For Your Heart (Hill Dweller Retellings) (10 page)

    
“You must give me your heart,” Tamrin says quietly – like this is a reasonable request.

    
I shake my head against my arm.  “Y-you can't have it.  N-not yet, I mean I haven't gotten to do
anything
with it yet,” I stammer.  I put my hands over my face.  I don't want to die yet.  I haven't fallen in love, or gotten married, or had kids, or gone to college, or become a career woman…Hell, I don’t even know what I
want
to be when I grow up.

    
“What could a simple human girl want to do?”

    
I lift my head and cut my eyes at him.  “What do you care?  You’re only some heartless murderer that I conjured up as a manifestation of all my fears.”

    
He stares at me again.  Long and hard.  I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, only that he’s engrossed in it.  “I’m not a murderer.  Nor am I heartless.”

    
I scoff.  “Sure seems like it from here,” I reason.  “You attack me for no reason, stalk me, break into my house, and now you want to cut out my heart.”

    
His brows pinch and his lips purse, then he’s quiet for a long moment, as if thinking long and hard about something.  “I do not like that you think these things of me,” he reflects.  More silence.  “I do not know why I care to overturn such wild accusations…But,” he takes a deep breath, “I do.”  His eyes search mine for a moment.  “How much time do you need?”

    
I give him an incredulous look.  Is this guy giving me a life limit?  Like the doctors did with Mom?  ‘Two months to live, Genevieve, better learn Russian and go sky diving like you’ve always wanted.’  I shudder.

    
My whole life would be preferable, but I can't make any deals with my own angel of death.  Is that what this guy is?  Maybe I ate some strawberries and didn’t know it?  Maybe I’m in an anaphylactic shock induced coma and this is a dream.  Maybe I’m making a deal with my own grim reaper and I don’t even know it.  If that’s so, if this is a dream…Then he should let me live until I’ve fulfilled my dream.  “At least let me go through one year of college?”

    
“When's that?”

    
“In two years.”

    
He shakes his head.  “No, too long.”

    
“But,” I reason.  “I want to go to college.  It’s my dream.”

    
He bites his lip.  “I would like to allow you that boon, Lovely, I would.  But I can’t wait that long.  I’m sorry.  You've got exactly one year.”  He stands, his expression determined and resolute.  “Until then, you will care for that heart like it is diamond encrusted and I shall make sure of it.”

    
I stare at him, unmoving as he goes toward my bed, divests himself of his weapons, and stretches across the side I never sleep on.  He puffs my sushi pillow, shifts into a comfortable position, and settles his gaze on me.

    
It takes a minute to compute what’s happening and then I push myself up on wobbly arms.  “No,” I insist with a flick of my head.  “You are
not
staying here.”

    
“I can't go back to Roxel.  She'll want to know about the rose.”

    
“Go pawn yourself off on some other chick.  You don't seem to have any problems with that.”

    
Tamrin looks around the room.  “No, I like it here.  I'm staying.”

    
I feel my jaw drop.  “You can't stay here,” I insist.  “You can't freeload off of my dreams and then steal my heart!”

    
He cocks his head, regarding me with thoughtful eyes.  “I can pay, if you like.  I promise you'll be pleased.”  The tone of his voice is far too suggestive.

    
I blink, then blush crimson.  “What?  No!”  My voice is too high pitched, scandalized as I am.  “I'm not,” I struggle for words, “I'm not that kind of girl.  I don't do stuff like that.  I'm Catholic.  You know, virgin until marriage.”

    
Tamrin frowns and then shrugs.  “Suit yourself.  But, I'm not leaving.”

    
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m storming forward, grabbing his dagger from the nightstand, and pointing it at him.   “Go away!”

    
Unconcerned grey eyes level at me and crinkle at the corners.  “Who’s the killer now?”

    
“I’m not a killer,” I reason.  “I’m defending myself.  You invaded my home and violated my privacy.  I have a right to defend myself and a right to retribution.”

    
He lifts a cheeky eyebrow.  “Funny, I could say the same thing to you.”

    
I frown.  “Could not.”

    
“Could, too.”

    
I hold my tongue.  We’re arguing like children.

    
When he sees I’m not going to sass him back, he says, “That garden is my home.  I’m in charge of protecting it.  You trampled in and ripped up a rose that was my responsibility.  Now, if I don’t right the wrong you’ve done, my life is forfeit.  Explain to me why my situation is any different than yours.”

    
I can’t, so I don’t.  If he’s telling the truth, then he’s right.  I’ve violated his property and put his life in danger.  He has a right to defend himself – to seek retribution.  I just don’t want it to come out of my skin.

    
“I think I’m being very fair with you,” he says.  “I could have gutted you yesterday, you know I could have.”

    
“Not if you aren’t real,” I snap.

    
He sits up, making me take a step back.  “You’re still caught up on that?”

    
“I’d prefer crazy over dead.”

    
Tamrin unfolds himself from my bed and stands tall.  I hold the knife at ready, uncertain.  He simply walks at me.  I back up until my rear end hits the wall.  But he still comes forward, so I hold the knife higher.  “Stop,” I breathe.  “What are you doing?”

    
He smirks.  “Proving my point.”  He walks to the point of the knife and leans forward until it pricks his neck and a tiny, ruby red blood droplet slips down the cold steel.

    
With a gasp, I drop the knife and stare wide-eyed at the blood trickling down his hickey bruised neck.  Hickies.  Right, I saw those this afternoon…and they meant something – an important fact that I chose to conveniently forget in my pursuit of craziness.  They prove, like the blood does now, Tamrin is real.  Tamrin is more human than any kind of faerie, angel, or imaginary monster he pretends to be.

