Awaken the Soul (Havenwood Falls High)(11)

“I won’t hurt you.”

My eyes lift from my cell.

“You’re safe, Vivienne. He won’t come here, and I won’t hurt you,” he repeats.

“I know.” I sigh, like I’m surprised the words came from my lips.

Breckin shoves his hair back, his right eye narrowing thoughtfully.

“That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? After tonight . . . I don’t think I truly know anything, but . . .” I pause. My fear and hesitation aren’t rooted in what he is, or isn’t. We’ve lived in the same town and gone to the same school all our lives. He’s got an ego, he causes trouble occasionally, but he’s not a bad guy. And he isn’t someone I’ve ever been afraid of. Still, my heart races as nerves dance in my stomach. I’m terrified of letting down my guard. Terrified of my thoughts, my feelings. Feelings? Where did this come from?

“I trust you. I’m just—” My shoulders lift when I can’t articulate properly.

“Freaked out? Scared as hell? Considering a mental institution?” He says it with such calm—straight-faced, mouth drawn—I can’t prevent laughter from bubbling up.

“Well, thank goodness.” My fingers fumble with my jacket as my hesitance melts away. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who thinks I’m crazy.”

Breckin’s poker face slips as I untangle my bag from around my neck and set it on the floor. I shrug out of my jacket, kick off my boots, and inhale deeply before daring to move forward.

He holds the throw blanket out as I near him and the plump chair he’s angled toward the fire. “You’re not crazy, Vivienne.”

That’s debatable. “First things first.” Accepting the blanket, I sit and pull my knees to my chest, covering my legs and feet. “I should text Zara so she doesn’t call my mom.”

“Good idea. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He crosses the room to the kitchen as I type out a vague text. My gaze flits from the keyboard to his back, unable to not look for evidence of the wings hiding in there somewhere. Do they hide? Are they magic? Invisible? “Ask whatever you want.”

My head snaps up. Breckin’s face reflects in a mirror running from floor to ceiling behind the wet bar. He watches me stare at him. My cheeks burn. Hitting send on my text, I drop the phone to my lap and drag the throw to my chin. The fire works its magic, the flames warming my frozen toes.

“I’m not sure what to ask,” I admit, after a moment of watching him watch me.

He pulls two water bottles from a mini refrigerator, his mouth twisting. “You’ve been watching my backside—”

I choke. “Uh, watching your wings. Not your backside, thank you very much.”

“Yes, my wings. That’s what I meant, Vivie. I didn’t know you had such a dirty mind.”

I gape at his smug grin. His tease draws my ire at the same time his calling me Vivie draws goosebumps over my skin. “I do not have a dirty mind.”

As if testing me, he twists the lid from his water and drinks half of it—a knowing smile on his perfect face when he’s done. Darn my eyes for staring. I face the fire and bite the inside of my cheek.

Breckin sets a bottle of water on the table by my chair and takes a seat on the couch. I peer into the fire, watching the flames leap around the ceramic logs, the blue glow from the gas flickering at the base.

“I like real fires better,” I say for no reason, other than to break the silence, my eyes not leaving the fireplace. “There’s no snap, crackle, and pop to a gas fire. No faces in the burning logs.”

“Faces in the logs?”

“Yeah? Don’t you ever stare at the flames? At the way the embers and burnt logs burn into creatures?” My breath catches. Creatures, like demons and dragons—that’s what I usually see in a fire. Scary fairytale type things I never considered real, like angels. Now I’m unsure.

“The one upstairs is real. I brought you down here because the lack of windows is safer.”

I work up the nerve to face him, to ask my questions. “Safer from what?”

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, his forearms resting on his thighs. He flips his water bottle between his knees and regards me.

“You said you would tell me everything if I came with you. What happened yesterday? Why do I need to be in your basement? Why do I need safety?”

His head falls. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”

“Why would this be your fault?”

Yesterday was a normal day. Zara dropped me off after school. I ate a snack with my mom, then changed to go for a run while she got ready for work. She dropped me at my usual trailhead at the base of Mount Alexa, and I started jogging. For the past three years, I’ve followed this route—jogging for several miles. Yesterday something happened. Something different.

“You said I was attacked, that you heard me scream. But I have no memory of it. I have no physical injuries.” I shake my head, challenging everything he told me.

“You have bruises,” he says softly. “On your ribs.”

“How would you—”

He sinks into the couch. “Because I took your clothes off, Vivienne. I carried you back to my house and undressed you and made sure you were okay before carrying you home.”