I cleaned it away!
I wanted to yell it. But deep down, I knew better.
You can scrub and scrub, but sometimes something doesn’t just go away. It . . . it stains you. Like finding your father’s ambulatory corpse on your back step, and shooting him over and over because he means to kill you.
He was a zombie, right? He would have killed me.
But he was my dad, and I’d done that. I’d done it, and something inside me was yanked sideways. There wasn’t any going back, and there wasn’t a way to feel clean again.
Maybe it was the touch telling me this. Frustration swamped me, hot and harsh. “It’s my fault.” My hands twitched. I wanted to grab him again, but I restrained myself. “If I hadn’t—”
“Don’t.” A subvocal thunder slid out of him, a wulfen’s warning growl. I froze. “Don’t you dare. Sometimes shit just happens, Dru. It’s not your fault. It never was.” He tossed the cigarette, a flick of his fingers sending it in a perfect arc. The sunshine beat down on both of us, the dead dyed-black mass of his hair swallowing it.
When he took my shoulders again, it was gentle. He drew me forward and slid his arms around me, and I hugged him. He was too skinny, feverish–hot with a loup-garou’s heightened metabolism. A thin sick tremor ran through him, like a high-voltage wire right before it snaps.
“Listen,” he said into my hair. “I’m only gonna say this once, so listen good.”
I nodded, breathing him in, my face in his chest. Squeezed my eyes shut.
His breath was a warm spot in my wet hair. The breeze swirled around us, full of the green growing of summer and cut grass. “I’m coming back. But I got to fix myself. The wulfen, they’ll help. But here’s the thing, Dru. I’m not worth you.” He took a deep breath, and the way his arms tightened made the protest die in my throat. “But I’m gonna be. I told you before, but you didn’t understand. Hell, you might not understand now. But you’ve got to trust me on this one.” His arms tightened. “You have got to let me go. Can you do that?”
It’s not fair! I wanted to stamp and scream and hit something. Instead, I swallowed, hard. Had to try twice before the words would come. “Do you promise? To come back?”
“I promise.” He sounded sure, at least.
“Do you swear?” So I was five years old again. So what?
“I swear. I . . .” He tensed, and I felt him swallow convulsively, too. “I’ve got to be worth you, Dru. I’ve got to get strong, so nobody can use me like that again.”
“Please.” There was nothing else I could say. “Graves. Please . . .”
But when he stepped back, I let him go. It tore inside me, way down deep where all the worst hurts settle. He took another step back, the gravel crunching, and when I finally looked back up at him, it was a shock to see.
The tears trickled down his cheeks. His eyes were red-rimmed, but his jaw was set. He opened his mouth, shut it. Opened it again, and what came out shocked me even more.
“I love you. Okay? I promise.” Another step back, his green gaze holding mine. “Hey.” His throat worked, like he was catching the words halfway and pulling them back. “Dru. What’s that short for, anyway?”
I actually felt my heart break. It cracked right in half, and a sobbing little laugh that sounded like a cry came out. Got caught at the back of my palate, right where the bloodhunger lived. I forced it down.
“I’ll tell you when you come back,” I managed. It was all I could say.
I guess it must have been the right thing. Because he turned on one heel and headed back for the open passenger door, head up, stepping like he was walking on quicksand or something that might throw him at any moment.
He grabbed the door. But just before he got in, he looked back over his shoulder, and that soundless flash of communication passed between us.
Once, in Dad’s truck in a snowstorm, I’d clung to him. Because we were both wrecked, and when you’re wrecked, the only thing you can do is hold onto whatever you can.
Hold on hard.
We were still shipwrecked, Graves and me. But that look told me everything. He was still holding on. As hard as he could.
It just wasn’t enough.
He ducked down, the door slammed, and the