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Damien lay in his freshly made king-size bed, hoping by morning things would finally go back to normal. Lone wolf. His world. His control. He would attend the festival and look for answers, but he would do so on his own.
“Damien?” Sky’s soft voice came from somewhere inside the dark bedroom.
“How are you speaking to me? And what are you doing in here? Did you not hear what I said in the living room?”
“I’m already dead, so it’s not like you can hurt me. But I’m glad this is working. I wasn’t sure it would.”
“Would what?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to fall asleep. Pet said you might hear me if your mind and yourfriendweren’t in the way.”
“Ah. So I’m dreaming.”
“In a way, I guess.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m trying to rest. What do you want?” he grumbled. This was very strange. He was asleep, speaking with the dead, yet it felt real. The soft sheets were cool on his skin; the air in the room was still; the clock on his nightstand ticked away. Nothing seemed different.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Sky sighed. “I had no idea you were trying to keep Amelia and Miguel safe from your brother.”
“What matters is that they are still alive. Hopefully they will find a secure place to stay until I get to the bottom of things.”
“That’s the thing, Damien. We were all talking downstairs after you left, and I wanted to ask you something.” She paused for a long moment. “You told us all about your curse and your twin because you didn’t want anything bad to happen to us.”
“What is your point?”
“Don’t you get it? You care about them, which according to you means they should all be dead.”
“I acted out of a sense of duty. That is not the same thing as caring.”
“I don’t agree,” Sky challenged. “Elenore told me what you did—rescuing her from those sick assholes at the fundraiser by pretending to be some sort ofMen in Blackcharacter. And then there’s Pet. You tried to save her from blowing up inside the Browns’ house. Then you negotiated to get Bonbon a mate so he wouldn’t die alone. There’s even my situation. You wanted to masturbate so you wouldn’t jeopardize my life.”
“Yes. I am a real giver,” he said dryly.
“I say you are, actually.”
“You are dead.” He pointed out the obvious.
“But what if my death was just some random accident? They happen all the time, you know.”
“What if it was not random?” he replied.
“Argue all you want, Damien, but everyone downstairs agrees; your actions speak louder than words. You care. Which means—”
“I lost my entire family to the curse.” That was not in his head.
“Are you sure? Was there any other possible explanation for how they died?”
Everyone in town believed the plague had been responsible, but if that were true, then how come he survived? He had been in close contact with each of them.
“I wish you were right,” he said, “but there is the small matter of my age. I have been alive for over two hundred years. This is the curse’s doing.”
“Hmmm…that is an excellent point, but something still doesn’t fit.”
Says the journalist who finds suspicion in everything.It was what she’d been trained to do. Sniff out stories and hidden agendas. In this case, there was no hidden story. “I know what I know, and I have a lifetime of examples to back up my beliefs. In any case, I cannot take the risk of testing out your theory.”
“I get it, I do. But—”
“But nothing. My life is no concern of yours, Sky.” How did she not understand this by now?
