Wrong Side Of Dead (4 page)

“Turn around,” I said.

He did, presenting a lean, perfectly muscled back. Hiding just above the waist of his jeans was a four-inch gash, still oozing blood. This close, I could see the dark, damp patch where the blood had soaked into his pants. I could also see more meat than I was comfortable with.

“Damn, Phin, that might need stitches.”

“It does?” He twisted his torso in a vain attempt to see his own lower back, and only managed to make the wound gape wider. He hissed, then quit trying to see it and felt around with his fingers. “It’ll heal, Evy. Use those butterfly bandages to keep it together until it can mend.”

I eyeballed the gash. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Therians healed faster than the average human, but it would still be several days before that wound was completely gone. And it would likely scar. Small lines and imperfections dotted his back and shoulders—scars I never had the guts to ask about. I still didn’t.

We moved our little production into the curtained exam area and assembled a tray of useful items—bandages, medical tape, alcohol, gauze, scissors. He turned, once again presenting his back. I wetted some gauze with the alcohol and paused to assess the playing field. This wasn’t going to work.

“Okay, Phin,” I said, “I need you to drop your pants.”

“I—pardon me?”

Phin turned his head far enough to see me over his shoulder. “Drop my pants?”

“Yes, please. The wound is too low and your jeans are in the way.”

“I was uncertain if I would have to shift this evening.”

I frowned. “Okay. And?”

“In the interest of expediency, I wore as few layers as possible.”

What the hell was he—? Oh
. “You’re not wearing underwear?”

“Correct.”

“I’ve seen you naked, you know.”

He turned completely around, his face a question mark. As a general rule, Therians weren’t shy about nudity, but he was always more careful than most about exposing himself. In front of me, at any rate. “You have?” he asked.

“Well, I was half-delirious from smoke inhalation and it was hard to see through the inferno.”

“I don’t—Oh, the factory fire.” Understanding dawned, and he smiled. It was a warm, friendly smile. “I suppose that’s only fair, as I’ve seen you naked, as well.”

I forced a grin, even as my heart pounded against my ribs. Neither of our situations had been ideal; however,
the reason he saw me naked nearly two months ago was one of the worst memories of my life. I shoved it away, not wanting to ponder the circumstances of that day and what that fucking pùca had done. Mimicking Wyatt’s body and face so perfectly, then knocking me out and stealing syringes of my blood. Driven by an instinctive need to leave chaos in its wake, the pùca made me believe, for the merest fraction of an instant, that Wyatt was actually hurting me.

I looked at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at Phin.

Warm palms cupped my cheeks. “Evy, I am so sorry. That was a callous thing to say.”

I swallowed against the acid creeping into my throat. Met his gaze and found myself staring into intense twin pools of concern. “It’s okay.”

He pursed his lips, eyebrows furrowed, his sharp features displaying every bit of the predatory bird he shifted into. “No, it isn’t. It was meant in jest and it caused you pain, which wasn’t my intention.”

“I know, Phin. I’m fine.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” I pressed gently into his hands, appreciating the gesture. The joy of simply being touched in a nonviolent manner. I curled my fingers around his right wrist and squeezed, marveling again at the hard muscle beneath feather-soft skin. “Thank you. Now turn around and drop your pants.”

His eyebrows arched, and then he laughed. He undid his belt and shoved his jeans down to his knees. With the field clear (and my eyes firmly on the wound) I cleaned the skin around the slice, then put a clean gauze pad over it.

“Hold this down hard,” I said.

He reached around and pressed the pad against the cut while I opened a few butterfly bandages. I still thought
it needed stitches, and I didn’t trust myself to apply the liquid bandage stuff to anyone besides myself.

“Have you spoken to Wyatt recently?” he asked, breaking a perfectly good nonawkward silence.

I swatted his hand away and peeled off the bloody gauze pad. The bleeding had slowed, but it was still oozing. “You mean besides him telling our squad to not get killed tonight as we left a few hours ago? No.” Two of the butterflies adhered easily. The third was refusing to stick, so I opened another.

“Evy, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure. Just remember your bare ass is at my mercy.”

