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His shoulders heave, and he lets out a shaky breath that sounds more like a snarl.
But he doesn’t respond.
“Are you okay?” I continue.
The fire crackles in the hearth, flame licking around old timber. It’s warm, and I kneel behind Elijah as I reach for him, partially to get closer to the delicious heat.
He whips around and I fall backwards, my eyes wide. He’s…changed. His eyes have the flashing, oil slick look of an animal, and his teeth are long like fangs. It’s only then that I notice the violet spines on his shoulders, like he’s half-shifted after all this time.
“What happened?” I breathe.
He lunges for me and I let out a scream, Elijah’s hand quickly covering my mouth. But he doesn’t hurt me; instead, he pulls me closer, then sets me down right beside the fire. I stare at him in confusion, wishing he would just talk to me when before it didn’t seem like he knew how to shut up.
“Warm yourself,” he orders, striding away from the fire. He’s started to disappear into the shadows when he pauses, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon.”
I watch him vanish in the darkness, and then hear the faint sounds of footsteps on a staircase. The fire crackles in the hearth, and I turn toward it to hold my hands out, already feeling the chill now that Elijah has put me down.
My violin is beside me, and I drag it toward me to check out the damage. I hold my breath as I unlatch the metal clasps at the side, anticipating what I’m sure is going to be a lot of water damage. And what I find is…well, it’s not good. The wood is warped and soggy, and I suck in a gasp as I run my fingers over the clammy surface. I can even see where the glue is coming undone, and I hold back tears at the sight.
This instrument is fifty years old. My grandmother played it with the Dallas Symphony before the invasion.
It’s been in my care for a measly three days and now it’sruined.
I leave the case open and put it beside the fire in the hope that it will dry out, but then the tears come—thinking about all the times I’ve listened to Gran play this instrument, both classical music and Texas fiddle. I think about the care she’s taken in replacing the strings, in adjusting the bridge, in somehow finding new bows in old music stores across the ruins of Dallas. They don’t make violins anymore.
It’s irreplaceable.
Footsteps sound on the stairs and my eyes dart up to find Elijah emerging from the shadows once again, dressed now in a white t-shirt and jeans. His hair is still a mess, but he seems to have reverted fully to his human form, and he scrapes his hand through his tousled locks as he watches me from just beyond the firelight.
“What’s the damage?” he croaks.
I sniffle, swiping at my eyes. “Pretty bad.”
“I should never have taken you across that bridge,” he says. “We could have found a different way.”
“Don’t think you could have predicted whatever happened at the prison,” I say. “I don’t blame you, Elijah. You…actually, you saved my life. And I’m grateful.”
Elijah takes a hesitant step forward, and our eyes meet. Then he’s rushing toward me, gathering me in his arms, breathing me in. I let out a shuddering sob and melt into his heat, knowing I’m just getting his clothes wet again and not really caring.
Because it’s hitting me now how close I came to death.
And that all the things I took with me from my old life are gone.
Elijah kneels in front of me, then pulls me into his lap, his breaths hot against my cheek. And I can’t stem the tears, fisting my fingers in his new shirt and weeping into the crook of his neck, letting him hold me even though I know I shouldn’t; that this is dangerous territory, that his hands feel too good in the small of my back, his nails biting sharp through my wet clothes…
My knees rest on either side of his hips, and I hold him in a full-body embrace. It’s the closest I’ve been to another person since I was a child, since Gran carried me around on her hip. And I didn’t realize it, but I’ve missed human contact—even if Elijah isn’t quite human. To his credit, he doesn’t so much as touch me inappropriately, just letting me cry as his fingers skate up and down my spine.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispers into my hair, his voice hoarse.
I don’t know how to respond.
Because I think I’ve been lost ever since I left home three days ago.
So I nestle my face into Elijah’s neck, inhaling the scent of old, dusty clothes and pine, and some other, earthier smell that makes my flesh blaze hotter than the crackling fire beside us.
“Why do you care so much?” I whisper, my heart in my throat.
Elijah’s right hand finds my chin and tilts my face up to his, and I stare into those crystalline blue eyes that are so human and soferal.
