17. Lewis

CHAPTER 17

LEWIS

A fter an awkward trip into town to grab supplies, I stir the pot, blending together the tomato sauce, garlic, and herbs for my favorite pasta dish, pomodoro. Samantha hasn't spoken more than a few words to me since we were on the sofa yesterday afternoon, keeping to herself shut away in the bedroom.

The small chunk of parmesan I found at the convenience store sits on the wooden chopping board. I stare at the aged cheese and compare it to the fresh, young Roma tomatoes. The cheese is reminiscent of me, hard and sharp. The tomatoes, relenting under my touch and easily bruised, are Samantha.

At least, that is how it feels. For some reason, every time she tries to get close to me, I screw it up. I can't even manage indifference without damaging her feelings. How the hell am I supposed to contain this bond around her in a confined space without Denver as a buffer? If we make it out of this fiasco with Anjelica and the Council, I have no doubt her resentment toward me will turn to an eternal hatred.

If the risks were not as great, if being different species didn't carry dire consequences for this bond, I would?—

"Dinner ready?"

I drag my focus from the violently bubbling sauce to Samantha's face. Stone, that's what it resembles. I deserve no less.

"Almost. Grab some bowls?"

"Fine."

She pads around the counter and pulls out two bowls, sitting them by the stove. I try to offer her a smile, but she turns away.

Killing the gas and snuffing the flame, I drain the spaghetti and dish out generous portions into both bowls. Samantha uncorks a bottle of red wine and hunts for glasses.

"Next cupboard to your left," I offer.

She opens the door without looking at me before placing two glasses on the bench and pouring two drinks. She putters around, setting the table and carrying over the drinks as I plate up the meal. The moment of domestic bliss makes me ache for it to be real. I set a bowl at each place and wait for her to sit. She stares at me for a moment, gaze laced with annoyance, and pulls out her chair and sits. I follow her actions and pick up my fork, twirling the steaming spaghetti around my fork.

Watching as she takes her first bite, I study her face, hoping for some kind of clue as to how far down the I-hate-Lewis scale she has slid. She closes her eyes after slurping up a strand of spaghetti. A small moan rumbles in her throat. I suppress a smile and continue eating.

"Okay, so we are on the same page, I would like for us to be at least civil to each other while we are here," she says softly.

Her words catch me off guard. I tilt my head, lowering my brows. Civilized?

She digs her fork into the spaghetti and turns it. "You know, it's a small space. If you don't want me in yours, I understand. I'll keep out of your way. Pay me the same courtesy."

"Samantha, what are you?—"

"I'm sorry about last night. I obviously got my wires crossed about this whole thing. If we could forget it, that would be great."

I clear my throat, swallowing past the lump that rapidly materialized. She is all but confessing her attraction to me. At least physically, anyway. The amount of pheromones she was giving off last night was enough to send any male into a frenzy, let alone one with an unrequited bond. My heart thunders in my chest.

Focus, Lewis.

This changes nothing.

The situation is still the same. The Council still punishes interspecies bonds. Anjelica would still use her up and spit her up to torture me if she realizes we have acted on the bond. She would revel in it. I cannot let that happen. I school myself to indifference.

"Whatever you say, Sunshine."

She winces and shifts her gaze back to her bowl. I twirl my pasta around the fork and eat to stop my mouth from running off with everything I want to tell her. Every stupid thought I have had about her. The very kind that would put her in even more danger. Or worse.

I finish the meal and take my wine to the sofa. Samantha retreats to her room. I open the book I brought on ancient mythos, species, and their history and settle into the sofa. From behind the closed door to the room, Samantha paces, her heart rate climbing.

Her breaths quicken. The footsteps slow and the bed makes a low squeak. I put the book down and stand, placing the wine glass on the side table. A second later, I am by her door, hesitating. Do I knock? Sit back down? Go in? I run both hands through my hair.

A sniff is followed by a whimper. The tang of salt penetrates under the bedroom door. She's crying.

Fuck.

I am the world's biggest asshole. I open the door without knocking and move to where she sits on the bed, her head in her hands. The fire in the hearth is almost out, the bed made but rumpled. I stop inches from her space. The only thing I cannot bear is her hurting. She can be indifferent to me, annoyed, sassy, and resentful; I don't care. But hurt and upset I will not stand for.

"Sunshine?"

"Go away, Lewis."

"No."

"Why not? This whole thing is a disaster. I can't even leave the cabin. You barely tolerate me. I have no connection to the real world up here. I feel like I am suffocating. There's all this space," she says, waving her arms toward the window, to the clearing outside made by the frozen lake now covered with thick snow, "and I can't even be outside." She drags her hands down her face, letting them fall into her lap.

Her face is twisted with pain and frustration. I swallow, hands hanging by my sides. "Maybe we could go for a walk later? I have some papers I need to finish, but maybe in a couple of hours?"

She looks up, her eyes red from crying and her cheeks wet. "Whatever," she utters, shaking her head.

"I know this is not ideal, but it is only temporary."

"'Til when? Do you even know?"

Until the next moon. If I'm out of the picture, she is safe. "It will all be over by the next moon." I turn to walk out. She grabs my hand. I stop, still facing the door.

"You mean when the curse ends?"

I turn back slowly, gaze dropping to where her hand is tight around mine. "Yes. Then you can go back to your life. And this will all be over, Samantha."

