Watercolour Smile (29 page)

“I’m ready to go home,” I said.

“Go.” Silas wasn’t looking at me when he spoke.

Cabe and Noah were oddly quiet as they walked up the beach. I made to follow them, but Noah touched my arm, shaking his head. Confused, I glanced at Cabe, but he was avoiding looking at me, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

What is happening
?

Quillan shrugged out of his jacket and moved toward me, but didn’t get very far. Silas made a growling sound in his throat before Quillan had moved past him, and Quillan paused. He looked at me, laid the jacket on a nearby rock, and retreated back the way he had come.

“What’s happening?” I finally vocalised. I cringed at the hint of panic that carried in my tone, echoing through the tiny inlet.

Cabe and Noah had managed to pull their clothes back on and were halfway over the rocks. Quillan motioned them to keep going when they paused.

“It happened about five minutes ago,” he said, unable to mask his cringe.

Silas flinched as though someone had actually struck him, and Quillan threw me a sympathetic glance before following the boys over the rocks. I stared at the spot where he had disappeared, realisation freezing me to the spot.

Five minutes ago… they felt my emotion
. The barrier over my emotions must not be working very well with the strain.

Silas stalked toward me, and the second realisation crashed into me. His eyes were black and burning. He wasn’t Silas right now. The others had too much faith in my ability to tame his beast, apparently. I inwardly cursed. Maybe I
had
proven myself fairly competent at it, but those instances were few, and they usually included someone
else
as the focus of Silas’s… negative energy.

“U-um,” I stuttered as his boots hit the water.

He didn’t stop until he was toe-to-toe with me and the saltwater was dragging at his knees. His eyes were categorising everything. I wondered if there was a mark on my neck, and if he could see it. He started to scowl, his eyes landing back on my face again.

“Are you angry because someone touched me?” I asked.

Barely, he nodded.

“But it’s Noah and Cabe.” I laid a hand on his arm, trying to pacify him. He stared at my hand as though it offended him in some way, so I dropped it again.

The switch in him was barely visible; his pupils became smaller, his shoulders rolled back, and his fists loosened. He started to circle me, that animalistic prowl of his proving effective even with the water dragging at his legs, attempting to hinder his movement. He paused when he was behind me, and I knew that he had seen it. He touched a spot at the base of my neck with the pad of his finger. It was sore.

“You have no idea what you’ve taken from me,” he said quietly. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He suddenly moved close, his breath whispering over my ear. “You
own
me, angel. You won’t ever let me go. We weren’t supposed to meet you, but those
idiots
were drawn to you, because you own them, too. None of this was supposed to happen.”

I began to spin around, anger bubbling in my throat, but he grabbed my shoulders, keeping me still.

“Make
sense
, dammit,” I growled.

He laughed, but the sound was bitter. “It’ll never make sense. I made sure of it; I took care of it. You’ll never understand.”

I froze, a chill creeping into my bones that had nothing to do with the water. He moved closer, making another one of those sounds in his throat—though this was one of dark amusement. I could feel angry valcrick bubbling beneath my skin, and for a brief moment, I toyed with the idea of using it.

“Won’t work,” Silas muttered, his fingers constricting on my shoulders. “We’re bonded, your valcrick can’t hurt me. Self-preservation mechanism.
You
might not have one, but your valcrick does.”

“Great,” I seethed, “I’ll just have to hurt you in other ways, then.”

I elbowed him in the torso, and it hurt. Badly. I might have broken something, but there was enough force behind my action that Silas fell back from me. I turned, spraying water in an angry, cutting gesture of my hand. He had his fingers splayed over his stomach, tapping each digit thoughtfully. The beast was still in control, and he didn’t seem to be in any pain. He was calculating my next move.

“You know,” I said, trying to take a subtle step backwards, “you’re going to be pretty unhappy with yourself, when you, you know… come
back
to yourself.”

“Hm?” He noticed my retreat—of course—but didn’t make any move to follow me.

“Why don’t you tell me a little more about this thing you took care of? What have you done?”

“Okay.” He grinned, and it was terrifying.

Christ
, I never wanted to make Silas angry again. Could I trust what he was saying—or was his beast taking crazy? I didn’t know.

“Run,” he said. “
Run away, as fast as you can
. That’s what you said to me. That’s how it all started.”

The boy didn’t run. He fell back against the topside of a table, running a hand through his mussed hair to pull it back from his forehead again. “Get out of my head,” he said. “You won’t find anything new. I told you already, I didn’t feel anything. She’s not my Atmá. Not her, and not any of the others.”

I flinched back from the vision, and Silas watched silently.

“What was that?” My voice trembled.

“You want answers? Fine. Let’s play the game.”

He moved toward me, and I moved away, until my feet hit dry sand, and then we both stopped.

“Truth,” I relented.

“What happened?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” I hedged.

“Tell me, angel.”

“They didn’t kiss me. They didn’t break the rules.”

He hesitated, faint disbelief marring his features. I wondered why he cared so much about what I did with Noah and Cabe. His feelings were impossible to map-out in any logical way. Was he jealous? Or did he hate that they wanted to form the bond that had caused him so much pain, for so long?

“Dare,” he said.

I clenched my fists, frustrated, because he knew that I wanted answers. “Don’t hurt me.”

His lips twitched, and then he was laughing.
Really
laughing. His head was thrown back, his hands in his hair. It was more than a little bit crazy, and I tried not to be completely bewitched. It was the most enchanting—most insane—thing that I had ever witnessed. My stomach flipped, and he moved rapidly, pulling my hair into an improvised ponytail and tugging on it until my head fell back.

