Damned if I Don't (The Harker Trilogy Book 2) (9 page)

“Yeah,” Zhi says softly. “Yeah.”

We’re silent for a few more moments, contemplating everything.

“Our mission right now is to keep the Progenitor away from Anthony,” I say. “Are you and Maria all right to do that?”

“Of course,” Zhi says with false bravado. “We’re good to keep going. The old man is still alive. Maria is out trying to secure a blood bag for him to feed.”

Yeah. That’s another risk. If the Progenitor refuses to eat, then he could go crazy. And the last time I saw him, he refused to interact with the world around him. He already knew what Esther’s death meant. He couldn’t get release just yet.

And we can’t save the world for Edie.

“Okay,” I say. “I guess I’ll talk to you later then.”

“All right. Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself. I know that’s a lot to take in, but you’re a different person now than you were back then.”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

I hang up without saying anything else. I toss the phone aside and put my face in my hands, trying to figure out what to do next.

I don’t have to wait long for someone else to make that decision for me.

“It’s so weird to think of you as Jude.”

I look up to see Hannah standing in the doorway. Her eyes reflect the lights from the window as she watches me.

“It’s weird to think of myself as anyone but Jude,” I tell her.

She chuckles. “You look like my Ale. You sound like him. But there’s something so entirely different about you.” She strides into the room and stands five feet away from me, curiously studying my face. “Beneath those piercings and those tattoos, you’re someone completely different.”

“I guess so.” I wish she’d stop looking at me like that.

She nods at the scar on my forehead. “Something must have happened to you to make you forget.”

“Maybe that was the same time that Anthony’s face melted.”

She smirks. “It kinda makes me proud to think that you could have been responsible for it. Whether you’re Ale or Jude.”

I scoff. “Doesn’t make up for what I did in the past.”

I keep thinking about Zhi’s reaction to the news that I used to be some sort of terrifying monster in the past. I’ve committed terrible crimes that I can’t remember. If my soul wasn’t already damned as a vampire, it’s most definitely damned now.

“We all make mistakes,” Hannah says.

“Mistakes that last hundreds of years? Mistakes that killed so many innocent people?”

“Yes.” She sounds so confident when she says that, I almost believe her. “You don’t remember anything before half a century ago,” she says, “but I’ve been around a long time. And I’ve seen those who have redeemed themselves and those who have turned their lives around. It’s not what we did that matters. It’s what we do next.”

I sigh. “I don’t want to be a monster.”

“We all are.”

Her hand falls back to her side as she turns away from me. “I never knew what happened to my Ale,” she admits softly. “You went to your brother, to tell him to stop this madness. And you never came back to me.”

“I’m sorry.” I really do mean it.

“You still aren’t back to me.” She chuckles. “I don’t think you ever will be.”

I don’t know how to respond.

“I see how you look at the Harker.” Her gaze flicks to the door. “And I want you to know that I’m all right with that. You are a different person now. You
are
Jude. Not my Alejandro. Ale died fifty years ago.” She crosses her arms and looks small. “And Jude loves someone else.”

I close my eyes. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?”

“For understanding.”

Now she does cup my cheek in her hand. “After living for nearly a thousand years,” she says softly, “you see and understand a lot of things.”

I chuckle. “So you’re older than me.”

“Oh yeah. Much. I always liked going after younger men.”

I laugh, shake my head, and turn away. It feels like it’s been forever since I cracked a smile.

“I’m going to see how Edie’s doing.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “She needs you.”

I wonder if Hannah knows how much I need Edie as well.

Edie

Getting clean sounds like a good idea after everything that has happened. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Carl and Jude are somewhere else, waiting out the daylight. I told them I wanted to be alone.

They believed me.

The bathroom is nice and luxurious. Marble countertops, a double vanity, a clawfoot bathtub that I would have killed to try out once upon a time. I would’ve lit candles, queued up my relaxation playlist and listened to Pachabel’s Canon in D while I closed my eyes and daydreamed.

But I certainly don’t feel luxurious. I feel like death warmed over. Tonight, warm water is enough.

I barely recognize the girl looking back at me, a twenty-year-old who should be finishing up her pre-law degree at the University of Texas, who should be going to Sixth Street on Thursday nights, who should be drinking and making poor choices. Who shouldn’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Instead, I’m exhausted beyond comprehension and scared out of my mind. My hair hangs in limp clumps and I’m too pale with huge, dark circles under my eyes.

I don’t remember ever seeing Meghan or Mom like this. I don’t like to think that my tenure as the Harker is worse than theirs, but it’s staring right back at me.

I seem off balance with only one arm, like I am weighted incorrectly. I gently raise my left upper arm and am greeted with my reflection doing so.

Yep, that’s me. Goody.

I guess I’ll save on nail polish because I have only one hand and I’ll use half as much as everyone else. Then I realize that I have no way of painting my own nail with only one hand. And then I realize that even that is ludicrous, because I won’t live long enough for any of that to matter.