He chuckled, and I had an irrational urge to poke him in the ribs. I tore strips of medical tape instead. “What changed?”

“You’re going to have to narrow that down.” I covered the butterflied wound with a clean gauze pad. Taped it down, creating a rectangle of white against tan skin.

Phin hauled his pants back up, turning to face me as he buttoned them. His eyes searched my face, genuinely curious. “I know things were difficult after Thackery hurt you, and you told me that you and Wyatt were giving each other space to figure things out. But something changed between you two the night Felix was infected.”

My heart ached at the memory of that awful night two weeks ago. The evening began so normally, but had devolved into blood and violence, and ended with heartbreak. It was the night Wyatt and I realized just how much we’d both been changed by those three weeks I was with Thackery. Wyatt and I both said some things that night that had needed to be said for a while. The fight broke us both; there was no going back to how things used to be.

“A lot changed that night, Phin.”

“I know. I’ve seen you every day since. You’ve thrown yourself into your training and you rarely interact with
anyone outside our squad except for Milo. You make it a point to avoid Wyatt, and when you do see him—”

“What?”

“The temperature in the room drops twenty degrees.”

“Weather control isn’t one of my gifts, Phin.”

“Do you still love him?”

If anyone else had asked me that, I’d have told them to fuck off. “I’ll always love him,” I said as I leaned my unbruised hip against a supply cabinet and crossed my arms over my stomach. “But the way you love someone can change, especially if you hurt them badly enough. And what if—?” I froze, the thought stuck in my throat. Something I’d never voiced out loud, much less to another person.

“What if?” Phin asked. He took a step toward me, hands tucked loosely in his jeans pockets. Intent.

“Nothing.” I reached for the small pile of bandage wrappers and shoved them into the nearest waste can. As I turned to leave the cubicle, Phin blocked my way without (wisely) grabbing me.

“What if what?”

I heaved a defeated sigh. He wasn’t letting it go. “What if, despite all the pain and heartache we’ve endured, Wyatt and I really aren’t meant to be together? What if that’s why we can’t seem to make this work?”

Phin tilted his head to the side, considering me, my words, probably both. “What if you’re wrong?” he finally said.

“But what if I’m right, Phin?”

He went silent again, his mouth pressing into a thin line. I could almost see the wheels turning, the gears clicking away as he made connections. Weighed his words. “Evangeline, may I present the Therian’s perspective on this?”

“Go for it.” The human perspective wasn’t doing me much good.

“Shit or get off the pot.”

My jaw unhinged. I think my brain fuzzed out for a moment, because I couldn’t have possibly heard him say what I thought. I finally squawked out a garbled, “Huh?”

“Granted, that’s a human expression, but it sums up my perspective very simply. Therian lives are relatively short compared to humans. You have the luxury of waffling on matters of the heart and on choosing a mate. We don’t. We must follow our instincts, make our choices, and then live with them.” He paused, eyes searching mine. “Therefore, if you are not willing to follow your gut, to choose Wyatt, and to live with the consequences of that choice, then get off the metaphorical pot and move on.”

A small amount of time must have passed with me simply staring at him. At some point, I realized my mouth was really dry and I clamped it shut. Swallowed. I wasn’t used to being called to the mat, especially over my love life. But everything he’d said was true, and it also set my own wheels turning. Curiosity overcame shock.

Phin and I had been friends for several months, and yet I knew very little about him. His Clan’s slaughter was still a sore subject, and I could never breach it without feeling guilty—not just for the painful reminder, but for my own role in so many deaths. Deaths of the people he loved.

“May I ask
you
a personal question?” I said.

His face went blank, and his hands pressed deeper into his pockets—as if he could make himself smaller and that would somehow lessen the impact of whatever I was about to ask. “Yes.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

Blue fire danced in his eyes. His nostrils flared and, just for an instant, I swore he looked ready to attack.
Then his expression softened, grief tempering the fury. “Yes, I have. I was very much in love with my wife, Jolene.”

