4. Adella

4

ADELLA

“ G ah,” I yelp, instinctively throwing my hands up.

It’s not dignified or brave and certainly not my intention. I jerk back, heart in my throat, and cold sweat covering me. I thrust my hand into the purse and fumble pulling the gun. It slips from my hand, remaining useless in my purse.

“Ads, it’s me,” Jax says, stepping around the corner.

There is a new cut on his left cheek. A ragged looking gash but the blood that comes from it isn’t red. It’s blue.

Blue?

My knees are suddenly weak as I stumble back and away. I blink rapidly, my head spinning, and the world looking gray. I raise my hands to keep him back, but it’s Jax. What am I doing?

“No…” I trail off not sure what I’m denying or trying to stop from happening.

He touches the wound on his cheek then holds his two fingers up in front of his face and frowns. His lips, soft beautiful lips, lips no man should be allowed to have, and I know only too well what a fantastic kisser he is, purse. He looks over his shoulder then back to me.

“Not now, Ads,” he says. “I have to get you safe first. Then I’ll explain. Right now, I need you to trust me.”

Soundless I point at the wound on his cheek with a trembling hand.

“You…”

Some part of me is still rational even if the part of my brain running my mouth has apparently become a babbling idiot. That rational voice is buried in the swirling confusion and chaos that the world has become, but it’s me too. My thoughts are broken, barely fully formed concepts.

His blood is blue. A shadow hurt him. Some dark thing is attacking him.

And let’s not forget he was wielding a what, an electric sword? What the hell is this? Is he like some weird kind of Jedi or something?

I snort, shake my head, and babble more words that don’t make sense. He frowns deeply, takes my hand, and drags me back down the way I had just come.

“They don’t know where you live… yet,” he says, adding the last word after a pause. “It should give us enough time.”

“Time?” I ask.

He doesn’t respond, only pulling me along with him. He staggers a couple of times as we make our way back down the block. The dark stain on the back of his shirt is bigger and the wound on his cheek is dripping blood.

Blue blood.

He pulls me inside my small house and guides me to the couch. I plop down and he rushes around closing all the curtains and turning out all the lights leaving only one small nightlight in the hallway I keep on in case I need the bathroom during the night.

Once he is done with all of that he kneels in front of me and takes my hands in his. He meets my eyes and it feels, for a moment, that there hasn’t been any of the intervening years. It’s us. We fit together so naturally exactly the way we always were before. So comfortable with each other. As if we just belong.

“Ads, there’s so much to tell you,” he says, shaking his head which causes little droplets of blue blood to fling around the room. Some of them land on the skin of my arm and I dart my eyes over to stare at them.

“You’re hurt,” I say.

A feeling of numbness spreads out of my core and is hitting my brain. The numbness helps because the confusion is swirling chaos. This freezes all that into place and leaves me able to act, if slowly. I push him back far enough that I can stand up.

“It’s fine, for now,” he says.

“No,” I answer, moving past him to my bathroom. He follows me down the hall and watches as I get out my first aid kit and some alcohol and peroxide. “Sit.”

I point at the toilet and he obediently takes a seat. I open the kit and set to cleaning the wound on his face. He grimaces as I dab it clean with a cotton ball soaked in peroxide. It’s jagged and long, but not too deep. I fix a cotton bandage over it with some tape, working methodically and silent.

“Ads, I’m sorry you’re involved in this. It’s why I left,” he says as I finish that bandage.

“Shirt. Off,” I command.

He obeys, grimacing as he pulls it over his head and grunting with pain.

Damn. He’s every bit as fit and incredible as he was before.

I become self-conscious on how much I’ve changed in the intervening years. While he’s apparently maintained a rugged workout, the only workout I’ve engaged in is eating eclairs.

I push that aside. He’s hurt and the world has gone crazy. My extra padding isn’t the topic of conversation that needs to be happening right now. He’s been gone ten freaking years. Let’s start with that. After I handle the wounds, though.

I pull on his legs and he turns so I can see the wound. On his back there are angry round welts that look for all the world like sucker marks. There are four of them and inside of each one it looks like something bit him, tearing at the flesh. Bile rises in my throat as I stare at the wounds each of which is leaking dark blue blood.

“This will hurt,” I murmur.

He grunts and I don’t give him any more warning before pouring peroxide over the wounds. It bubbles on contact as he hisses in pain. I grab a washcloth and soak it with the last of the peroxide using it to clean all around the wounds.

I bind each one individually with gauze pads and tape. He needs a doctor who can do stitches but this should at least slow the bleeding. Finishing the last one I sit back on my haunches staring at the bandages. I can’t bring myself to look at him. If I look into his eyes I’ll lose myself. I know it.

He hooks a hand behind my neck and gently pulls me closer. I feel like I should resist, but I don’t. He rests his head on top of mine and kisses through my hair. We sit for a long time like this. Silent, too many words to say so instead we say nothing.

“You left me,” I say, choking on the words as all the emotions surge at once. Tears slip free. I can’t hold them back.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

I sob, trying to keep it down, but this is all too much. He’s back, all these years later, and though I’ve dreamed of this day, I never in all my life dreamed it would be like this.

“Why?”

“There’s so much…” he trails off.

His hand slides around my head to cup my chin. He lifts my face until I’m staring up at him and meeting his bright eyes. And he kisses me.