Page 48 of The Blood we Crave

“Yeah, think I’ve just been up here a little too long.”

I help Briar up and watch as Sage swiftly lifts herself up into the room, dusting off her polka-dotted jeans that look so good on her.

“You gotta get some sunlight, chick. All the darkness is going to swallow you up,” Sage adds, walking towards me with a stunning smile on her freckled face, using her hand to brush one of my curls back from my face.

“We could’ve had this meeting somewhere that didn’t require breaking and entering, ya know? My apartment, Sage’s place, your cabin,” Briar breathes, looking around at the dusty space. “I’m starting to think you don’t want us to see your little hideout.”

She’s talking about my mother’s cabin, or rather my cabin now.

I’d spent the past two summers redoing the interior, painting the exterior, and making the space livable. That place had been one of the many things I’d been left in her will, and it had been one of her favorite locations.

When I was released from the state at eighteen, my bank account had increased substantially. I knew my mother and I were well-off, but when I’d seen the number, my eyeballs nearly fell out of my skull. The insurance company told me it was from her policy, but even then, it felt like too much money.

It’s not that I don’t want the girls there—I do, more than they know. I’m just nervous about sharing this project I’d worked hard on, this space that my mother had loved with other people.

I know they won’t judge me; they’re my friends, the only friends I’ve ever had, but my insecurity and history of being ridiculed make me apprehensive.

“I’m not keeping anything from you two,” I say softly. “I just think this place is much cooler.”

“Lyra, I love you,” Sage mutters as Briar drops her backpack onto the floor, “but this place creeps me the fuck out.”

“Most of the places I enjoy have that sort of effect on people.”

“That’s why we love you though,” Briar says, winking at me from her squatted place on the floor. She’s digging for something, and when she finds it, she stands up and offers it to me.

I go to reach for it, but she pulls it back before I touch it.

“Alistair told me about the trip to see Silas.”

“Yeah?” I say, furrowing my brows. “They agreed to look into the other girls. We talked about this.”

“He told me about the entire trip, Lyra,” she emphasizes. Something cold crosses her eyes. “I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Nothing happened, B.” The lie on my tongue tastes bitter, so sour in my mouth I want to spit.

“So he just pulled you away for a chat about homework?” She crosses her hands across her chest. “Listen, if he said something to you, you can tell me. I can—”

“I don’t need you to anything,” I say, standing my ground. “I don’t need you to go tell Alistair. I’m completely capable of handling Thatcher Pierson on my own. What happened between our parents has nothing to do with us.”

It technically has everything to do with it, but I’m trying to make a point.

I know Briar sees Thatch as the enemy. That because of what his dad did, I’m suddenly a target. She’s being a good friend, watching out for me, but I know I’m capable of sticking up for myself.

I’m quiet, not weak.

“We know you are,” Sage interjects. “We just worry, Lyra. You have to be careful. I’m trying to respect the fascination you have with him, but I don’t want Thatcher throwing a hissy fit when he figures out you’ve been…” She struggles with the word. “You know, following him.”

“Stalking, you mean?” I give her the correct term, and she winces.

They said themselves they have no right to judge me and what I do. How I feel. But I know it’s difficult for them to grasp—it’s difficult for everyone to grasp. The connection we share is something private; only he and I can feel it. See it. Understand it.

That’s the way I like it.

The box of tokens I’d collected from Thatcher over the years had been my undoing. They know about my obsession with him, and I’d tried to explain why I feel the need to be close to him, but it doesn’t mean they like it.

“He is dangerous. Your fixation could just be a side effect of your PTSD, Lyra. Getting close to him scares me for you,” Briar injects, not hiding her disapproval of him.

I flinch slightly at the sheer hypocritical nature of my friend. Briar Lowell is brave and the kind of friend you want by your side when you go into the worst storms. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her and she for me, but that? That is not her.

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