Coveted

  Chapter 15

  The next day at lunch, Michael dropped a copy of the local paper on the table in front of Bran and I. A photo of the orchestra behind Mr. Fletcher took up half the front page under the headline, "Fletcher Funds Music Program 10 Years."

  "They make it sound like you guys got a standing ovation," he said as he took the seat across from us. Maria was still MIA. "They also used you two to make it look like we have a program of passionate prodigies." He added, "Turn to A6."

  Bran chuckled as he took the paper and opened it. "It doesn't look good for Fletcher if he funds a dud of a program so it makes sense they'd talk us up a bit."

  I leaned in to see a photo of Bran and I at the piano with the caption, "Tomorrow's musicians hard at work." I dropped my forehead to the table. "Did they have to include a picture of us?" I groaned. "This will just be more Samantha fodder."

  Bran rubbed my back. "Doubt it," he said. "She's still trying to lay low."

  Michael rested his hands behind his head and leaned back. "Maria is going shopping tonight, which is my idea of hell, so can I hang out with you guys?" He asked. He leaned forward just long enough to steal a handful of my fries and ram them into his mouth.

  Bran shrugged. My mother was going to be working another night shift so I had hoped to have time alone with him. My curiosity about a history I could not remember was becoming too much to stand. I wanted to hear it from Bran. The risk of being traumatized was far less hearing it from him than reliving it using the stone. It would have to wait. Michael was in full puppy-dog-eyes mode. I relented. "Fine, but you are buying us snacks."

  His smile widened. "Sure, and I'll even bring over a few movies."

  I was feeling pretty disgruntled about being denied private time with Bran. The gnawing was roaring at me even more than usual and thrilling shots tormented me every time his skin brushed against mine. How could mundane life so thoroughly interfere with such fantastic developments?

  By the time we got to my house after school, I was nearly out of my mind. We would only have a few minutes while Michael nipped over to the store for snacks. I had two choices: take those minutes to ask Bran as many questions as I could or jump his bones. I chose the latter.

  The moment we were through the door, I wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted onto my toes. Without hesitation, he met me halfway hungrily accepting my lips against his.

  The gnawing exploded into the firestorm I had come to expect but every searing lap of the flames against my insides made me want more. I had lost my mind and nearly whined when he gently but firmly pushed me away. Before I could protest, he called out, "It's just us, Ms. Colomen."

  "I thought I heard the door," she called back. Then I could hear her walking down the hallway.

  I pulled away from Bran and began removing my jacket. My fingers shook as I pulled at my sleeve. I had nearly been consumed and regaining my sense was taking more strength and skill than I felt I had at that moment.

  My mother came around the corner with a raised brow and a smile. My cheeks were on fire. There was no way she wouldn't have noticed. Every muscle in my chest constricted. I nearly blurted out a full confession. With a hard swallow, I stayed silent.

  "I'll be leaving in an hour. I'm meeting Alastair for coffee before going to work, so Bran will have to be gone by then," she said. Any hint of her smile had vanished.

  I stared at her then at him. He did not look as shocked as I did. In fact, he was smirking.

  "Mom, he's always come over when you're at work and you've never had a problem," I complained.

  She turned a stern look on me. "And now that he isn't just a friend, I would be more comfortable if you aren't unsupervised."

  Bran chuckled. "Michael will be here in a few minutes. The three of us were going to spend the evening watching movies."

  My mother's face relaxed. "Well, that's alright then."

  Maybe both of them thought this solved matters but I didn't. I was angry. "So, having a chaperone makes everything alright?" I demanded. "I'm not a child and this isn't Victorian England, mom." After all my years of being the perfect daughter, she still didn't trust me. The fact that exactly what she feared would likely have happened made little impact upon my outrage aside from adding a twinge of guilt. Why couldn't she just stay out of it?

  "Just call me the queen," she retorted as she turned and walked back down the hall. "I have to eat before I go. I'll cook up a stir-fry for everyone."

