Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Of course, Atticus picked her up at three on the dot. Circling around the car to open her door, he demanded, "How was it? Did everything go okay?"

"It was good. Director Martin is nice."

He'd asked her to call him Jeff, but she'd been way too nervous to take him up on it. Jeff Martin was an elderly vampire who'd run the tiny, mostly-secular funeral home for over two hundred years. He said his children had no interest in helping out with the business, so it was a delight to bring her on board. Jeff talked a lot, smelled like stale synth, and desperately needed help with organization, but she liked him.

Being back amongst the dead was centering. They expected nothing from her. They didn't inspire a dizzying array of conflicting feelings. Tending to them had briefly washed her clean of the worries and hurt that plagued her. She found peace in tending to them, as she always had. It was a quiet, glowing sort of joy that suffused her when she cleaned bloated limbs, combed disheveled hair, and murmured the Merciful Parting in their ear before she draped them in their shrouds.

She treated each one like they were her family, because she never knew if hers was the last touch, the final kindness they'd ever receive.

But her shift was over, and as soon as she stepped out the door to find Atticus leaning against his car, everything she'd avoided thinking about rushed back. Carmine nervously pushed her hair behind her ear and shuffled by him, careful not to give into the temptation to brush her arm against his chest.

In a bid to regain some of her badly shaken confidence before he arrived, it sounded like a good idea to break out the tiny makeup kit Zia had helped her put together. She'd swiped on some of her glittery eyeshadow in the bathroom before he arrived, but now she felt silly and could barely face him as she slid into the seat.

She'd been very careful not to overdo it. Zia taught her how to highlight her features without overwhelming them, which was exactly what Carmine wanted. Sometimes she missed her ceremonial makeup and mask it provided, but mostly she just wanted to feel pretty. To sparkle, even when it felt like her heart was being squeezed tighter and tighter.

Carmine tucked her knees in close together and waited for Atticus to close the door, but when he took a beat longer than usual, she couldn't help but glance up.

He stared at her, one hand curled over the top of the door with a white-knuckled grip, and rasped, "Did you put glitter on?"

Carmine hunched her shoulders and turned away. One hand came up automatically to swipe at her eyelid. "Um, no, it's just?—"

Warm fingers curled around her wrist, stopping her from scrubbing off the rest of her eyeshadow. "Hey, no, doll. Stop, please."

She couldn't look at him, let alone speak, so Carmine kept her face turned away. It didn't do a lick of good when he gripped her chin and turned her head toward him. "You didn't have that on when I saw you earlier," he murmured. "I'd remember."

"You said we were going somewhere after work. I wanted to look nice."

Carmine peeked through her lashes. His jaw was tense, his body rigid as he stooped to speak to her.

"You look fuckin' gorgeous," he rasped.

Her heart leapt. "I… It's the one you bought me. The pink."

She had no idea what she planned to say, but it didn't matter anyway. Atticus stole her ability to speak with a fierce kiss. It didn't last long, but it didn't need to. When he pulled back and licked his lips, yearning left nothing but scorched earth in its wake.

His smile was slow and hungry. "Had to check that you're using the lip gloss I got you, too."

When he looked at her like that, kissed her like that, it was hard not to have hope. Just a little. Just enough.

The surprise was a trip to a wonderland of light, noise, scents, and sights. It was an arcade — one that catered to nocturnal beings and, on Monday nights, to adults only.

Carmine stood in the doorway, clutching Atticus's callused hand as she stared out at the sea of flashing neon lights, squealing machines, and adults meandering around with alcoholic beverages in their hands. It wasn't all vampires, but night owls of every variety that hollered at prize machines and made fools of themselves on light up dance pads.

Giving her a look of concern, Atticus asked, "Is this too much? We can leave if you?—"

"No!" She squeezed his hand and tried to catch her breath. It wasn't easy when excitement made it feel a bit like she was standing outside of her own body. "Atty, I want to try everything."

