Alister
The phone connects, and Rubecca's sleepy voice filters through the speaker. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Alister. We need to talk." I answer, leaning against the wall of the diner. The gas station's neon lights flicker overhead, casting a sickly green glow across the dirt. There's no one around, just the distant hum of a semi-truck engine somewhere down the empty road and the occasional rustle of wind against the old, faded signs of the general store.
There's a brief pause on the other end before Rubecca sighs. "Alister? What time is it?"
"Late," I reply. "Doesn't matter. We have everything now. It's time for the ritual."
That wakes her up. I hear rustling, the faint creak of a bed. "You got all of them?"
"Yeah," I say, glancing at my car parked at a distance. The lot's empty—nothing but a few random cars here and there, probably belonging to the workers here, and that old gas pump with its cracked display screen.
"And you don't want to wait till it's daytime?"
"No."
Rubecca exhales. "Alright." I hear her moving around, probably getting dressed. "I'll get Reeze. We'll prepare for the ritual. It'll take some time, but I'll send you the location soon. Get here as soon as you can."
"Got it."
The call disconnects, and I lower the phone. Taking a sip of my lukewarm tea.
Walking back to the entrance of the diner, I spot our group through the grimy windows.
Steph is happily stuffing her bandaged face with pecan pies. Simon is sipping on a milkshake and talking to whoever wants to listen. While Zach closes his eyes as he stirs a 6th pack of sugar into his coffee. He looks like he's waiting for the painkillers to kick in. His wound is completely healed thanks to the healer's goblet, and I cursed myself for staying unconscious during that process because the others described him letting out bloodcurdling screams in pain. I wanted to see that spectacle. Apparently, I actually had become the dead weight I was teased to be. As if waking up to everything being over and all of us safe and sound wasn't enough, Leora took great pleasure in berating me about my weakness and how pathetic I was. Granted I do feel a whole lot better now physically, but mentally, I just want to kill someone right now to pull myself back together.
But I'm sure a certain someone wouldn't approve of my blind killing. And that someone, along with the kid aren't in the booth.
"Where's Clara?" I mumble to the side, but as expected, get no answer.
One good thing that came out of me reaching my limits was that Leora not having the strength to take over. Energy is shared by the both of us, and if I use up all of it, she has nothing left. Regardless, she has been quiet. Not sure if that's a good thing or not, but I can't let go of the feeling she's plotting something. Again.
Simon catches my eyes and points to the back of the diner.
I make my way around the building, my footsteps crunching against the gravel. That's when I spot her.
She's sitting on a bench, leaning against the diner's wall. It's as if even in stillness she possesses some quiet command over the night. She changed into a short indigo dress after getting rid of the torn clothes. We all did. Long-sleeved and laced crew neckline stretched just enough to accentuate her collarbone, revealing the gem on her chest.
Then she looks at me.
Every glimmer of the night sky collapses into her eyes. Tiny constellations reflected in the oceanic calm that hides every storm she's survived. I envy the wind as it toys with her hair, short now, thanks to Everley. Zach had cleaned it up afterward, leaving her with a wavy bob that, objectively, suited her. She looks way prettier with it.
She turns to Micah, who's practically glued beside her, and speaks to him. I see the boy reluctantly nod and hop off the bench. A pack of chips and a toy car that Zach got him, clutched in his hands. The kid tries not to look at me as he passes by me back to the diner's entrance.
The boy did not stop crying in the car, wanting to go back to his parents. None of my logical excuses were working this time, as telling the truth that they're dead would just make it worse. As for where he would be staying, it's one of Stephanie's places where her brother used to live.
Unsurprisingly, none of us, except Zach and Clara, can handle troublesome kids. Especially not Steph, who suggested letting Micah cry his heart out in the trunk.
Clara was the only one he wanted to be held by. She managed to quiet him down after humming while rubbing his back. And she was smug about it. Like she'd just proved she was better than the rest of us at something crucial.
"I told you not to come to me until you've finished your meal." She says, even as she scoots away, giving me space to sit. Space, that I can do without at the moment.
