Page 84 of Hunger & Harmony

Memories of spiced vanilla and bourbon linger in the back of my nose. Just thinking about that rich, comforting scent has my joints relaxing. The smell of Niko’s cologne brings back every good time we had, including his lips on mine.

Stuffing my head under the blankets, I force any thoughts of giving in away. Yet, the harder I push, the more my head pulses like it’s splitting in two.

“Fine!”

Throwing the blanket onto the floor, I storm over to the chair. The moment my shaking hands grasp the soft leather, a wave of relief crashes over me. I hold steady, bare feet planted to the embroidered rug.

No. I don’t need to do anything further. I don’t need it. I don’t need him! If I give in and admit how much it hurts without him . . .

It’ll cost everything.

I have to pay this price alone. Dissonant blood runs through my veins, right? My hands bunch the fabric, and I pause.

Yes. My blood.

My parents.

I keel over, knocked breathless by another wave of anguish. Hissing through my teeth, I do the only thing I can, and bring Niko’s jacket to my nose.

The only relief is from the physical pain. As I regain control of myself again, I hold his jacket close and sink to my knees.

Are my parents keeping this from me? Have they always? I search the patterns in the maroon rug, like the gold threads might weave the answer.

No. There’s no way. My parents are ordinary people from an ordinary town. A teacher and a mechanic are a far cry from vampiric weapons. Still, I can’t shake it. This ugly, wriggling suspicion in the pit of my stomach.

I loop my arms into his jacket, putting it on backwards to keep his cologne close. Maybe I should stop thinking about it. I should try to sleep and get my head clearer.

As I pick myself off ‌the floor, a knock sounds. Firm, but urgent.

Before the dread can deepen, my body lurches forward. When I’m opening the door with little choice, I understand why my limbs disobey me.

“Cadence,” Niko says, and when his eyes drop down to his jacket on me, his expression softens. “You could’ve just called me.”

I sharply avert my face.

“What do you want?”

My headache is already receding. He needs to leave before my reliance worsens.

“Truthfully . . .” His voice lowers. “I wish to silence these Dissonant notes.”

My head snaps back towards him.

“The . . .what?”

“Ah.” He hums awkwardly. “I had only heard them once or twice before, but I confirmed with my Aunt Imara. They’re remnants of siren magic, but broken and disjointed. Each note is physically abrasive.”

I blink at him. He consulted his aunt, and while I’m upset being excluded, his words hit me like a truck. How he describes Dissonant notes sounds like wrong notes.

An icy chill creeps up my spine, and I rock back. Has this been lying in wait this entire time? Was my fate doomed from the start?

“Whoa, hey,” he says, gathering me into his arms as I weaken.

He catches me before I stumble to the floor. I hate how the real thing is so much better than his jacket. His comforting scent envelopes me, and I press my face into his chest as he holds me. Each inhale clears my mind more, lulling me into solace.

I whimper when I’m laid down. When my hands reach for him blindly, his fingers intertwine with mine.

My eyes slowly open to see him sliding into the bed next to me. I barely registered him tucking me into these blankets. Now, we lay face-to-face, my heartbeat steady and the symptoms nonexistent.