Page 74 of Awry
He just nods at that, stepping close enough that the rain running off him is dripping onto me.I allow my head to fall back again, but I’m not looking at the sky this time.I’m looking at him.
Rath.
Do I know him?Have I forgotten him as well?
He feels … he feels as if he’s … mine.
No.No one belongs to me.
While I belong to everyone and to no one person.
I open my mouth to ask him what beast he shifts into, because he’s freaking huge in human form.I open my mouth to … flirt?To tease?To invite him to carry me back to the house, strip off my wet clothing, and fill me up in a hot shower?Make me less … hollow.
Make me … whole?
I close my mouth.
“At least try to get some sleep, Zaya,” he says, still all gentle.
I nod, giving in.I’m maybe functioning enough for the walk to the house, but I’m not strong enough — nor am I equipped — to deal with the bodies and the implications of their deaths.
I move to step away.Then I remember what Grinder said.“Mack was digging?With his hands?”
Rath points toward the fence.“Shovel.”
It’s too dark for me to distinguish the tool from the wrought iron I presume it’s leaning against.
“I should know … I should know what he was looking for.”
“Or burying,” Rath mutters.“Do you … do you want me to keep digging?”
“No,” I say, abruptly blunt and harsh, even though I have no idea what secret I’m trying to protect.What could be buried in the graveyard at all?
I catch the tension that runs through Rath.It scrubs away that gentleness I felt from him.
I turn away, reminding myself it’s better this way.I’m only reacting oddly — in my head at least — because I’m cold and tired and vulnerable.Rath Guerra is not the right partner to add to my revolving roster of hookups.Assuming he’s even interested.For one thing, I’m planning to stay.I’m not actually certain how long I can be off the property now.With everything changed.And I never live anywhere near my occasional lovers.
Yeah, ‘lovers’ isn’t the correct term.That implies … more.And I don’t have more to give, not on such a personal level.I don’t really like being skin-to-skin with many people, not for extended periods.Most people find my energy off-putting.And I’m just not equipped to … be intimate, body or soul.
Still, I occasionally give it a try.
I make it to the gate before an echo of the conversation comes back to me.I turn around, noting that Rath is following but keeping back from me, perhaps making certain that I’m staying on my feet.“What did you mean, ‘I always hated it in here’ ?”
“Seems obvious,” he says, all stiff-voiced again.
“You’ve been here before, then?”I ask.“When?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Is … one of your ancestors interred here?Are we … related somehow?”
The related thing would explain a lot of what —
“No,” Rath says sharply, as if I’ve forced him to speak.
I wait a moment, allowing him space to elaborate.He’s more than hinted that he knows me, or knows of me, hasn’t he?And he certainly acts like it.His anger and frustration with me feels … intimate.
His fingers curl into fists, but he doesn’t offer any explanation.