I’m wasting precious moments of what I have left worrying about this shit.

“You’re fucked,” I tell myself in the mirror. I seem to be telling that to myself a lot.

A bath will make everything seem better. At least a little bit.

My clothes slip to my feet as I step out of them, shedding my hoodie and jeans. It’s harder with one hand, and I accidentally catch myself a few times trying to rely on my missing left arm.

It’s not there anymore. It won’t ever be again.

My naked body is the roadmap of all of my woes for the last month. My tattoos, originally meant to be pieces of art, are vestiges of my life before all this. The scar from my blood-virus covers a good forty percent of my body now, red and angry in its quest to conquer me. It’s starting to run up my neck. Soon, I won’t be able to cover it up as its journey continues across my face.

My bandages need to be changed. My healing abilities may have kicked in and I’m no longer in danger of dying, the end of my wrap has dried blood on it. At least it’s stopped bleeding for the moment.

With shaking hands, I gingerly unravel the gauze around the stump. I honestly don’t want to see what I know is there, but…

But it’s my reality isn’t it? I’m no longer a complete person.

Layers of bandages fall away, and I don’t even have the strength to hold them. They fall on top of my clothes, forgotten.

Because what I’m looking at in the mirror sickens me.

It wasn’t a clean tear. Even now, I still remember Anthony’s hands on my arm as he literally ripped it out of its socket. The healing flesh is all bunched up and scabbed over on the end and my muscle mass looks all wrong.

What did he do to me?

They say that amputees have phantom limbs, and it’s the weirdest sensation. I
know
that there’s meant to be an arm in the space below the wound. I know it, but I can’t see it, and the weird sensations that my limb is sending my brain get all discombobulated.

Tears fill my eyes.

How can a Harker do her job when she’s not a full person?

My stomach roils at the thought.
No.
I’m still the Harker. I’m still a warrior. I’m still able to do my job.

I need to prove it to myself now or else I’m going to lose all hope.

I try summoning Glimmer, my magic sword. I no longer have my left hand, but I call the power to my right hand, willing her to appear, like I’m willing an old friend to hug me. The sword always took a lot out of me, but I have to assure myself that I can still do everything that I could before, that I have everything I need to save the world.

Only, there’s nothing. No familiar warmth in the palm of my hand, no sluicing sensation as she cuts through my skin. Only emptiness.

Through the pounding of my heart in my ears, I realize that I’ve failed everyone.

Panic threatens to bubble up out of my throat and I want to scream in both terror and frustration. Except I’m reminded that I’m a Harker who’s dying, even in her bleakest moment.

Then the panic turns to pain and I can feel the attack zig-zagging throughout my body. I’m powerless to stop it. My entire body seizes up as it overtakes me for the second time tonight. I crumple to the floor of the bathroom, breaking eye contact with my reflection, and I let the seizures wash over me as I shake.

Meghan! Mom!
I want to shout through my clenched teeth,
why aren’t you helping me?

No answer. I’m alone in my own world of pain as the darkness descends upon me.

Then a voice cuts through the blackness of my vision.

“Stay with me, Edie.”

I don’t want to go back. Life is only pain. If I just let the virus take over and kill me, then I don’t have to worry about this anymore. I can just stay in oblivion. I can be with Meghan and Mom.

Isn’t that what I really want?

“Edie, come back to me.
Please.
I need you.”

The voice sounds sad, desolate. Not frantic or anything, just like it’s in mourning.

Through my haze of agony, I feel a rough, callused hand gently touching my cheek and grounding me back to stark reality. That’s all I feel and I initially fight it. I don’t want to face the world again. Can’t a girl die in peace?

A thumb caresses my cheek bone. Wipes away my tears that spill down my face. As consciousness comes back to me, I realize that I’m being cradled. I’m looking up at Jude’s face and relief floods his features as he clutches me to his chest. “I thought I lost you.”

Sensation comes back to me in layers. First, the incandescent light behind Jude’s head blinds me, and I grimace. Then another kind of pain hits me from collapsing on the hard floor. I must have hit my head when I fell, among other body parts.

“J-Jude?” I manage. His thumb continues stroking my cheek, gently.

“You had another attack.”

“I…”

Then I remember I’m naked and I’m in his arms. Not the first time I’ve been naked in a guy’s arms—not by a long shot—but it’s the first time I’m naked in Jude’s, and after what just happened, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.

The realization makes me go rigid. I want to grab my clothes and hide. I don’t want him seeing my body like this, or seeing me helpless.

“Hey calm down,” he says with a frown. “Stop fighting me.”

“I…I…”

He gives me a lazy look that’s meant to be playful. “I may have amnesia, but I do know that this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a naked woman.”

We both somber, and I think that most likely, he’s seen Hannah naked. How do I even process that part, on top of everything?

