Page 48 of Scarlet Angel

What I felt on the sofa? The tremors. No,vibrations. The low hum. An unwavering buzz. It had nothing to do with him. The sensations had everything to do with healing.

I was able to hug Willow. And I hugged Orlando on occasion. That counts, the therapist said.

My muscles feel weak, like I completed a draining rendition of one of my trainer’s workouts. My therapist introduced me to Maxine for self-defense techniques. She’s former military and SERES-trained, and she taught me more than self-defense. With her, I grew strong. In a ninety-minute routine, she propelled me through running, pull-ups, push-ups, and sit-ups, and then she’d send me into the ocean to swim until my muscles burned.

After a session with Maxine and a hot soaking bath, I didn’t want to move. I’d lie in bed, bone-tired. It’s no wonder the memory surfaces as I sink into the couch cushions. Only I didn’t lift a finger.

When he touched me, warmth rained over my skin, penetrating to the bone. Tears spilled, bewildering me. I do not cry. I haven’t in years.

I am not weak. I am strong.

After such an emotional release, my muscles feel like water. I'm not sure I could have steadied my hands enough to return the favor had he accepted my offer. But I offered, because otherwise…

Otherwise what? Would that be him doing me a favor?

I force my emotionally spent limbs off the sofa, leaving the warmth of the hearth, and meander through the halls, arms wrapped around my middle.

Flashes of heat strike with the velocity of a thunderbolt.

I’m flustered. That’s all.

I should’ve listened to my therapist and sought massage therapy for post-therapeutic continuity.

In my room, I stand by the window, taking in the drab countryside cloaked in fog. If I let myself, I would unravel.

But I’ve come too far. I’ve done everything I said I would. Revenge has yet to be delivered, but I’ve done my part. The wheels of justice grind slowly, but I’ve pushed the cart, and eventually, it shall gather steam. All that is required now is patience. Living—no, thriving—will exact a deeper revenge. If I get wrapped up in emotion, if I succumb to the pain, they win.

I press my forehead against the cold windowpane and think of Willow. My cousin, my best friend, the only good in a world of evil.

I miss you, Willow.

“I’m still here.”

I shake my head at the response that comes through in her voice.If only.

There’s still Orlando, but his evolution has begun. He’s only fifteen, but Uncle Alessio raised him to be one of them. His kind, empathetic soul will be crushed, and a heartless, greedy spirit will rise. One day. But today is not that day.

I pick up my mobile and dial the one person I care about in that world.

He answers on the fifth ring. “Ciao.”

“Orlando.” A wave of warmth crashes within as I say his name.

Static-like sounds crackle through the connection. Heavier noises cross the line, possibly footfalls.

Click.

“Orlando? Are you there?”

“Now I am. I didn’t want anyone to hear. Why haven’t you agreed to come home?”

“What’s wrong?”

“You should hear what they’re saying. What’s going on?”

“What’s being said?”

“Massimo was here earlier.”

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