Page 96 of Fanged Embrace
“Maybe, but you’re still doing great.” She took my hand, lacing fingers through bulky gloves. “Race you to the other side?”
I was not nearly prepared for that, but I smirked up at her anyway. “Ready to lose?”
We pushed off together. River was elegant as ever, and I was surprisingly enthusiastic—and not as unsteady as before. She still won, obviously, but I was only half a length behind, and when we braked, she reached out to steady me, hands snug at my waist. “Not bad for your first time.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking of trying out for the Olympics next year.” I was grinning so hard my face hurt.
River laughed and we pushed off again, hand-in-hand, skating slow circles around the rink. The more laps we made, the more my body figured out its own physics. Knees springy, weight balanced. I was flying.
Soon I didn’t need River’s hand for balance at all, only for the thrill of swinging her around corners and weaving between other slow-moving skaters. We whooshed past the kid from earlier—my tiny nemesis—who gaped as I executed an almost-graceful swoop. I shot the little shit a smug grin as we glided past.
Wind burned my cheeks a happy red, and each breath felt wide open, not squeezed by old restraints. Every shift of my hips was my decision; every slow brake or daring acceleration was on my terms. My body answered only to me.
It was exhilarating.
River skated beside me, content to match my pace, ready to catch me if I faltered—but proud to let me steer. I realized she’d picked the rink for exactly this reason. A place where I was in control, but my safety net—River herself—hovered close by. Autonomy on my terms, with backup.
After a dozen circuits we coasted to the center, momentum dwindling until our skates scraped to a stop. The rink’s fairy lights haloed her dark hair; my pulse still rushed like a song in my ears.
River tugged the collar of my jacket, drawing me closer. “Permission to gloat about my coaching prowess?”
“Please,” I flicked icy flakes off her shoulder, “I only barely managed to not concuss myself.”
River shrugged and brushed my hair from my eyes. “But you managed.”
Then she dipped her head and kissed me. Her mouth was ice-cold against mine, but infinitely soft—and I kissed herback, lips still stuck in that perpetual smile. I wasn’t thinking about my mission, I wasn’t hellbent on revenge.
I wasn’t ready to let go of this impossibly perfect moment.
I knew it would have to end eventually, we couldn’t stand there on the ice forever. I knew the threat of my enemies—our enemies—would slink back in the moment the euphoria wore off. I knew this blissful feeling bubbling up in my chest would not last. Not when there was still a war to be waged, not with the remaining poisonous memories still lodged in my head.
But for now, for the brief time we had with our lips locked together, I would let myself relax.
I would let myself love her like I could have if I’d lived a different life.
47
River
The change in Laurie was gradual. Progress was slow and not without slip-ups, and we still had a long way to go.
But the changewasthere.
Laurie was reforming in front of my eyes. I could see it in the way she smiled—no longer strained and uneasy. Her lips turned up at the corners more often than ever. It was the slightest difference, but beautiful to see. She still scowled over breakfast, but some tightness had eased from her shoulders; her laughter came quicker, the kind that startled us both when it happened.
I’d half expected her to feel less like herself without the open wounds, but the opposite was true—her real personality was expanding into territory that raw trauma used to occupy.
She wasn’t the only one changing, either. I could feel my own powers expanding, growing stronger by the day, like a muscle I’d only just learned to flex. I was beginning to realize that I could actuallyhelppeople. I could do more than simplysoothe emotions; I could do more than simply slap a band-aid on a gaping wound.
I could stitch it up instead.
Until now, I’d always regarded my empathetic powers as a kind of patch-kit and nothing more, but the past few days with Laurie had stretched that definition past recognition. Each time I slipped into her mind and teased out another barbed fragment, my reach extended, my precision sharpened. I could tap into the entire circuitry of her mind—and with Laurie working with me, examining each memory before passing it along—I could rewire it.
I started to wonder, if I could do this for her, who else could I help? Clearing minds—not with Hunter’s blunt-force amnesia, but with careful excisions. Memory microsurgery.
The more I thought it over, the more visions bloomed behind my eyes. A possible future: a clinic of sorts, where scars were healed, not erased. My gift could be more than cryptic fortune cookies and comforting auras. But even with all this gradual growth, still, my mind was plagued with concerns.
Laurie’s future remained a blacked-out panel in every probability lattice I scanned. I could stare at the skyline until my eyes bled and bend my body into every yoga position, and see every possible tomorrow for Hunter, for Jordan, for the man walking his dog across the street—but Laurie’s thread was still a void, a radio silence that made my pulse stutter.