Hannah’s old lover. Anthony’s twin. A monster from the Spanish Inquisition. A vampire.

He catches my drift without me having to explain further. He nods absently. “I know,” he whispers.

Our eyes meet and I’m struck again by his intense blue eyes. His eyelashes are long, luxurious even, and I see the strong curve of his jaw and his cheekbone, the slight scruff of his face. His full lips quirk up slightly, trying to soften the moment.

“I’ll rewrap your arm. I’m not going to try anything.”

“Good. I don’t feel like killing you right now.”

I might not have been joking about that. At the same time though, I’m not quite sure I can be responsible for any of my actions. I have this heady feeling that makes me feel drunk.

He helps me to a sitting position and I rest against the wall. It’s amazing how weak I feel after an attack. When he comes back with the first aid kit, I can’t help but wonder how many of those I’ve gone through in my life. I’ve always seem to get banged up or hurt on the hunts, even when I was little.

I watch as he wraps my arm, forgetting about my nudity. I can smell him, a combination of earthiness and something entirely all man. He’s so close to me, I can count the hairs on his head.

His hands are gentle as he works, and he’s not leering at me. He’s been there for me for the past five months, this strong man, this vampire that’s put everything on the line for me. How can this guy be the monster that Hannah described? There’s something so intrinsically dangerous about him, yet something so gentle as well.

I love him.
I know that much. And as I think it, I gather up the strength to finally make a decision to myself.

He stops working as I find the strength to reach up to touch his face. Our gazes meet.

“Edie, I…”

Before I lose my nerve, I press my lips to his. I’ve kissed him before, but every time, it’s a different sensation. There’s less desperation in this one than in the past. Just need. For him. For the Jude I know, not the monster that he was.

At first, he doesn’t kiss me back, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to follow through. Then he opens his mouth, letting my tongue in. He inhales, deeply, as his hand comes up around my back, holding me just underneath my shoulder blades. My skin dances at his touch.

I want him.

I pull myself over to his lap, straddling him across the waist. I can feel his erection through his jeans. He’s turned on. As am I.

I kiss him again, a moan escaping my mouth. My hand going between us to unzip his pants, and—

“Edie.” His voice is ragged and full of emotion as he presses his forehead against mine. “I think we need to slow down.”

My eyes snap open at his words. The rejection hits me like a brick wall. First my attack, now this denial. I let out a breath as my heart sinks.

He sees my utter horror. “No, I don’t mean it that way,” he whispers. He kisses my forehead. “It’s just that, with everything that has happened, I want you to be sure that you’re not making a mistake by being with me. I don’t want you to regret any moment of
us
.”

I let out an unhappy sigh. “But…”

He chuckles humorlessly. “I want you when we know more about what’s happening. I want you when I’m sure that I’m Jude and not someone else.” He holds up the bandages. “I want you when I don’t have to worry about this. Because I want you as Edie. And I want you to want me as Jude.”

I nod, still not quite sure what his words mean. “So then…?”

“For now, you need to take a bath.”

Disappointment blossoms like the world’s ugliest flower in my chest, but I manage to keep myself from frowning too deeply.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He gets up from his spot, and heads to the bathtub and turns the tap on full blast. The hum of the water fills my senses and I close my eyes, listening to it, the exhaustion hitting me finally. Despite his warning, I’m almost on my way to sleep when he comes back and picks me up in his arms, like I’m some sort of fragile baby.

“A bubble bath?” I ask when I see the full bathtub. I haven’t had one since I was probably five years old. The scent is something akin to bubblegum and I find myself wondering why the hell Hannah would have bubblegum bath bubbles.

“You need it,” Jude promises, a wry smile pulling the side of his mouth with the lip piercing.

He helps me into the hot water, careful to avoid getting my arm wet. I can’t help the groan of pleasure that escapes my lips when the hot water soaks muscles I didn’t know were aching. He chuckles.

Then, just like I’m a child, he grabs the loofah and starts scrubbing me down. I think it’s meant to be innocent, but I have to avert my eyes. His gaze is soft, half-lidded as he works his way around my body, even massaging my scalp as he shampoos my hair. There’s something wonderful about someone else giving you a bath.

True to his word though, he doesn’t try anything. I don’t know whether to appreciate the fact that he’s giving me my space or to be disappointed that he’s not asserting himself. I just want to feel something, anything, and sex would help. I’m dying for fuck’s sake.

Begrudgingly though, I suspect that he’s right. That I might regret what I did once my head clears up. That, if there’s anything to our relationship, having sex right now could ruin whatever’s developing.

All too quickly, the bath is over, and he helps me to my feet to dry me off. He towels me off as much as possible. At the end of it, he watches me with an unreadable expression.

“Hang on,” he says. He disappears into the bedroom and comes back with a plush cotton robe. He’s blushing as he comes back in, and I find it endearing.