A startled laugh bubbled out of him. Dragging her inside, he announced, "I need some synth first, before you run me ragged."

The reminder that he still wasn't drinking from her made her smile falter, but Carmine quickly covered it by gawking at a claw machine full of electronics.

The bartender offered her a bottle of alcoholic synth, but she turned it down. She and Adriana had some before she left for San Francisco — and drunkenly redecorated Harlan's office with a similarly mulled wine-drunk Zia — but Carmine wasn't about to risk becoming tipsy around him. Atticus abstained, too. Loosely cradling his bottle of regular synth between his thumb and forefinger, guided her onto the game floor.

It was marvelous.

The excess, the light and sound of the machines, the thumping music playing from the speakers over their heads… Carmine was terrible at every game she tried, but she loved the chaos of it all.

They roared with laughter when they attempted a dance game. Atticus won her a large packet of glowing plastic jewelry from a shooting game, which she donned immediately, and she even managed to get tenth place in a racing car game.

They bounced from one end of the room to the other, doing whatever caught her fancy. Atticus's usual intense expression had been left in the car. Instead, he grinned so wide that his cheeks creased, and when she finally won her first ball rolling game, he whooped and twirled her around until she screamed with laughter.

But that was how it was when they were together. When she wasn't trying to hold her breath, her mind and heart torn in two directions, being with Atticus was effortless. He teased her. He listened to her when she spoke and he snuck small, tender touches whenever the chance arose. He treated her like she was important. Precious, even.

He didn't just open up a new world for her — Atticus made her believe that she had her own special place in it.

That was why it was so hard whenever the spell broke. He'd given her a taste of more than just his blood, and every minute she went without it hurt just a bit more than the last.

But she didn't want to think about that. Not when they sat in a small, two person booth in the far corner of the bar area after hours of laughter. She was breathless and a thin layer of sweat slicked her spine as she wiggled onto the sparkly vinyl seat. Atticus sprawled beside her, his knee touching hers, and shot her a goofy, lopsided grin.

"Having fun, doll?"

"So much," she answered, slouching over onto her folded arms. The glowing, rubbery bracelets would leave dents in her cheek, but she didn't care.

Atticus's smile softened. "Good. I want you to try all the fun shit you never got to do. I remember how it felt to do stuff like this for the first time with the boss. My parents never would have cared enough to take us to an arcade or anything. It meant the world to me." He nudged her beneath the table. "It feels nice being able to do it for someone else."

A bucket of ice water couldn't have doused her hazy golden glow any more effectively. Carmine's throat went tight. For a glorious couple hours she'd let herself forget, but that time had passed.

This isn't a date. He's not mine. This is… Her first thought was charity, but that wasn't right either. It was some messed up cross between that and a friendly responsibility.

Feeling both ungrateful and foolish, Carmine pushed through the muck of her feelings to ask a question that had sat heavily on her heart. "What happened to your parents?"

"Died in a fire," he answered, fiddling with the label on his bottle. "About a month after I stupidly tried pickpocketing the UTA's most dangerous assassin, our piece of shit apartment building caught on fire." His throat bobbed with a hard swallow when he gestured to it. "That's why I sound like this. Smoke inhalation fucked up my throat."

The hair on her arms stood on end. She assumed they weren't around anymore for one reason or another, but that was worse than she could have imagined. She'd seen victims of fires on her slab. She knew the damage and the pain something as innocuous as smoke, let alone fire, could cause. "You were inside?"

"Not for the start, no. I was running errands for the boss in exchange for synth money when I saw the smoke coming from our block. I ran back because Adriana was in there. Probably wouldn't have bothered otherwise."

"Why?"

"Because they weren't good people, doll. They'd started to talk about my sister." A stark, dangerous look crossed his face. "She was barely more than a toddler and they were hoping she was neutral so they could sell her off. I'd planned on running away with her, which is part of why I needed the money from the boss, but the fire saved me the trouble."

A lot of things about Atticus made sense to her then. No wonder he's so protective of me.

