Page 70 of Feathers From the Sky

“Speak for yourself,” she says.

“You have the nose of a bloodhound now, baby. You can’t lie and tell me—”

“Whatever. What’s number two?”

My smile at her sass fades quickly. “We found the people responsible for Remy’s death—and they would’ve been responsible for hurting you too if they had a chance.” She goes limp, and I let her slide down to the ground once I reach the top of the stairs. “I think I ought to fill you in.”

“Why does everyone want to hurt me?” Gwyn presses her palms to my chest, resting her forehead against me. She breathes deep as if she’s trying to keep herself from crying. “And third?”

“Well, number three involves banging it out.”

She balls up one of her hands into a fist, slamming it against me, but there’s laughter in those haunting, tear-wet eyes as she looks up at me. “Pig.”

I scoop her up into my arms, making a beeline to the master bathroom, and I do my best to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping over me. At least we’ve got a few days to plan. I’m going to need every minute to figure out how the fuck I’m going to handle this mess.

25

GWYN

“Didyou always struggle to sleep? Before the accident?” Roman asks, and I’m surprised he’s still awake. Though I can’t tell because of dark curtains, I know it’s approaching dawn. There are too many things on my mind, and I can’t shut it off. Between the transition, the need which comes with it, and all the things Roman has explained since, the last few days have been earth-shattering. The screenshot Margot took of the surveillance footage, the grainy image of an examination table clear, has haunted me. Because of that and the demands of my body, I don’t know up from down anymore. I need to shower again, and the fact I’m not sore is confusing. I should ache, but I don’t. A perk of a vampire body, I suppose, but it feels like a violation.

It’s the first discomfort I’ve missed, but I’m sure it won’t be the last.

The thirst isn’t what I expected either. Roman truly meantconstantwhen he said it. There is no relief. Even drinking from him only soothes the edges of it, sanding it down to bearable. Roman hasn’t allowed me to go long enough between drinking to feel the worst of it. But I’m sure he will one day, just to make certain I can handle it. I dread that day.

I don’t answer his question. “Do I even need to sleep anymore, or is it just habit?”

He doesn’t touch me, but I notice the infinitesimal shift in the air, the slight shudder to the bed I’m sharing with him. His hand moved as if he wanted to touch me, but then he thought better of it. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not. “We still need to sleep. Maybe not as long, but we still need it.”

I sigh, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling fan as it spins above us. “I’ve always struggled to sleep, but it got worse when they died.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and just when I think he’s fallen asleep, he speaks. His voice is a low rumble in the dark. “Remy was a light sleeper when we were growing up, got worse after Mom died, but he barely slept at all while he was, uh, getting into trouble.”

I know from reading the journal what he speaks of. The details are a little fuzzy about why his brother’s addiction started, but I know Roman’s part in it. I recognize the worry and fear he must have felt when he didn’t know where or what Remy was doing. The duty Roman must have felt once he finally found him is clear in Remy’s written disdain. I know the rage which flooded through Roman’s veins when he found the vial of demon blood Remy had smuggled into the compound. I can understand the helplessness which caused him to bring it to Bjorn, hoping to help his brother. And I felt the betrayal when Remy wrote about what happened next.

“What’s so special about demon blood?” I ask.

“Tastes like shit, makes you high,” he grunts out.

“Didn’t my blood make you high?”

“Not like demon blood, no. Demon blood makes you stronger, makes you feel invincible, makes vampires dangerous. Remy hallucinated shit after Rose—” Roman stops himself, rolling onto his side to look at me. Though it’s dark in the room, with my improved vision, I can see the snake curling up over his arm and the raven on his chest. I’m reminded of not too many hours ago when I’d traced the path of the serpent with my tongue as I’d moved on top of him. I lick my lips when I think about how I’d bitten that soft skin over his ribs and drank his blood. His eyes flash; I’m not sure if it’s something I can only notice now because of my better sight, or if they’ve always glowed. Like a predator in the dark, it’s not as unsettling as it ought to be. Perhaps I’ve grown used to him. Perhaps it’s his blood which slakes this god-awful thirst that has made me comfortable in his presence. “I haven’t read through the journal yet,” Roman says, sounding exhausted, “but did he talk about what happened with Rose?”

“Not really.” All Remy had written about her was how much he’d missed the woman. I’d known there was more to it, but I’d found few answers in the journal.

“Rose and Remy were absolutely fucking horrid for each other. She was the one who turned him onto demon blood. They were fools.” Roman swallows as he flops onto his back. I’ve never seen him restless before; every action I’ve held witness to has been carefully calculated. But his guard has come down around me in the days since he’s turned me. His hands rest on his belly, and I am so tempted to provide comfort with my touch. I dismiss the impulsive thought. “Before she was turned, Rose had a daughter—Kayla was her name. Rose didn’t have custody of her for a while, but Kayla’s dad got a temporary contract overseas—about six years ago now? He decided leaving her in the United States was better for her.” Roman smiles, closing his eyes as he exhales a laugh. “The minute Remy met her, at all of ten years old, Kayla had my brother wrapped around her little finger. He immediately stopped using, and he got Rose clean too. He started working for me, doing some filing with all the projects I was working on, and my dad hired Rose as a maid at the compound.” Roman grunts, flipping onto his side to face me. His tone turns pleading. “They were good for a while, Gwyn.Reallygood for about a year.” Earnest, Roman needs me to see his brother tried. That Remy did the work and made a life for himself. I’d seen hints of it in the words I’d read, but that life was a ghost by the time he wrote it all out.

“But she died, didn’t she? Rose?”

“Overdosed on demon blood. Didn’t even know you could do that. They always warn you about acting stupid, doing things that will get you hurt beyond our healing abilities. Fuck, maybe the shit she got was bad and had silver in it for all I know. But Remy came home one night from working with me and found her.” His voice has softened, gentle in the early morning quiet. Tenderness on Roman is foreign, and I stop breathing when I think about how he’s shown me so much of it the last few days.

Roman is like this with those he loves. I close my eyes, thinking about the words he’d said before he turned me. I obsess over the indecision I’d had when I didn’t want to drink from him. He hasn’t said anything definitive; he probably doesn’t even realize how he’s treated me. I’d wanted this. I’d done what I could to manipulate him into caring. And now I’ve succeeded. Now he treats me differently. Hearing him speak of his brother in the same hushed tones he’s used to comfort me lights a small kernel of hope in my chest.

I should extinguish it now before it’s too late.

“Margot beat me there, and she took Kayla to her grandparent’s house before the girl even knew what happened. Her dad flew in a day or so later, and Remy never saw Kayla again. To lose them both was too much on his relatively new sobriety, and, well, his journal probably details the rest of it pretty well, I’d guess.” Roman swallows, putting an arm under his pillow as he watches me.

“He was pretty angry with you when you first found him,” I admit.

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