Page 14 of Red

The butcher, a wide man with short, light hair, hands over the packages and gives me a warm smile. I’ve been here enough times for him to recognize me, even though the last time was over a year ago. When the salmon-colored paper-wrapped packages fill the entire basket, Stark’s hand slides next to mine on the thin metal handle of the cart as he takes it. That strange tingling sensation flutters along the outside of my hand.

We reach the checkout and Stark starts to unload the basket on the belt. He’s distracted with the grocer, so I duck low and move toward the unopened checkout behind him. Exiting the store I look down, my hand looks the same. I do not need weird sensations on top of the ones I already experience.

Chapter 7

The shopping district in the center of the Toridge territory isn’t huge, flanked by trees tucked away in the northern Ontario woods. Across the parking lot is a restaurant I’ve never eaten at, and a coffee shop sits next to it. I come up to Stark’s pickup truck, which is modified to manage for the height needs, like pretty much everyone else’s. The bottom of the door lines up with my waist. I reach up for the handle to climb, and a sharp pain flares along my side.

“You bitch.”

My ribs scream from another hit.

Fuck.

I try to twist to see who it is, but get slammed into the truck door. Blood pools in my mouth.

“Humans don’t belong here.”

It’s a different man’s voice this time, and rage wreaks through me.

I dealt with the comments and the pranks before I left school, but never this.

A kick buckles my knees, and the cold from the door strikes my head on the way down. I want to kill them, rip their throats out and laugh, but my hands just claw into the rough pavement below me as they kick my side and fire erupts inside me instead.

A tear rolls down my cheek. Pratt has always been here to help calm me.

I hold on, trying to take myself somewhere else—an ice-cold lake—but my face digs into the sharp-edged rocks while the kicks continue. I can’t . . . I can’t cool down. I’m on fire.

I scream as the thermal pain inside is substantially worse than the bones breaking.

The strikes stop in an instant, but I don’t turn to see. A smash rings across the parking lot like a car crashed into something.

Sharp pains from my ribs pierce each breath. I do my best to keep them short and shallow as an arm slips around me, and tension radiates through my skin.

“Aloka, I’m sorry.” It’s not Pratt’s voice, though. It’s deeper. He places me onto the seat inside the truck and I cry out. His eyes go wide and blue. “Just stay still.” The door shuts. An engine starts, then it fades.

“Do we take her to the human hospital?” a voice says. A woman.

“No, she stays here. Just do what you can,” says a man. Stark?

“She needs a doctor. What about a clinic?”

“No, just help her please.” Surprising, I figured he’d prefer me hurt and afraid so I stay put.

I can’t let her die.

Stark’s thoughts are what make me open my eyes. It’s a small room, and Faira stands over me, dabbing a white cloth to my head. There’s no need for any of this.

“We heal over time with sleep and natural remedies, the moon cycles. We don’t know what she needs to get better.” Faira’s concern is written all over her face. “We don’t even know if she will live through this. A human hospital is best.”

I try to shift up onto my arms, but it burns. “Bring . . .” My mouth dries with an attempt to speak.

A smaller girl hands me a glass of water. She must be one of their grandchildren. I wince, nodding to thank her. The crispness relieves my throat. Stark is still out of view. I tilt back onto the sheets.

“Just leave me. Bring me home. Please, Stark.”

No one argues. It’s not like they want to help.

Sitting up, I bite through a scream as more blood pours into my mouth. Broken ribs are no small thing, and the inner flames that flicker at the wounds might be worse. Sliding myself to the edge of the bed, Stark stays back like he’s afraid of me now, his head hung low as he leans against the wall by the door. The young girl comes to my side to help me slide down onto the floor. My knees give out, but I cling to the table behind me, another thing broken.