It wasn't about her, but about what had shaped him. Atticus had been protecting his people since he was a child himself. He'd jumped at the chance to save her because that was what he'd always done, and now he was stuck with her like a stray he fed one too many times.

A strange mix of guilt and pride for the man he'd managed to become twisted her up. Carmine's voice came out as a croak when she asked, "You got hurt when you rescued Adriana. Was it bad?"

"Nasty smoke inhalation, some small burns. Nothing too bad." He waved a hand as if to bat away the memory. "I showed up on the boss's steps covered in ash, holding my baby sister, and passed out pretty much as soon as he cracked the door open. Then we just… never left."

Merciful One bless Harlan Bounds.

She'd seen the devotion in the eyes of his men, the love that radiated from his anchor and daughter, but now she got it. He was a hard, dangerous man, but he'd earned every ounce of loyalty he was given.

She was grateful for what had been done for her, but she loved Harlan Bounds for what he'd done for her anchor.

"I'm glad," she whispered, holding onto her biceps to keep from reaching for the vampire across the table. "I'm not glad you had bad parents, but I'm glad you found a good one. Now you can live whatever kind of life you want."

Atticus leaned forward, nearly mimicking her pose, and replied, "You can, too, you know?"

"I do know."

It's now or never, Carmine. You can't keep yearning for something he doesn't want to give you.

Trying to summon a well of optimism she didn't feel, Carmine informed him, "I think in a few months, when I'm settled at the funeral home, I'll look at getting a place in Pineridge."

Between one blink and the next, Atticus's expression blanked. "What are you talking about?"

Too filled with nervous energy to remain slouched, Carmine sat back, adjusted her bracelets, and then placed her sweaty palms in her lap. "I know you feel obligated to look after me, but I really can't— You've given me everything I need to figure my life out, Atticus. It's not right for me to keep leaning on you and everyone else. And?—"

Carmine stopped herself. Forced air into her lungs. Tried to stop the screaming in her mind.

She couldn't bear to go far, not when she'd just found the closest thing to a family she'd had since she was six, but the more she considered the issue, the more resolute she became.

I can't cling to him.

He'd let her. He'd never push her away or tell her to stand on her own two feet, no matter how much money was in her new bank account or how it might stunt his own life. He'd accept her.

But in that moment Carmine understood something crucial: She couldn't accept that. She couldn't take advantage of his kindness, and she couldn't exist in a perpetual agony of desire, either. If there was a chance for them to be equals, friends, then she had to figure out how to survive on her own. Mostly, anyway.

There wasn't a chance she'd stop helping Zia in the greenhouse or pushing Serafina on the swing set, let alone cut out Adriana, the only person who'd ever truly understand .

She had to force the next words out past a wave of nausea. "You'll go through some withdrawal, so it would be best if I stop feeding from you soon."

Nerves jangling, Carmine peered at him, trying to gauge his expression, but he might as well have been carved from stone. Not knowing what else to do, she continued, "I'm so grateful for everything you've done for me, but I hate feeling like you— like you need to look after me all the time, that you have to let me feed. It's not right. An anchor should— I can't ask you to be that when you don't feel the same as I do."

It nearly killed her to gesture around them, to the atmosphere that had brought her so much joy just moments prior. "I love that you want to share these things with me, but I'm not a kid sister you need to babysit, or some helpless victim you're stuck with now. It's okay. I can manage just fine on my own. You should live your life without being tied down to some weird temple girl you found in the back of a trailer."

"What the fuck? "

Her gaze, which had wandered to the bar sometime during her ramble, snapped back to Atticus. She blanched.

He wasn't blank anymore. He looked furious.

Pressing his palms flat against the tabletop, he slowly leaned over it until he was mere inches from her face. Speaking in a soft, deadly voice, he asked, "Is that how you think I see you? As some sort of stray I'm stuck with?"

If she could have sucked the words from the air, she would have. Carmine's cheeks got hot when she amended, "Well, no, I think we're friends, but…"

"But what?"

