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“I…” miss you, I thought, but didn’t quite manage to say. “Just wanted to see how you were feeling.”
“Got myself a nice little scar. Doc said one inch over and you and I wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
I choked back a sob. A bit of noise must have come out because he asked, “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah.”
Another silence.
“The pack came back with a decision about Morgan.”
“Oh?” It was all I could say. After I’d brought her out of the hedge maze in one piece, everyone was so shocked she was still alive it had taken them a little time to figure out how she should be punished. As far as the general public was concerned—police, her day job, her friends—she had vanished without a trace after failing to kill me.
Since then the pack had been having heated debates about her fate. Debates I wasn’t a part of because it would mean being in the same room as Lucas. He was right, we were going to have to talk sooner or later so we could figure out where I fit in the pack now that we were through. But I was still holding on to later.
“Yeah,” Desmond continued. “Apparently there’s a pack in Siberia…”
“Siberia?”
“That’s all I know.”
“Desmond…” I rested my head against the cool kitchen wall and imagined I was lying next to him.
“Mmhmm?” Sleep was clouding his voice again, and I knew I’d lose him soon.
“Do you ever think…maybe…about coming home?”
Silence.
I waited, thinking he was just carefully considering his answer. Then the breathing on the other end grew slow and regular, and he began to snore softly. I kept my eyes closed and listened, lying with him in my mind, even though twenty-eight city blocks separated us.
It might as well have been twenty-eight states.
After too many minutes to be healthy for me, I hung up.
May was a great time for night walks in New York. It wasn’t too hot, nor was it so cold as to need layers. I wore Dominick’s leather jacket over my white V-neck shirt and jeans as I traversed the path from my apartment to the only destination my feet seemed willing to go.
In spite of the late hour, the streets teemed with life. The city was awake and alive, ready to drink in as much spring as it could before the seasons shifted and summer swelled up, bloated and stinky with offensive heat.
I wove through the crowds, barely conscious of my own movements. In SoHo a new tattoo studio was still open, and a guy smoking on the front steps offered me a nod as I passed. I smiled, but not too much, and kept walking. I moved past the council headquarters without so much as a second glance, and walked until my feet hit the familiar tile lobby of an apartment building I hadn’t seen in quite some time.
I took the stairs slowly, head down, until I reached the appropriate floor, and once I was outside the door I shook off the stupor that had cloaked me the whole way here. I stared at the green door with its peeling paint, and my heart began to hammer. For a second I thought about turning around and going back home.
But what was waiting for me at home? An empty apartment. A cat that missed a man almost as much as I did.
I raised my hand, and after a heartbeat of debate, I rapped on the door.
A moment later it swung open, and I offered a weak smile to the dark-haired owner of the suite. “I know it’s late…”
“It’s fine.” He gave me a confused look. “What’s up?”
I glanced past him, into the wide-open loft, then I met his gaze and held it for a long time. Long enough it took on more meaning than I meant it to. Finally I said, “I’ve come to make good on a promise.”
Holden stared at me, his eyes widening only slightly. Then he stepped out of the doorway and let me in.
About the Author
Sierra Dean is a reformed historian. She was born and raised in the Canadian prairies and is allowed annual exit visas in order to continue her quest of steadily conquering the world one city at a time. Making the best of the cold Canadian winters, Sierra indulges in her less global interests: drinking too much tea and writing urban fantasy.
