about your
body temperature,” I said, still feeling tingly all over from his
blindfolding.
He sighed. “Well…our blood heat runs higher
than a human’s because of our constant transmutation. Our muscles
require more blood during the transformation, which makes our heart
beat faster, boosting the blood temperature.”
“But it’s not steady—the whole burning-blood
thing, I mean.”
He gave a small, short laugh. “You’re right.
It’s not steady. When we shift to our human form, the body
temperature diminishes gradually until we reach normal heat. We
tend to shift two times a week to hunt, because regular food
doesn’t provide us with our true needs. Cafeteria food is like a
snack for us.”
Guys and food. He was like Owen with fifteen
times the engorging ability. Wow. I bet his fridge was gigantic.
“It must be really expensive to take you to a restaurant.”
This time, he gave a hearty laugh. “One of
the reasons why we don’t go to restaurants too often,” he said in a
bright tone. Obviously, paying big checks couldn’t be a problem for
someone owning this type of car and a log cabin just for personal
fun. Money didn’t seem to be an issue for him. I thought about
Julian’s studio. Did it pay the bills? Perhaps they had something
more—a huge European trust fund or some other business.
Right now, though, a new thought was flapping
in my head. “What about your heart disease. Was it also a lie?”
“A necessary one,” he said. “Swimming is
relaxing and impersonal. You don’t need to be in contact with the
others. That’s why I do it. No one else is in danger of being hurt
by me. Gym class, though…it’s too risky. We have exceptional
strength. We can control it but…accidents do happen.” He sounded
almost doleful, as if he’d remembered something. “And we can’t
afford that.”
I began to pull up my hands to uncover my
eyes—I wanted to know why pain had colored his voice—when the car
suddenly stopped. I dropped them on my lap. He noticed what I was
doing.
“Tristan I'm sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop.
It’s just that—”
“We’re here,” he interrupted, amused.
“Oh,” I said, embarrassed. A door opened,
followed by a slight tilting movement and a snap. A few seconds
later, the door next to me opened and a delicate salty breeze
flowed through the car.
“Hold my hand,” he said, beside me. My heart
jumped at those words. I was beginning to enjoy the whole
not-seeing thing.
“If I wasn’t blindfolded, I would.” I said
waving my hand in the chilly air, trying to locate his. “But it’s
pretty hard to—” My breath stilled. He caught my hand in a gentle
hold. “Thank you.”
He’s holding my hand.
Thank God I was
using the static spray.
I stepped outside, willing my rubber legs to
stand still. He closed the door behind me. “Now, I know you don’t
like heights and being carried, but it’s necessary for the
completion of the surprise.”
“What?” I said. “I need to be carried? By
you?”
“Is there someone else?”
I bit my bottom lip.
“I'm not going to hurt you, or drop you. The
surprise will be bigger if you’re in my arms.”
Wasn’t this backwards? Shouldn’t I be the one
begging him to carry me?
“You won’t regret it. I promise,” he said
tenderly, taking my other hand in his.
“Okay.” I accepted defeated.
Puny
immunity.
I couldn’t see his face, but I was certain
there was a smile on his lips. “Hold on to my shoulder.” He pulled
my hand over that bump of perfectly defined muscle. I sighed. My
heart was flying.
He leaned down and put one hand behind my
back and the other behind my knees. Then, he scooped me up in his
arms. I could feel his strong chest against the side of my body,
and the pleasant warmth that emanated from his skin. I wanted him
to hold me tighter, to wrap my arms around his neck, to feel his
warmth more closely…