"But… But I think you feel obligated to take care of people, and I don't want that to be the only reason you… you know, with me."

It was a bitter irony that she now understood how he must have felt the first time she fed from him. The idea that he might only be enduring their intimate moments when they were what she lived for was too painful to bear.

It wasn't just physical. It wasn't just biology. It was connection. Intimacy. Something she only ever wanted to share with him, and memories she'd cherish for the rest of her life.

But if they meant little to him, if he only touched her and let her feed because he felt he had to… All of it would be tainted.

Her muscles bunched as fight or flight instincts screamed. Humiliation was a million mean little bugs crawling all over her skin. She wished they were real and that they'd pick the flesh from her bones already. Anything was better than hearing the dull thunk of his bottle hitting the table top, or the way he grabbed her hand and began to drag her out of the arcade.

Carmine stumbled after him, still a little clumsy in her new tennis shoes. The flashing lights of the arcade were a blur to her watery eyes. That was probably why it took her a while to realize they weren't headed for the door.

Atticus took a sharp right and dragged her down a hallway she'd seen people loitering around all night. Without saying a word, he pulled her into a room full of— pods?

She blinked, totally lost, as he angrily poked at a screen on the outside of the nearest one. The door to the pod opened with a musical chime, revealing another big screen and a bench. She barely had time to read the glowing words " photo booth" above the door before she'd been dragged inside.

It was outrageously bright inside, but that was only an issue for her sensitive eyes for a moment, because no sooner had the door closed than Atticus was pressing her against it, his big body blocking out everything else.

Rough hands cupped her cheeks and tilted her head back. He kicked the inside of her foot, spreading her legs, and filled the gap with one of his thighs. In what felt like a second, everything she saw, felt, and breathed was him.

"Atticus, what?—"

"It was Atty earlier," he rumbled, expression cut so fierce it made a shock of something potent run down her spine. Fear, maybe, but also an arousal so deep and base, it came from some distant animal relative. "I want you to call me Atty. Loved ones call me Atty."

Loved ones?

"Okay," she wheezed, not following his train of thought. That didn't seem important compared to what they'd just been talking about.

"And I want you to know something else."

"What?"

His thumbs curved over her cheekbones as he dipped his head, bringing them so close that their breath mingled. "Not for one fucking second has this been about babysitting you. You think I would let just anyone bite me? You think I'd be out of my mind for a woman I felt obligated to take care of? You think I'd count down the minutes until I can lick your pussy again every fucking day if I didn't want you? All of you?"

Carmine's eyes went wide. "But you haven't said anything. You— you don't feed from me. You've never made any claim." And Atticus was nothing if not direct. If he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, wouldn't he have at least hinted that was the case?

A look of intense incredulousness crossed his face. "Doll, did you really not realize we've been dating this whole time?"

"Atty," she squeaked, "how am I supposed to know we're dating if I've never done it before? I was told to expect that when a man wants me, he'll take me. Feed from me. Claim me so no one else does. You… haven't."

He made the funniest garbled sound before choking out, "I thought you knew. I was waiting for you to tell me when you were ready, so you didn't feel obligated." Pain tightened the skin around his eyes. "Is that why you've been pulling away from me? I thought you'd changed your mind. I thought maybe you didn't want me anymore, that maybe now that you were getting your feet under you, you'd decided you didn't?—"

"Want you?" She sucked in an incredulous breath. "I can't breathe when we're apart, and I need your smiles, and I can't drink any more synth, and I never even wanted a bite before, but when I think about you— Atty, I never even let myself dream of feeling an ounce of the happiness I feel when I'm with?—"

The kiss was jarring, bone-rattling, all fang and tongue and the press of his hard body into hers. Atticus kissed her like he wanted to devour her, and Carmine kissed him like she wanted to be devoured. Her confession died in her throat. Whatever words she might have spoken were pressed into his lips and tangled around his seeking tongue.

I love you, she told him. I want you. You're mine. Let me be yours.