Nate took back the phone. “So we’ll start looking through other Clare Blackbird things.” He shook his head. “Seriously. Worst name ever.”
When they reached the cabin, they went inside and Nate immediately headed upstairs. “I’m just going to take a quick shower to rinse all the ash and blood off my skin and then we’ll start our Raven investigation.”
Scarlet looked down at her dirty shirt and hands as Tristan walked to the kitchen.
He pulled off his coat and threw it on a barstool, grimacing at the sharp aches in his back and chest where his Bluestone cuts were. Knowing it was probably going to be a long night of research and nothingness, Tristan started making coffee.
A quiet gasp—almost too quiet to hear—came from the stairs and he frowned. Who was—
Dammit.
He rushed to the stairs and found Scarlet halfway to the second floor, eyes squeezed shut and a hand braced against the wall. At his nearness, she opened her eyes and leaned against the wall in a casual way. Like she hadn’t just been in excruciating pain.
“What’s up?” she said pleasantly.
He glared at her. “You’re supposed to stay by me.”
“Don’t scold me,” she snapped.
He pursed his lips. “I can’t feel you anymore, Scar. There’s no way for me to know if you’re in pain unless you tell me.”
“It’s not your job to keep me out of pain. And I should certainly be able to be a few rooms away from you without being in agony. Agh.” She shook out her hands. “Is this what it was like for you?”
He looked at her sympathetically. “No. The pain might be the same, but I was never as bound to your proximity as you are to mine. Why are you going upstairs?”
“To take a shower.”
He lifted an angry brow. “In Gabriel’s bathroom?”
She put a hand on her hip. “The main floor bathroom doesn’t have a shower.”
Tristan tried not to clench his jaw. “The basement does.”
“Yes. But the basement is yours. And since I’m like your own personal Grim Reaper, I thought it would be smarter if I showered upstairs.”
He crossed his arms. “Well it’s not smarter. It’s painful. Come back downstairs.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes in with a groan. “I couldn’t tell you what to do even if I tried. Which I have.” He dropped his hands and gave her a hard look. “Many, many times.”
She smiled tightly. “And yet you’re still ordering me around.”
He jutted his jaw. “Would you stop arguing and come down the stairs? You can take a shower in my bathroom and I’ll stay in the basement so you’re not thrashing about in pain. Come on.”
She didn’t move.
God, she was stubborn. And wonderful.
“Please?” he said.
With a drawn-out exhale, she stepped down the stairs. Their eyes briefly met as she moved past him and she darted them away just as fast.
Tristan felt the uneasiness in his chest return as he followed her to the basement. He watched her fingers trail down the handrail as she descended the stairs.
“Why are you standing so close behind me?” she said.
“Why are you hiding things from me?” he countered as they reached the basement floor.
She flipped around, her long hair brushing his dirty shirt as she faced him with blue eyes filled with determination. “I’m not.”
He stared at her until she took a step back and met the wall, her eyes just as hard as his.
He closed the distance between them and rested his forearms against the wall on either side of her head, caging her in as he brought his face close to hers.
“I don’t have to feel you,” his said with a low voice, “to know when you’re lying.”
He watched her hard eyes flicker with something—pain, maybe? Sadness?—before falling to his mouth.
His heart stopped beating.
Bad idea. He was way too close to her. Close enough to feel her hot breath feather across his chin as she exhaled. Close enough to see the beating pulse at the base of her throat.
Close enough to touch her…
Her eyes shot back to his with renewed hardness and she ducked underneath his left arm. “Let it go, Tristan.” She marched to his room.
“No.” He pushed off the wall and followed her to his bedroom.
Another poorly thought-out idea.
He crossed his arms and focused on the situation at hand. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
She glowered at him. “Nothing is going on. I’m just nervous about Heather. And Gabriel. And Raven and everything.”
“Right.”
Her eyes flared. “Why are you mad at me?”
“I’m worried about you.”
She threw her arms in the air. “There’s nothing to worry about!”
“Bullshit.” He moved past her in into his master bathroom and turned on the shower so the water would warm up. “I can’t protect you if you won’t be honest with me—
“I don’t need your protection!”
He shook his head with an angry smile as he left the bathroom and walked to the dresser by his bed. “That’s right. Scarlet doesn’t need anything.” He pulled out a soft T-shirt and a pair of running pants. “Scarlet can do whatever she wants and keep all her little secrets to herself and run away and die.” He gave a jerky shrug as he turned to face her. “Because who cares who you hurt in the process of all your deception? It’s all about Scarlet, after all.”
“You should talk.” She narrowed her eyes at him across the bed. “Just last year, you tried to kill yourself—“
“To save you!”
“I don’t need you to save me, Tristan! I need you to trust me!”
“Trust you? The last time I trusted you, you disappeared and died!” His voice nearly cracked. “You died alone and terrified and there was nothing I could do about it.” Fear clogged up his veins as he threw the T-shirt and pants on the bed. “I don’t want to trust you, Scar. I want to keep you alive!”
“What are those?” She pointed at the clothes.
“Your pajamas!” He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Gabriel regained consciousness and rolled his neck as his bones mended themselves. Now he was pissed.
He opened his eyes and found Heather still hanging across from him, her eyes squeezed shut as she muttered something about ponies.
“Why are you chanting about horses?”
Her eyes flew open. “Gabriel! Oh, thank God! I thought you were almost dead or something.”
“Nope.” He felt his neck finally crack back into place and winced at the last sharp pain of healing. “Still alive.”
“I can’t believe Raven did that to you. What a beast. When we get rescued by a crew of hot SWAT guys—because that’s how it goes down in my head; a shirtless SWAT team will rescue us—”
“A SWAT team is not going to rescue us—“
“A shirtless SWAT team,” she raised her voice, “will rappel into the warehouse and rescue me and my pink shoes—but not you, because you don’t believe in shirtless SWAT teams—and when they do, I’m totally going to slap Raven The Beast with a piece of this sandpaper rope.” She jostled her arm restraints.
“Yeah. That’ll show her.”
“B-T-W,” Heather said. “What’s with the death wish?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about provoking the wicked witch of the west. You look old? Are you trying to get us both killed?”
“She does look old. Or at least, older than she used to.”
“It doesn’t matter! Two things you never comment on when it comes to girls: their age and their weight. That’s male survival 101. Come on!”