  I walked over to the couch and flopped onto it in my best imitation of a tantrum. "What is she thinking?" I grumbled.

  Bran settled in beside me and took one of my hands in his. "Exactly what we would have gotten up to if she weren't here. She's being a mother."

  The fire that the gnawing had ignited had liquefied into acid, which was now eating away at my internal organs. I couldn't stay away from my Bran, especially now that I knew there was a long and romantic past between us. If I did not give the hunger inside me what it wanted, it would devour me instead. I could not do things her way but I could not lie to her.

  Bran traced a path along my thumb with his finger. The acid sparked. The gnawing made its demands known.

  "Maybe she doesn't have to know," I whispered, closing my eyes to indulge in the promises of his touch.

  He lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. "It gets easier," he said.

  "What?" I murmured with a sigh.

  "Lying."

  The door opened and Michael walked in with a stack of DVDs in his arms and a plastic bag laden with sweets hooked on an awkwardly placed pinky. I tried to force the gnawing and the acid from my mind. I was cursed to have an audience and nothing could be done about it.

  It was not easy ignoring my torment but a new unease helped me fake being a normal person. Why did Bran have to say that? When he touched me, everything was perfect, everything was how I wanted and needed. Then he had said that and it brought back all the reality of his rough past. The logical part of me flagged this as a warning. He might be gentle with me but he was capable of much more than I could handle.

  I sighed. Any moral dilemma was moot. I could do nothing that would take me away from him. I might as well kill myself if he left my life. I needed him. He cared about me. And hadn't he proven with Samantha that despite the extent of his capabilities, he was not a rabid dog? He understood restraint and appropriate force. He had been looking out for me even if it felt wrong to confront Samantha no matter how indirectly.

  I wrapped my arms more tightly around him and rested my head against his side. Michael looked at us from the corner of his eye before focusing resolutely upon the TV.

  After dinner, I waved to my mother as she said good-bye. She left, but not before making sure the rules were clear. "Bran has to go when Michael does."

  I grumbled assent. I hated the rule as much as the fact I had no intention of obeying it.

  We left the light off as we watched another movie. It was a Kung Fu movie; one I knew Michael had dared bring only because Bran was there. I didn't complain because I wasn't really watching it.

  Bran was dragging his fingers along my side, taking his touches up to places that may not have been the most decent if Michael had been looking. The gnawing churned, giving off more sparks. The more time I spent with Bran, the shock of the gnawing lessened. It was still insistent and still threatened to grow into hellfire but the growth was no longer a sudden burst but now a slow build that sent tingling down behind my navel to between my thighs. I endured this torture through the movie and was nearly ready to scream by the end of the credits. Why did Michael have to ask to hang out with us?

  Hope flickered inside me when Michael finally stretched and yawned. "School tomorrow," he said. "Time to go, Bran?"

  I kept my arms firmly in place around Bran's middle. "He can stay," I said, staring at the credits for a movie I couldn't even remember.

  Michael was quiet for a moment. "You're mother said..."

  My conviction faltered under Michael's scrutiny. I
also could not trust him not to let it slip to my mother. I hated that about him. He would do what he thought was best for me even if it meant betraying me. I was new to deception. I did not have the nerve to stick with my plan.

  I grunted as I pushed away from Bran to allow him to stand. I walked them both to the door. Michael was at least kind enough to give us a few moments of privacy. Those turned into a curse.

  Bran caressed my jaw before kissing me so deeply I thought the flames would not stop at consuming me but take him and the entire house down with them. He pulled away with a completely inadequate good-bye. "See you tomorrow," he said.

  I wanted to cry as I watched him drive away. I closed the door and stared at the house. Now what? Figuring I should just get a good night's sleep, I headed to bed. Riley trotted down the hall behind me. I sat on the side of the bed in the dark, not really feeling tired. Neglected would have been a better word. Riley flopped onto the bed and was snoring within seconds.