“That’s the one thing I can’t do.” All trace of humour was gone, and the fire in his eyes was raging. “Do you think those three would have left if they weren’t sure of that? They’ve realised; I can’t touch you.”

“You’re touching me right now.”

“Not the way I want.” He sounded confused. “I want to snap your neck, sometimes.” His free hand moved to my spine, and then slipped down over the curve of my bum. “And other things.”

“No wonder you sound confused.”
I’m confused too
. I could feel that emotion again, that burning in my chest, that thumping of desire that fought to be released. It was tinged in fear, and anger; and everything seemed heightened by the uneven rhythm of a singular heartbeat that didn’t belong to either one of us in particular.

His lips twitched again, and then he released me. I thought that he would step back, but he caught the hem of my wet dress and tugged it over my mouth. His thumbs hooked into the material, pulling it taunt, and then his lips pressed against mine through the barrier.

“I’ll never be able to hurt you,” he muttered against my lips. “Even though you’ve been hurting me for years.”

I couldn’t breathe.

I don’t understand
.

I wanted to hit him, just a little bit, but I didn’t do anything. I stared at him as his head backed away enough to see my expression. I could feel my own eyes widening, and his grip slid around the sides of my face, still holding the material secure.

“What are you doing? What are you talking about?” I finally managed to ask, surprised that my voice came out clear through the material. He must have only used one of the layers. Come to think of it, I could still feel the other layers sticking to my thighs.

“What don’t you understand about it?” Silas asked, his eyes glinting, his tone different. His whole demeanour had changed; his expression was less alien, the rage in his eyes was muted, pushed to the background.

My breath rushed out in a relief so palpable that I actually sagged. “Thank god,” I groaned, “you’re back.”

“Hm,” he agreed, otherwise not moving. He didn’t release the material, and he didn’t step back. His attention was still on my mouth.

“Is this going to happen a lot?” I asked carefully.

Instead of replying, he took my lips again. These kisses were different to our first kiss—possibly because part of my dress was in the way. These kisses were soft, tinged with a persuasion that grew power with each brush, each nudge. He kissed my bottom lip, and then my top lip, and he swallowed each puff of breath that escaped, tasting my surprise, my fascination. He never once pressed too hard, and his fingers didn’t grip anymore than was necessary to cradle my face. Even so, my lips were soon bruised and swollen; unused to the attention.

He didn’t pull away until the ringing of his phone cut through our daydream, bringing us both back to reality. It hurt, like a wound had just been opened; the bleed of reality was punishing. He dropped the material covering my mouth immediately and stepped away.

“What?” His voice was projected lowly, but ground out, giving it an aggravated quality.

I blinked my eyes open with some effort, because my eyelids had become unbelievably heavy. I swallowed as Silas listened to whatever was being said on his phone. I was trying to control the rapid rise and fall of my chest. I suddenly felt as though I were on the verge of a panic attack. I reigned in my emotions and locked them up securely. Silas’s eyes flashed, and I recognised the expression; it was turmoil calling out for a friend, and it had found a friend in me.

Silas had his own reasons to be conflicted, but he had leaked that into me with his drugging mouth, and now I was right there with him, wracked with horrible indecision.

It’s not like this with the others
.

He shook his head, hung up the phone and then turned without another word, climbing over the rocks.

Silas ignored me on the way back. I spent the drive home huddled into the back of Quillan’s Porsche between Noah and Cabe, my limbs developing a tremble that grew to such a severity that it eventually threatened to dislodge my bones. When I separated from them to shower by myself, I discovered that it wasn’t the cold that had been influencing my body’s reaction, or the shock of Silas’s kiss. It had been the strain. The shaking intensified, even as the water pounded hot and insistent over my bent head, and I ended the shower as quickly as I could, drying off and haphazardly pulling on my pyjamas.

When I left the bathroom, everyone was gone.

There was a large, folded square of paper sitting in the centre of my bed, and I snatched it up, fumbling with the smaller note that had fluttered out.

A wise old owl lived in an oak,

The more he saw, the less he spoke,

The less he spoke, the more he heard,

Why can’t we all be like that wise old bird?

“Guys?” I called out.

There was no answer, and I dropped the note, unfolding the other paper and straightening it out. It was a drawing of an owl with its wings extended, a length of rope tied around each wing-tip, dangling two stick figures. The owl and its ropes were a lead impression, each stroke of the overall drawing deliberate and precise. The wide eyes were knowing, the eyelids sweeping down mid-blink, somehow conveying the very message in the attached note. That owl was staring at me, seeing everything,
knowing
even more.  

The stick figures were the only anomaly: they had been added in careless red crayon, clumsy in their fall to death, jerking ungracefully at the ends of their tethers.

I ran to the door and pulled it open, dashing down the hallway to the nearest bedroom. I spilled through Noah’s doorway in a panic, colliding with a form on the other side. We crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and warm hands quickly scooped me up, pulling me to my knees.

“Seraph?” Noah sounded groggy.

“Noah! You’re okay!” I threw my arms around his neck, and he huffed out a surprised breath as he lost his balance. He started to fall backwards, so I tried to counter it by pulling him the other way. He must have still been shocked, for he allowed the momentum to pull us in the other direction without righting himself, until his palms thudded against the carpet either side of me. I tried to speak, but my voice was muffled by the press of his chest against my face.

He pulled back, his bright eyes blinking at me in the darkness. “What’s going on? Why aren’t you asleep?”