"Stop talking to me like I'm a child." I answer as I settle down. It's impossible for me to eat three whole dishes of pie in a short time, no matter how much strength I need right now.
"Then stop acting like one." She glances at me, bored. "I'm really going to leave you on the road the next time you faint."
I sigh, leaning back to the wall as my eyes drift to the tight hold on her book I made corrections in. "I take it you finally read it?"
"Yes." Her nose scrunches as she faces me. "My story didn't need your corrections." she says. "It was fine the way it was. I don't think your notes were necessary."
She's quiet for awhile and stares down at the pages.
"Back underground..." I'm not sure what compels me to ask. But it's been on my mind ever since she said it. "You said you can't shut it off like me. That you can't help feeling things."
"That wasn't a compliment to you, by the way. I wasn't saying you're better than me." She mutters as she toys with the edge of the gauze around her injured fingers. The sight of it always makes me angry. At Everley, at Clara for doing this to herself. And at me for being so late.
But more than that, it's fascination with this beautiful, volatile, and brilliant creature who never ceases to amaze me with her inner strength and willpower. She's like a book with torn pages. Incomplete. Yet still… I want to read every line.
"But," I continue, ignoring her little jab. "you didn't waver when your father said those things to you." My voice drops. "When did you become numb to all of that?"
Her fingers still. "That's just... how it always was." She says calmly. "You keep hitting a rock long enough, it smooths out. Gets used to the impact." Her eyes remain on her hands, thumbs gently rubbing over each other.
A bitter smile flickers across her face. "Those words," she says. "The way he talks to me. I've heard them since I was little. And the older I got, the deeper they sank. It became...home."
Her jaw tightens. "So I adapted. That's what you do when you can't change it."
She's silent for a moment, eyes drifting toward the horizon like she's searching for the right words among the trees and sky. "I don't know when it started. But after spending time with you... and the others... something started to shift, and it felt like waking up from a dream."
She exhales, the kind of breath people take when they're tired of lying to themselves.
"With you..." She pauses, glancing at me sideways, then looking away again quickly. "It felt like freedom. And acceptance. I didn't feel broken, and I just..." she trails off, voice softening to almost a whisper. "I just wanted more of it."
I can feel her words settling somewhere deep in that quiet, hollow part of me. I'm glad Leora isn't saying anything because if she was, she'd be taunting me for this.
Clara talks about pain like it's something you can live with, like it just becomes another piece of you if you give it enough time. I almost laugh. That's the kind of thing only someone who's still capable of feeling would say.
I used to think that was pathetic. Weak. The kind of softness that gets you stepped on. Turns out, it's the opposite. It takes a different kind of strength to keep feeling after the world teaches you not to.
"That's a really sad way to see yourself," I say quietly. "Especially when you're the strongest person I know."
Her brow arches at that.
"Mentally," I clarify, giving her a look. "Physically, you'd probably fall over trying to punch me."
"I have punched you, though." She says blankly. "I've even kicked you, and—"
"Yes, well, as I was saying." I continue, clearing my throat. "I used to think the only way one can survive is by keeping it buried until nothing could touch you."
I glance at her, just long enough to catch the faint tremor in her hands. "But you… you let yourself feel it all, and somehow it doesn't break you. It shapes you."
My gaze drifts back to the dirt beneath my boots. "Maybe that's...what I envy. You survive without turning to stone. I only learned how to stop bleeding." I falter, groaning under my breath and rubbing a hand down my face. "Please take over this conversation."
She giggles and scoots closer to me. "No. I can see how torturous this is for you, and I'm going to enjoy every second of it."
"...You're cruel."
"You're cute," she counters with a teasing smile. "Keep going."
My gaze drops to my pocket, and I latch onto the first distraction I can find. "Right." I sit up straight, pulling something out. "Almost forgot about this." I hold her heart-shaped locket between us.
Her eyes soften as she takes it from me.
"It was a gift from an old lover." she says casually, not even looking up.
I immediately regret every second I spent tucking it safely away and keeping it on me like some kind of idiot.