Jolene. Wife. My insides ached for him. Tears tightened my throat, wanting to spill for a woman I hadn’t known. I swallowed hard, grasping for my voice. “She loved you?”

“Yes.” He smiled, but though his expression was gentle, a hint of ferocity still lingered. “I’m ten years old, Evy. I have lived half my lifetime and loved well for three of those years. You’re twice as old as I, and all you’ve experienced is heartache and betrayal. It grieves me to know this.”

“I’ve experienced love.”

“The love of your teammates, yes. The love of a man who moved Heaven and Earth to bring you back to life, certainly. But have you ever loved with your whole heart? Offered it to someone with no expectations in return, because you loved him so deeply you could do nothing less?”

Tears blurred my vision, and I blinked them away. The answer to Phin’s question was so easy, and I hated him for asking. Hated myself just as much for the answer. “No. No, I haven’t.”

I’d wanted to with Wyatt. Wanted him to be the one I gave my heart to, and I knew he’d have accepted me with compassion, desire, and love. Before Thackery broke me. Before I told Wyatt the whole truth about how Felix got away the night he was infected.

It didn’t matter anymore. I’d lived my entire life tormented by the stupid, storybook notion of true love, and I’d be damned if I’d mourn something I didn’t need. “People like me don’t get that one true love, Phin,” I said with more conviction in my voice than in my heart. “We get a few flings along the way to an early grave.”

“Perhaps. But is that what you want, Evy?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

“Why?”

He blinked rapidly, as if my question surprised him. “Because I’ve seen your heart. You show it every day in the way you fight to protect those you care about. You have so much love hiding inside of you. Please don’t deny yourself the chance to share it.”

Those damned tears were back, choking me. I fought them, unwilling to cry. There was too much to do and no time for an emotional breakdown. Still, I couldn’t let it go. “And what happens when I die again and break Wyatt’s heart for the third time?”

“No one can predict the future, Evy, not even the wisest of mages. Lovers die and hearts break. Losing my wife was the worst agony I have ever endured, but even knowing our short time together, I’d gladly suffer it again. Because now, with time between us, I can think of her and remember the joy.”

He pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped my cheek in his palm. His thumb brushed away a stray tear. The warm touch and sweet gesture undid me. I flung my arms around his shoulders and held on. Emotions churned and burned in my chest, but I couldn’t force out that first sob. The dam wouldn’t break.

Phin held me close, solid muscle beneath skin as soft as air. His heart beat nearly twice as fast as mine—its natural pace. He had so many reasons to hate me. Over three hundred, to be perfectly frank. And yet he didn’t. It would be easier to hate myself if he wasn’t so forgiving of my worst sins.

I pressed my cheek to his shoulder and just held on, waiting for the world to stop spinning out of control. Allowing my emotions time to right themselves once more, so I could step outside the infirmary and do my
job. The night was far from over. Depending on what we got from Felix, it may have only just begun.

“Please, Evangeline,” he whispered. “Please don’t harden your heart before you’ve allowed it to truly love.”

The dam began to crack. And then the sound of an old-fashioned bell ringing filled the room. I pulled away, confused, until Phin pulled his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. His expression sharpened.

“Emergency page,” he said. “Come on.”

Operations was in a state of minor chaos when we arrived. Created from the skeletons of three different stores, the combined space was full of computer workstations, whiteboards, a map of the city, and a few cubicles. Half a dozen volunteers were always on duty, manning the computers and an intricate switchboard setup that connected more than a hundred different cell phones to one another on a private network. It often reminded me of a police station bull pen, where all the major activity occurred. Just like now.

At least thirty people—human, Therian, and vampire—were in Operations. It was the busiest I’d ever seen it, and that simple fact settled a cold knot right into the middle of my already upset stomach.

Astrid, Marcus, and Wyatt were hunched over a desk, listening to the same phone conversation. Adrian Baylor and Kismet were at one of the computers. Kyle had taken over a chair near the partitioned conference area, phone clutched in his hand; he looked absolutely panicked. Milo, Tybalt, and Quince all showed signs of distress. As if sensing our arrival, Astrid spun around, her copper eyes flashing with fury.