Page 52 of Claimed By Fangs and Darkness
“I was trying to be polite, but yeah.”
I smiled, which only delighted Mena. She never failed to make spite look chic, as she stood in her leopard print tunic and dramatic gold earrings. Her lips were painted trademark Mena-red.
For a moment, something clicked, and Mena’s head tilted as she glanced between the two of us.
“Like I said, I no longer think you’re safe here, even with the Whitfields gone,” I said, hoping Mena wouldn’t ask the obvious question poised on her tongue. “I don’t think either of us is safe here. Not for a while, at least. I have a place we could stay, and we can come back once the dust settles.”
Mena’s sharp, former-professor mind parsed through my words. She studied us, those perceptive eyes analyzing everything said and unsaid.
“Someone needs to take care of the garden,” she said simply. The kettle whistled, and she reached for three mugs. “I’ve lived in this home for over thirty years. I picked out every single piece of furniture, art, linen, rug… this home is an extension of myself, and without it, I would be incomplete.”
“Well, that’s how I feel about you,” I said.
Mena shook her head. “It’s not the same, doll. This is my life, and you must let me live it. My parents wanted me to settle down and abide by their values and traditions, and I made my life full and rich andfabulousinstead. This isn’t my first brush with danger, and it needn’t be my last.”
The desperation in my eyes wasn’t enough, and for a moment I felt helpless and triggered. I remembered Idris’s motionless body.
Kylo traced circles on my back.
“You’re becomingyou,” Mena said as she placed a plate of biscuits down with our tea. She finally sat, her spine straight andher chin lifted with a regal air. “I insist you leave this house. I will grieve your absence just as I did Idris’s, but I will celebrate your growth with equal fervor.” She bit into a biscuit and took a sip of tea. “Rebellion is not reserved for the young.”
She reached for my hand, those amber eyes alight with mischief and knowing.
“It is a revolutionary act to stay in your home despite the threat from oppressors. To continue to laugh and take strolls and steal joy and orgasms and acts of indulgence, small and large. To refuse to live in fear is radical. I will dance and make art. I will fill vases with freshly cut flowers, and I will make my bed every morning. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I wanted to shake my head and beg her to change her mind. But Mena had never been selfish with me. After boldly defying her parents’ expectations and refusing to live a traditional life, she’d welcomed two children into her home without a second thought. She’d taken care of us better than she even took care of herself.
“I was made to understand your beautiful visions, Mena,” I said.
She grinned and gave my hand a squeeze. “And that’s why you’re my favorite girl in the world.”
“Do you write?” Kylo asked. “You have an enviable way with words.”
Mena lit up, falling deeper in love with Kylo. “Poetry, mainly. But I’d love to turn my journals into a memoir. I have been documenting my life since I was ten years old.”
“I would kill to read that memoir,” Kylo said.
Mena angled her head, studying Kylo.
“You’re right, by the way,” Kylo continued. “About all of it.”
“More of my favorite words! Go on.” Mena sipped her tea with an impish grin.
Kylo’s smile was nothing short of heart-melting. It was a hazard to society.
“The realm needs your wisdom. Preserving our ability to experience joy and levity is essential, no matter how heavy the oppression,” he said. “They may not realize it, but I believe the born envy our mortality, the way it expands our capacity for humor, art, and love. The knowledge that one day we will die gives everything we do such vivid color and meaning. The born have never lived with the fear of death, so they will never truly experience life. They wish they were as brave and bold and creative and hopeful as we are. But they will never know anything more than their own hollow, unquenchable emptiness.”
Even as my heart ached in my chest, still I sat here with Mena and Kylo and accepted the choice I always knew she would make.
Every laugh and joke did indeed feel radical, an act of defiance that rivaled my hungry, ruthless shadows. The tattoos hidden beneath my glamour told a story of rebirth and grief and radiant constellations.
“You should be with Idris for the, well, you know,” Mena said.
“For the trauma anniversary,” I said. It was in two weeks. This was when Idris and I experienced the peak of our nightmares and painful echoes from the past.
Mena nodded. She scanned my eyes curiously, unaccustomed to my bluntness. She hadn’t yet learned that I was no longer afraid of my own shadow.
“Of course I will.” I’d discovered that Idris remembered everything about that night—that he saw my greatest shame as an act of heroism, the reason he wanted to join the turned to protect me like I protected him.
