Page 19 of Rejected Exile

There's a distant sound. A snarl and a howl. The vampires jerk away from me. One of them curses, and they both shimmer away, moving impossibly fast.

It's my blood that did that to them, I think distantly. My strength. The thing inside me that makes it all feeltoo muchall the time. The bond that should've been and the bond that wasn't. All those sharp deadly things inside me. They take them away, and I don't have to live with them anymore.

Until the feeling fades.

"Shit." This cursing voice is familiar, but new. Blinking up, I make my eyes focus on a face of melting tans and blues and yellows. "He's blood drunk again."

"How bad?"

"I don't know." Kneeling, the body the voice belongs to taps my face with a fingertip. "Kieran, can you get up?"

I burble. Ring. Make that noise—laugh,that's the word.

"I don't think he can stand." Weary. A hand slides up under me, separates me from the earth. I groan and wriggle—more cursing. "Fuck, Kieran! You're going to freeze to death out here. Especially with that venom coursing through your veins."

I don't know why they call it venom. It doesn't feel like poison. It feels like little drops of heaven, more potent than the best liquor in the world. With it, I can finally forget everything enough to actually behappy.

Maybe that's what makes it poisonous. Happiness always is. Nothing taught me that better than believing I could haveheronly to lose her all at once, forever.

The hands grab me again, and pull me to a sitting position. I stare at a series of shapes that coalesce into a familiar face: Roarke. Always the good guy, Roarke, with his pale skin summer tanned and his light-brown hair summer bleached, even in the middle of winter. Blue eyes stare at me with concern, and something like resigned disappointment.

He should've known that this would happen again. I don't know why he ever thinks it'll stop. I've never told him as much, never promised, and if I have, I didn't mean it.

"Help me get him home."

"No way, man." Standing behind the noble Roarke Bell is the lovable but absolutely infuriating Finn Barber, a frown creasing his impossibly handsome face. "Just give up on him already. He's a lost cause."

"I'm not giving up on him." Roarke pulls at my shoulders and I flop back towards the ground, ignoring his sighs. It feels better down here. "He wouldn't give up on me if our places were reversed."

"You keep saying that, but it'll never happen. He'll never be the thoughtful put-together guy who gives a shit. And you'll never be drunk off your ass in the woods because you let a vampire bite you."

Sounding exhausted, Roarke says, "Last I checked he wasn't letting them. He was paying them."

Shame flushes me, running from my chest to my head then back down again. It's enough to wear away at my high. Damn Roarke for doing that—for taking some of it away. All I want is a few precious moments of oblivion, and he won't give me that.

I didn't ask for him to care about me. To spend his nights out in the woods searching for me. I try to shake his tail—I used to be good at it. But he's gotten faster, smarter, stronger, and I... well, I've gone in other directions.

As he pulls me up the second time, I'm able to focus on his face. And on Finn's face. The latter hasn't left yet, though he threatens every time Roarke drags him out here. One day, hewillleave—turn around and walk away. One day, I hope, Roarke will leave too.

Or I'll die before then.

It's the least that I deserve.

"Just go," I tell Roarke in a hoarse voice, hating how even saying the words brings reality back in, with all its painful emotions and memories. "Leave me be already."

"No fucking way, dude. It's not happening."

Stubbornness has set into Roarke's jaw, just like always. It runs like a line of tension from his temple to his chest. A wrinkle in his forehead creases—a wrinkle that should probably be named Kieran, since I'm the one who gave it to him.

With some cajoling and threats, Roarke convinces Finn to help him carry me out of the woods. They get me far enough out to find a house at the edge of town with an outdoor hose. Roarke sprays it at me remorselessly until I surge to my feet, cursing his name. Once that's done he grabs one of my arms and throws it over his shoulders with affection in his face; Finn grabs the other arm with far less affection or care.

"You know, Roarke, one day you won't be able to find me," I tell him, squinting into the distance, where those smears of reds and yellows and blues still are. "I just want you to know, when that happens, it won't be your fault. Whatever comes next—just don't blame yourself."

He mutters, "Shut the fuck up. You arenotdying on me."

I don't say anything in response, though I know he's wrong. Instead, I just force my feet forward, one after the other, staring unfocused into the distance.

Somewhere out there in the world is the one person who could make my life worth living.

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