"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath, gritting my teeth.
Her lips twitch as she glances up, clearly pleased with herself. "I'm just kidding. I don't know who gave it to me, but it's precious."
She hands it back, then shifts in place, settling with her back to me.
"Put it on for me, will you?" she says airily, lifting her hair and baring the back of her neck. It's the way her posture subtly shifts. Like a silent invitation.
How eager.
As satisfying as that would be—for both of us—I have other plans. I've never been one to play by her script. And if there's one thing I love more than surrendering to her, it's watching her unravel when I don't give her what she wants. Does she think I'm that easy?
"Done," I say smoothly after finishing, sitting back.
She turns slowly to face me. Her eyes narrow, lips pressed together. Annoyed. Frustrated. The heat in her gaze is almost accusing. Like she doesn't know whether she wants to kiss me or break my head.
Perfect.
"Something wrong?" I ask, taking a sip of my now cold tea. "Don't tell me you expected... something else perhaps?"
Her eyes flash. "Why would I expect anything from you?" she says bitterly.
I shrug lightly. "Well, if you do, just ask. I did say you can ask me whatever you want, remember?"
Clara stares at the ground, face flushing beautifully, just like when I first said those words to her, urging the creep inside her to show itself. "Actually, there is something I wanted to ask."
She rises from the bench, hands clasped behind her back. She stares out into the distance, not looking at anything in particular, just away, like the weight of what she's about to say needs a horizon.
"Now that I'm free from… everything." She says. "I've had time to think. About my future. About what I want. There's so much I've never done, never tried. Things I want to feel. Experience."
She pauses. "But there's always going to be this dark cloud hanging over everything. Especially now. After what we did at the underground facility…"
She trails off. I don't need her to finish. As much as I've been trying to keep my focus on the gems, on Leora, we both know it's only a matter of time before the people we crossed come looking for blood. They'll find us and won't stop until we're dead.
"We broke the promise we made to Crystal." She says. "Her warning about the streets comes around this time, and she can sense her surroundings through those papers." Clara spreads her arms. "And there's no paper here yet. And I have a feeling the next one we get won't be...reassuring."
Right...I completely forgot about her, which is very unbecoming of me. The promise that we won't stir up trouble in return for her and her mistress's protection while not spying on us or what we're doing.
"She knows our identities. And where we live. Once she realizes what we did, she's going to rat us out. She already made it clear her loyalty lies with her people, and helping us is just a favor she's doing for someone. It's really only a matter of time." Clara says, biting into her other thumbnail.
"It'll be fine." I assure her. "I have that matter under control."
From the moment we met Crystal, it was clear she'd one day turn against us or find out about us. While admittedly, I didn't expect that moment to approach so soon, as long as I have contact with her, things will be fine.
Afterall, I need that woman to get to the person who I owe a favor to. Or...if I'm being specific, the mole in their organization. Whatever their goal is, they need our help and we really have no choice but to comply.
I'm not a big fan of not having choices. That, I intend to make clear.
She then turns to face me, with sharp eyes. "I need you to teach me how to get stronger."
My heart stutters for a moment. There's something electric about hearing that from her. "Why?" I ask, a crooked smile tugging at my lips. "Who are you planning to destroy?"
I can see it in her eyes now, that gleam. The same look she wore when she shot Alexander and when she blew off Everley's finger.
Bloodthirst.
If I weren't as level-headed as I am, and debatably sane, I'd already be on my knees.
"The organization. They won't leave us alone, and we can't keep running and hiding forever. We can't wake up everyday, with fear of being caught or killed. If it's a fight they want, then we'll face them. We took down a whole base, Alister. We could take them on if we want and even save all the people they're torturing. Starting with Valerie Hilton."
I think for a second. "Lev's previous owner?"
"I want her head."
I blink. "What?"
"I want that woman dead. And I want her head. To avenge Lev."
I open my mouth to argue. To say that Valerie didn't kill him. That she only abused him. But I realize it doesn't matter.
