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Chapter Nine
The Division
I stared at the toes of my boots until morning. I didn’t look at the girl in my arms, at her honeyed locks that had dried, uncombed, into loose ribbons. I didn’t watch the skin of her bare arm, draped easily across my cotton-covered abdomen, or the way her lips occasionally twitched while she slept, tucked neatly into the crook of my arm.
And I certainly didn’t think about the way her cheek felt, pressed to my chest. At least, not until she began to wake.
A quiet rumble came from deep in her throat and she burrowed deeper into my shirt before the arm wrapped across my middle drew in and then unbent over me in a stretch. The rest of her body followed, both legs straightened out, her bare feet pointed to the black television screen across the room.
And then her eyes shot open.
I smiled at her stunned face as she stared up at me, only inches away.
She kept her gaze on me, but pulled her arm back, hand half open as she decided whether to press my chest in order to raise off me. I made no move to ease her escape. This close, I could see each of her dark lashes, the faintest of freckles on her cheekbones, the curve of her lip…
She swallowed hard, and then abruptly remembered herself and rolled back and onto her knees. “Aern.” It came out breathier than she intended and she quickly cleared her throat.
“Sleep well?” I asked, leaning forward to move my feet to the floor.
She seemed unsure for a moment and then relaxed, stretched again, and decided, “Yes.”
When it appeared she was going to ask me the same, I said, “How do you like your eggs?”
This threw her again, but she finally answered, “Scrambled.” And then, “Thanks.”
I walked around the bed to call in our breakfast order, and Emily made her way to the bathroom. As I raised the handset to my ear, I found the closet mirror opposite her and was distracted from my task.
She paused in front of the sink, looking incredulously at her reflection. Her lips formed some silent words that I couldn’t make out, though I tried, and then they stilled, pursed, then relaxed. She sighed deep, rubbed a hand numbly over her cheek, and turned to reach for the door. Our eyes met, and for one brief moment, she watched me watch her.
And then she closed the door.
I ended my call to the sound of her fumbling with the coffee maker. I crossed to the window and drew the curtains and shades fully open to stare out into the city. It was early, and the sun cast a rich amber glow against the haze. The light threw shadows behind the tallest buildings, banks and corporate offices, completely unaware of the looming apocalypse. So many of them. Oblivious to the prophecy, to the war we were fighting to save us all. They didn’t keep their history, didn’t know of Council’s wish to return to the way things were. When our kind held dominion over all. They didn’t even know we existed. If Morgan succeeded, they would think him merely another human.
Until the killing began.
“Coffee?” Emily offered from beside me.
I took the cup, and then struck by the sight of her in the early morning sun, forgot myself.
She pretended not to notice as she turned to face the window. Her hair was tucked behind her ear and she wore three-day-old clothes, but she’d straightened them both, and her cheeks wore a thin layer of softly scented lotion.
“Thank you,” I said. She looked at me as if she wasn’t sure why I was thanking her, and I raised the coffee. She nodded absently. “Not a morning person?” I asked.
An undecipherable huff escaped her. “I guess not.” She shook her head, thoughts elsewhere. And then, “So, about that phone call yesterday.” She glanced down at her cup; her thumb flicked anxiously at the mug’s grip. “You’re going to drop me off at a safe house?”
“We’ll talk about that,” I said. “But after breakfast.”
A knock sounded at the door and Emily’s head quirked to the side, birdlike, as she speculated how I’d predicted it. I sat my cup on the desk as if it wasn’t out of the ordinary at all, and retrieved the tray from the bellman without letting him in.
We ate in silence and Emily finished before I’d made it halfway through my food. She sat in the plaid corner chair, napkin covering her empty plate, and hands crossed over one another in her lap. I sat in the desk chair, trying to ignore her impatient stare while I buttered my second slice of toast.
As I took the last bite and wiped my hands on a napkin, she straightened, rigid with attentiveness. I stood to move her plate and my own back to the tray before turning to her.
“I’m not taking you to the safe house,” I said. “I’m taking you to your sister.”
The force with which she leapt from the chair and launched herself at me was incredible, and I nearly staggered back into the desk, dishes and all. Instead, I stood in shock, her arms wrapped tightly around me in a hug so fierce it was disarming.
She was gasping, and I gripped her shoulders to push her away, just enough to see her face. “Emily, there’s something you need to know…”
