Page 121 of Black Bird

“I’m not sure. The only person that might know is at that club.”

“Dahlia?”

“No … yourcute bartender, Tony.” Athan narrowed his eyes and Sarah smirked a little.

“So … I shouldn’t kiss you then?” she asked.

“I don’t think that’s what did it, Sarah.”

“Am I—am I gonna turn into a vampire, now?” He knew it was an innocent question but couldn’t stop the smile from crawling across his mouth. He stepped closer to her, picking the blanket up and pulling it around her.

“No, love … that requires something entirely different.” His smile faded when he saw the obvious worry in her face at the thought of changing into something she still didn’t understand. “Hey …” He gripped her shoulders a little tighter, steadying her, and she finally looked up. “You’re safe. It’s alright. I’ll never force anything on you. Not even this bond.”

“If it’s already there, then what can you do to stop it?” she asked, still trembling and pulling the blanket tighter. “This doesn’tsireme?”

“It doesn’t. You haven’t taken my blood. You can still walk away from this just as easily as you have the past couple of weeks, if that’s—if that’s what you want.” The last few words hung between them for several minutes.

“I need some time,” she whispered, staring at his neck. “I’ve wanted to hear you say that ever since I first saw you at that club, Athan,but …” She sighed and slowly shook her head. “There’s just so much happening at once. Now there’s this. I don’t know what to do with it all. I just need some time.”

He lifted her chin with a finger until the gold flecks in her hazel eyes danced with broken swatches of moonlight. “I understand. I really do. I just dropped a lot on you, Sarah. I would think finding out I was an ancient hooker would be hard enough to hear without the rest of it.”

Sarah huffed a laugh. “No, stop. That part wasn’t—” She reached up and took his hand. “That’s not your life anymore. I’d never feel any different about you, knowing that. Look at all the stupid shit I’ve done lately. You have less to be ashamed of than I do.”

“Are you saying it doesn’t bother you? Knowing how many women I’ve slept with?” An honest question, really.

“Well for someone as fucking decrepit as you are, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised to hear a high number, should I?” Sarah smiled, melting whatever remained of the glacier between them, and his heart along with it. Athan grinned, bashfully.

“So, I’m decrepit, am I?” He snorted.

“I like it better than ancient hooker.”

He wanted so badly to kiss her again … among every other thing he wished he could do. But he’d give her all the time she needed to come to grips with the reality of their situation. “I’ll give you space, Sarah. As much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.” He released her hand and backed away until he met the post on the opposite side of the step and leaned against it.

She was quiet for a moment, but then turned toward the cabin door. “Thank you,” she offered softly, pausing to look at him. All he could manage was a slight nod and a half-smile as he slipped another cigarette into his mouth. She gave one back and went inside, leaving him to his thoughts.

As soon as she was out of his sight, Athan nearly lost his composure. He touched his neck and fought back tears of absolute joy. Why was God blessing him with so much at her expense? First his new life, and now his freedom—freedom he was convinced he’d never have. Every picture of angels that he’d ever seen didn’t look like her but damn it … she had to be. He had to have sent her to him after centuries of begging to either die and take his rightful place in Hell or give him a rope he could pull himself out of it with. Whatever choice she made at this point shouldn’t matter. He had already been given way more than he deserved, though he selfishly hoped she would still want him after all of this. Athan smoked down his cigarette until the filter began to burn and finally joined his company for whatever Rhaena was burning inside.

CHAPTER 20

THE RIGHT THING

Brent’s eyes peeled open as he laid across his stiff couch, uncovered and half-hanging off the edge. The sounds of knocking on his apartment door rang in his ears and his head pounded. The morning news played quietly on the TV as he slowly raised himself up and palmed his face, rubbing at the growing stubble on his jawline. He drank entirely too much last night. He nearly tripped over his own feet on his way to the door. It creaked open and a straggly guy in a cheap suit looked him over, clearly shocked to see him in this state. He didn’t recognize him.

“Brent Stratford?” the man asked, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Yeah?” Brent yawned, rubbing the back of his neck and leaning against the doorway.

“You’ve been served,” he replied, handing him a brown envelope and tightening his mouth as if in pity before turning and walking back down the quiet hallway. Brent drew his brows and slammed the door, opening the envelope and pulling the papers out. It was almost comical. He couldn’t help but laugh through his nose. A restraining order. From his father. As one of the best lawyers in the city, he knew there really wasn’t anything that could be done about it. It likely didn’t matter anyway. He’d be perfectly content never seeing the bastard again.

Brent trudged back to the couch, tossing the envelope across the large coffee table on top of the remains of his buffalo wings from the night before. The only thing that this complicated was his access to see his mother, though he hadn’t recently made much attempt to go visit her anyway. It would be just like his coward father to slap a restraining order on him after telling him the most ludicrous shit he may not have even believed had it not been for the confirmation on Sarah’s face when he showed up with her blood that night. She knew more than she was willing to tell him and while he wanted to know, the bigger part of him wished he’d never showed up at the mansion at all.

Sarah never physically seemed to be anything but human as long as he’d been with her. She was a little on the dark side in plenty of aspects, but nothing about her screamed vampire aside from her choice in wardrobe. He doubted very seriously that she was and wouldn’t know what to compare it to other than the obvious myths from scary stories. She was a victim of a much bigger evil than supernatural blood fiends … although now, it seemed that was what the government actually was, if they’d been responsible for torturing her like that. The fact that he had anything to do with it, even unknowingly, made him sick to his stomach. He flexed his stiff hand across his knee and looked down at the swollen bruised knuckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever hit someone.

Wren had actually shown some concern after he’d stupidly put on that show at the sports bar. He still couldn’t figure out why he’d done it. When that prick’s hands went for her tits, he reacted without a second thought. Maybe he was losing it. Maybe he just wanted to dosomethingright. Somethingmore. His eyes glanced up to the TV screen and it was as if someone slapped him in the face. A wake-up call. A little girl in a Red Sox beanie with a very familiar face giving an interview from the children’s hospital about the commotion at the benefit that no one could seem to figure out. Her mother sat next to her in a chair looking every bit as exhausted as she was hopeless. Sarah had every right to do what she had done, but it had taken away the promise of precious time from someone who truly deserved to have it. Something in his chest tightened.

His father had said that Brent was that little girl’s hero and would only do the trial under the condition that they meet face to face. He had nothing to offer her. But maybe seeing him would lift her spirits at the very least. If he didn’t get off this couch now, he’d probably let himself slip into a hole he wouldn’t soon crawl out of. Brent stood, turning off the television, and heading up the unrailed steps to his loft.

The precinct was extra busy this morning with the amount of new bodies taking up space they didn’t have and making themselves far too comfortable for Foley’s liking. They had practically turned the only available conference room into FBI headquarters and the precinct’s coffee supply was already dwindling. He stirred two packs of sugar into his mug and sipped from it on his way back to his office. Rachel Foster glanced up at him as one of the other agents continued to fill her ear with more bullshit at Northwood and Kane’s desks and she placed a hand on her hip as he met her eyes on his way through his door, slamming it behind him. Before he’d even had the chance to sit down in his chair and put his coffee down, she knocked.

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