Page 31 of The Tracker's Revenge
“Of course it’s my fault.”
“No. As callous as it may sound, he’s also to blame.”
I pulled away and glared at him. Was he crazy?! How could he blame Cupid? He’d been a helpless little creature, and I’d failed to take care of him.
He laid a hand on my cheek. “He created rhabo, Toni.”
Oh, God!
I scrunched up my face and cried more fiercely, balling Jake’s shirt in my hands. My reaction was hysterical, I knew it, but I couldn’t help it. It was all too much, and it all seemed to hit me at once as if I’d been holding up a dam, and it’d finally cracked open.
Damien was dead.
Cupid was dead.
My business was going to shit.
My city was going to shit.
And, on top of that, we had to watch our backs, worry about being murdered by Bernadetta and Stephen’s minions, including an uncertain number of hybrids and a Midnight Witch.
“It’ll be okay,” Jake crooned, hugging me and rocking from side to side. “Shh, everything will go back to normal. We’re rid of the dagger, and all the alphas are finally in agreement. We will get rhabo off the streets and fight whatever they throw at us. They won’t get away with this.”
Jake held me, whispering comforting words until my tears stopped. I hadn’t been able to mourn Damien, and it had finally caught up with me. Stepping back, he peered into my face, his expression tender and full of love. He smoothed my hair, pushing away a few strands that had stuck to my cheek.
I wanted to kiss him, find comfort in the warmth of his lips, in the silk-soft brush of that tender caress, but I knew he wouldn’t kiss me back, and that broke my heart a little more. I understood and respected his decision, but I still needed him so badly. Sniffling, I pushed away from him, breaking free from the circle of his strong arms.
“We have to bury him,” I said.
Jake’s shoulders sank, and it was clear by his mortified expression that he thought the stress had finally unhinged my brain. I was too tired to clarify things, so I stepped up to Cupid’s bowl and let my actions speak for themselves. From a kitchen drawer, I pulled out an aquarium net and scooped Cupid’s limp little body out of the murky water.
“Oh,” Jake said behind me, finally understanding.
Cupid’s once beautiful blue fins and tail were colorless and slack. His beady black eyes were cloudy and void of life. From another drawer stashed with sweets, I pulled out a box of Milk Duds, dumped out the candy on the counter, and deposited Cupid inside with the utmost care.
Jake pressed a hand to my shoulder. “We’ll find a good place for him.”
There was no mockery in his tone, and he didn’t try to tell me not to be silly or that he would get me another fish. I loved him for that, for understanding that care isn’t measured by the size of the recipient or by what others may consider deserved or befitting, that love is a personal thing, calculated by the beholder and guided by no rules.
I carried the box in both hands, careful not to jostle it. Jake opened the front door and followed me outside, raising no objections to our safety or the late hour. When I got in my Camaro, he only asked, “Where to?” and drove.
Ten minutes later, we pulled up to Mom’s house. All lights were off, except for a solitary porch light. I imagined her and my sister, Lucia, sleeping placidly on their beds.
This was home, the only place that had felt right for Cupid since some of our earlier pets were buried there. My condo still felt new and somehow temporary. Besides, a flower bed on the side of the building, surrounded by concrete and overlooked by a busy street, didn’t seem enough for him. This was a much better place.
We found a spot in the back of the house where supple, dark soil hosted thick ferns. Jake dug a hole with his bare hand and stepped aside. I knelt on the grass, gently placed the box in, then brushed dirt over the hole to cover it. I stood, dusting my hands.
“He died because I wasn’t there,” I said. “Because circumstances kept me away. He was good. Quiet and aloof, but that was his nature. He shouldn’t have died, shouldn’t have left us. I wish he was still here.”
“We will avenge him,” Jake said.
At some point, I had stopped talking about Cupid and thought only of Damien, and Jake knew it. I glanced up at him. His face was bathed in moonlight, the golden-brown stubble on his jaw shining with it, his eyes intense and full of intent.
I nodded once, glad he felt as I did, even if he hadn’t known Damien well. “We will,” I repeated. “We will.”