"What? No." Her face twists again and my heart aches like it is caught in a vice. I move into her space and brush my hand across her cheek. "I'm sorry."

She raises her face, her big blue eyes meeting mine. "Don't be sorry; fight. How can you just let her win?"

My hand on her face wavers as my breathing shallows. It's not that simple. And if I am gone, she is safe. "I'm not going to make a choice that puts you in further danger. I have caused you enough grief."

She stands, and I am forced back a step.

"Don't use me as your excuse to bow out." Her words are fierce, matching the fire in her eyes, the curl of her fingers to fists.

"I have had a long life. I won't jeopardize yours."

She thumps the heel of her hand into my chest, and I falter backward. Her breaths are sharp and quick. Her heart races. Fire in my center bursts to life. She moves closer, and I step back until my back hits the wall by the door. She keeps walking, closing the space between us, and studies my face, her gaze hovering over my mouth, then down my throat. "Fight, or I will do it for you."

"Taking on Anjelica is suicide," I breathe.

She flings her hand downward. Flames burst over her skin, and she throws the ball of flame into the dying embers. It roars back to life.

"Tell me about the bond."

Her question startles me. And I inhale, taking in her scent. So close to me. She is too close. The heat in my center waxes bigger. I force my hands to stay by my sides. "What about it?"

"You only get one. Have you had yours?"

I was not expecting that. "Yes, I mean no?—"

Her eyes drill into mine. "Has your bond snapped, Lewis?"

"Yes, but—'' I lean my head against the wall and inhale. "It's not reciprocated."

"Oh," she says, and her face falls.

"I have no intention of acting on it. She is free to do as she pleases."

"Another vampire, then?"

I slam my mouth shut, not trusting the words lodged in my throat.

"It's fine." She presses a hand onto my chest and steps back, the movement too slow, as if moving away from me is as hard for her as it is for me. "You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

I stand, stunned.

She makes her way back to the bed and picks up her phone. Her body settles, breaths slowing, heart slowing, body relaxing. Mine, on the other hand, is strung out like a marionette on new strings. I walk out the door, closing it behind me.

I grab the stack of papers on the kitchen counter and sit on the sofa. I pick up the wine and scan the front of the first essay. I could mark them on the computer, but old-school methods will be forever lodged in my brain. I mark with a red pen, then with tracked changes in the digital version before uploading to the student portal for release at a later date.

Samantha walks around the kitchen before grabbing her coat from the brass hooks on the wall. Bundling up, she heads for the door.

"Don't go past the tree line," I say, trying to catch her gaze. She ignores me and stalks out the door. She walks across the porch and down the few steps. Her boots crunch the fresh snow, and I count the paces as she moves from the cabin. The woods start around thirty paces.

Twelve paces.

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

I run the pen over the first sentence in the paragraph, not seeing the words or taking in their meaning.

Eighteen paces.

I start again. The tip of the red pen smears the first word.

Twenty-two.

A tug starts in my chest. I track the pen across the first line, willing concentration to show itself.

Twenty-seven.

Second sentence. The words muddle into nothingness, melding into a black line of odd shapes.

Thirty-two.

Crunch, crack, snap. Crunch.

Sliding the papers from my lap onto the sofa, I drop the pen on top.

Thirty-nine.

I stand, realizing the steps are coming from the wrong side of the cabin.

The lake. She is walking toward the lake.

Crack. Crack. Crunch.

I fly out the door and around the back of the cabin. She is stalking her way across the snow, hands shoved tight in her coat pockets. I slide to a halt at the edge of the frozen river. "Stop!"

She spins and pulls a face at me.

"Samantha, stop where you are!"

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Lewis. For god's sake, you won't even help yourself! Don't you dare get off lecturing me!" She spins back and walks on, her pace faster, harder with her newfound mood.

"STOP! Sam, please, stop!"

The ice cracks. She turns, her terrified eyes finding mine. A whimper leaves her chest, and she disappears into the water.

Fuck!

No, no, no, no.

Hell's fury, fuck!

The water is turbulent under rocking, frozen plates. Its muffled roar fills my ears. I leap from thickest point to thickest point, calculating her direction and speed. I can hear her heart, rapid under the plate of ice. I speed up to get ahead of her. Sliding to a halt, I slam a hand into the ice.

White shards explode around me, leaving a massive hole. She is panicking, arms flailing through the frigid water. She reaches the hole, and I grab her, ripping her from the water and into my hold. Her lips are blue, her chest still. Each heartbeat that flops in her chest is too far apart.

FUCK!

I fly into the cabin and lay her by the fire, tearing the waterlogged coat from her trembling body. I press both palms onto her chest. Over and over. Water spills from her lips.

Jesus Christ.

Her heartbeat quickens, and she convulses under my hands. I roll her over and slam a hand onto her back. Water gushes from her mouth as she coughs, gasping for air.

I rub her back as she struggles to find steady breath. Her eyes open, searching aimlessly in panic. I lay a hand on her cheek, and she turns toward me.

"Hey, you're okay. You're okay."

Ragged whimpers tumble from her throat. I sit her up and pull her into my hold. That was too fucking close. She sobs into my chest. Her fingers grip my sweater.

"Lewis." Her teeth chatter violently around my name.

"I'm here, Sunshine."

Her chin wobbles. Tears spill from her eyes, streaking down her cold white cheeks. Her head drops to my chest and her breaths shatter, each carrying a soft moan.

I need to get her warm.

Right now.