  The stone was on my nightstand. I had not remembered leaving it there. I sighed. I had been deprived of Bran physically and deprived of any answers he could have given me. It wasn't exactly the type of conversation I wanted to have over the phone or text. I needed to know more and the stone had always obliged in some form. If I was going to learn anything, I needed to take the risk.

  I took a deep breath and wrapped my fingers around it.

  "He's coming," said the deep voice. "Hurry, Mae will get you to the tunnel. I will hold him off."

  "I can't leave you. I won't leave you!" I begged. My surroundings were dark. A bright flickering coming from just behind a man's shoulder mingled with my tears. I could barely see anything. How was I going to get away if I couldn't see. It smelled of stagnant water and feces.

  "I promised I would protect you, for ever," he insisted.

  "You don't have for ever!" I was trying to sound strong and in control but I was cold and wet. My body was shaking without my will and no matter how much I rubbed my arms, I could not seem to make it stop. I may not be able to do anything about that but I had to try talking sense into him. "You'll die just like we all do and it will all start again. It never stops."

  I could hear shouting from somewhere above us. High pitched clanks and thumps echoed down the passage.

  "No. I won't die," he said quietly. "If I have to beg the gods themselves for a life long enough to protect you, I will. Ilia, I love you."

  Footsteps on stones. They were getting faster and louder.

  I was shaking my head. "Don't say that! Everyone says that to me and look what it's brought me. Look what it's brought you."

  He grabbed me by the shoulders. His deep green eyes hypnotized me just as they had the day we met. "Please," he said. "If I cannot keep my promise, then I would rather be dead. At least give me the chance to prove it to you. Run, get away before he discovers you. I will find you. I promise."

  I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck. "I'm scared."

  He stroked my hair. "We're all scared," he whispered in my ear. "Even him. Now, run."

  He used his large hands to pry me loose. "Mae," he said addressing someone behind me. "Get her out of here."

  I felt a strong tug backwards on my arm. "No. No. I can't do this to you. I can't ask this of you!" I pleaded even as I had no choice but to stumble backward away from him.

  "You never had to ask," he called to me. "It is a gift I give freely."

  "No!"

  Thump. Thump.

  Riley sat straight up. I looked down. I had dropped the stone. My heart was in my throat where it choked me with each exaggerated b-dmp. The memory was still strongly lodged in my muscle memory. I tried to control my breathing.

  Thump. Thump.

  I ceased my efforts. That was why Riley had sat up. Someone had knocked hard on the door. Riley lowered his head and growled. I stroked his head to reassure myself more than him.

  Maybe Bran had come back? Did Michael forget something? Both were possible. Riley gave a small woof. It was late, very late. Even Bran or Michael would have just waited until morning. The gas man, a salesman, missionaries; none would be out now. None of the possibilities changed the fact that I was alone. I looked around for my phone. I swore. It was still on the coffee table.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Riley gave an unrestrained bark. I let him.

  Silence.

  He growled but it was less menacing. It tapered off. The silence flooded the room and pierced my eardrums with an unrelenting squee.

  I stood up and crept to the window. I dared not touch the drapes, so I tried to peek around the edge of them as best I could. It was dark enough I probably wouldn't be seen.

  A man was walking away from the house to a car parked on the street. I didn't have the best view but he looked barely older than my mother. He had dark hair.

  Even as I was glad I had not opened the door, something about him made me consider calling out. There was something familiar about him but I couldn't place what. I looked back at my nightstand. The stone wasn't there anymore. I had dropped it but the memory it had given me was fresh. I looked back out at the street but the man and his car were gone.

  I considered fetching my phone and calling Bran. I didn't exactly want to be alone on a night with strange men lurking about. But it really was late—the middle of the night—and pestering Bran over someone just knocking on the door seemed incredibly pathetic even to me. The guy had driven away. He wasn't coming back, probably.

  I undressed and climbed into bed. Riley had fallen back asleep. I wrapped an arm around my furry protector. For the rest of the night, I flinched at every creak of the house, the furnace turning on, and even Riley just shifting position. Sleep came only just before dawn, when I heard my mother return and exhaustion could be staved off no longer.