Because this isn't about Lev alone. I've watched Clara do this over and over. Latching onto captives, victims, the broken ones. She sees herself in them. She projects her own pain, her old life, and then tries to rewrite their stories the way she wishes she could've rewritten hers.
That's the real reason for all this.
I lean forward slowly, watching the storm rise behind her eyes. "So you want me to help you save those victims?" I ask. "Play the role of a noble, heroic savior?"
She shakes her head. "No. I'll do that. You can… handle the messy parts."
My grin spreads before I can stop it, wide and unrepentant. I'm suddenly reminded of her journal, where she wrote herself as a heroine and me, the bad guy. She's developing a complex, and I'm not sure if I want to stop it or see it through to the end.
"So what I'm hearing," I stand up, close the distance, letting my shadow swallow her. I lean into her ear, making her breath hitch and face turn scarlet. "Is that you want to make your little fantasies a reality where we protect the people you care about and hunt down this secret criminal organization, putting ourselves in danger so you could save the innocent victims," My hands move before she can speak, sliding around her waist, fingers tracing the curve of her body through the thin fabric. "While giving me full permission to spill as much blood as I want of the people who don't deserve a clean death."
I feel the shiver that runs through her spine when I pull her closer until I feel every part of her down to the gun strapped to her thigh. "…and you're going to stand by me through everything?"
"Don't...say it like that." She tries to speak as her eyes go half-lidded and fixed on my lips. Her hand rises almost unconsciously, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt.
"But that's what you actually want." I smirk. Every breath she takes, every slight movement, makes my skin burn, makes the space between us feel like it's becoming unbearable.
Instead of answering, she crashes her lips into mine, fierce and desperate, causing everything inside me to detonate.
I've imagined this moment countless times in the hidden corners of my mind I never dared explore. Every rehearsal has been a pale imitation of this. The instant her lips part, letting me taste her, everything I thought I knew about desire collapses. The faint bitterness of coffee clings to her mouth. An intoxicating flavor promising to haunt me for the rest of my life.
I lift one hand to the back of her head, letting it tangle in her silky hair, needing more of her than I'll ever admit out loud. I kiss her harder, like I'm trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, to claim something I've already lost a hundred times in my head. Her fingers twist around my neck, pulling me closer. But the moment I feel her other hand slip under my shirt and on my torso, I almost lose my mind. I knew if I had her once, I'd always want her.
She's like a drug. Pure and absolute.
She's in my head, in my bloodstream, in every corner of me I thought was untouchable. Nothing could prepare me for the hunger she ignites in me, the unrelenting need to consume her.
"HEY!"
The voice cuts through the tension like a knife.
Clara and I rip apart, stumbling back, breathless with burning faces. Both of us pretending, desperately, that nothing just happened. She's trying to calm herself, straighten her posture, smooth the heat from her cheeks, but her blush betrays her.
Simon comes into view, walking upto us, eyes squeezed shut, hands held up like some kind of awkward shield. It just furthers the embarrassment.
I throw my hands up. "If you were gonna come out here shouting like that, why the heck are you covering your eyes?!"
"Um..." he hesitates. "Steph told me to, saying you wouldn't be in your clothes."
"How shameless do you think we are!" I yell. Although, I realize I might be only talking about me, since Clara's frown deepens. Like that was actually her plan all along. In that case, I need to thank Simon instead. I clear my throat, making a mental note to dump Steph's body on the road when she sleeps. "Anyways, what is it?"
Simon blinks at us both, still unsure of how to respond. "Right, uh, everyone's done with the food. It's time to go."
I nod. "Alright, start the car."
"Make sure Micah has finished his drink." Clara calls out as Simon begins to leave. "And take him to the bathroom before we leave."
He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. "He's refusing to go with anyone unless it's you."
Clara sighs as Simon sprints away before she can say anything else.
As we walk silently with an air of awkwardness, I glance at her, and there it is—the unmistakable irritated pout on her lips that only makes her look cute. She's also breathing way too hard even though the kiss was only for a few seconds.
I should get that checked out after the ritual.