    
He reaches up and puts his fingers to the tiny wound, draws them away and looks at the blood.  “Do hallucinations bleed, Jeanette?”

    
“I-I-”

    
He grabs my trembling fingers and presses them against his chest.  “Do they have heart beats?  Do they breathe?”

    
I stare up at him.  “I-I don’t know.”

    
He drops my hand and turns to the nightstand where he takes a tissue and presses it against his neck.  He sits on the bed.  “Hallucination or not.  Whether either of us wants to or not.  I will take your heart.  It’s only fair.”

    
I look at the bloody knife sitting on the floor.  “Not if I kill you first.”

    
He leans against the bed and sighs.  “Go ahead.  Dying by your hand would be better than what Roxel will do to me if she finds out about her rose.  Although,” he gives me a dark smirk, “she probably won’t like it if you kill me.  We might both end up dead.  At least if you die at my hand, I’ll be merciful.”

Tamrin

    
Jeanette's finally asleep.  I can tell by the silence in the hall.  She's such a foolish girl.  Who locks themself in a bathroom and sobs on the floor until she passes out?  And why sleep on the floor when there's plenty of room in the bed?

    
I slip off of the comforter, choose a few twisted silver bobbles out of the heart-shaped crystal dish on her desk, and tip-toe into the hallway.  It takes less than a minute for me to pick the lock on the bathroom door with the bobbles.  She’s curled into a little ball on the big fluffy mat.  Smiling, I kneel close to her.  Even in sleep, she looks like she's trying to figure out the meaning of life.  Her right brow has a perpetual crimp.  She's going to end up with a wrinkle if she's not careful.

    
I put my hand on her shoulder.  She doesn't respond so I slide my fingers under her knees and rib cage and lift her off the floor.  She's heavier than I expected, but then it's not every day I carry a human in my arms.  Female
Aos Si
are naturally bird-boned, a result of our angelic heritage.  Sometimes I'm terrified I'm going to break them.

    
Jeanette's weight is real and resilient; it's a strange comfort – like the weight of a human girl was what my arms were meant for.  I cradle her against my chest, staring at her sleeping face, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her unkempt hair, liking the feel of her warm smooth legs against my arms and hands.  Her breath suddenly catches and her brow furrows deeper as she moans and shifts in my arms.

    
Afraid of how upset she’d be to wake and find me holding her, I slip back into her room and set her on the bed. 

    
With a shiver, she curls back into a ball and white-knuckle fists her pillow.  “Timmy,” she whispers. “Don't go, Timmy.” 

    
The tears gathering at the corners of her dark brown lashes pull little bits of my heart.  Sitting beside her, I ease her cock-eyed spectacles off her face and place them on the nightstand. 
I'll stay with you
.  It's a silly thought.  Of course I'm staying, but not because she needs someone to watch and protect her while she's having nightmares.  It's because I need something from her.

    
Besides, what sort of comfort would she get out of my presence?  She doesn’t even think I’m real.  And when she did?  I hold my hand in front of me.  I still feel her shaking in my grasp, still smell the sickly-sweet odor of fear and adrenaline on her skin.  She's terrified of me. 

    
No, she shouldn't get comfortable.  Giving up her heart is going to hurt – a lot.  But what can I do?  It's me or her.  My life or her life.  My heart or her heart.  Either way, Roxel's going to get her new rose.  She's awfully grumpy when something doesn't go her way.

    
Jeanette is still shaking.  With cold or fear?  I don’t know why and I don’t care; I only know I need to stop the shaking.  I smooth her hair, offering warmth and comfort.

Jeanette

     I slam my hand on the alarm, struggle my glasses over my face, and roll over.  It takes me a minute to realize something about my situation is wrong.  I'm in bed and I know I didn't start in bed.  Shooting bolt upright, I stare across the room.  Tamrin's eyes meet mine.  I part my lips to demand an explanation, but my door opens and Dad pops his head in.  Tamrin goes statue-still on the other side of the door.

    
“Rise and shine, petunia,” Dad says brightly.  He's never short on annoying A.M. greetings.

    
I force a smile, but I get the distinct feeling I look like I'm in pain. 

    
Dad’s eyes turn wary.  “Uh oh, it's not that time of the month is it?”

    
“Dad!” I whine, embarrassed.  He'll never get over his frat days, I swear. 

    
He ducks a few inches behind the door – like he expects a pillow thrown at him.  Trust me, if I was going to throw something at someone, it would be at tall, tawny, and handsome standing on the other side of the door.  Where is his shirt?  What's with the human skin tone?  Where did the green go?  He must have washed it off.  I knew he was just a normal person!  And what’s that weird thorn bush tattoo all over his chest?  I doubt faeries or angels have tattoos.

    
I tear my eyes away from Tamrin, hoping Dad hasn't noticed me staring at my would-be executioner.  “What's for breakfast?” I ask, trying to sound normal even though nothing about this situation is normal.

    
“Pancakes?”

    
Tamrin nods and a few strands of raven hair fall out of the loose pony tail hanging over his muscular, bare shoulder. 

    
I cringe and Dad takes it as a no.  “Cereal it is.”  He ducks out and Tamrin and I wait for his footsteps to fade before glancing at each other.

    
“Where are your clothes?” I demand, trying my best not to stare at him, but it’s incredibly hard.  He's not totally naked, thank God, but a shirtless Tamrin might as well be naked in the world of Jeanette.  My face is hot and my heart thudding.  He might be my future murderer, but he’s a yummy looking, half naked in my bedroom, murderer.  And now, without the glowing green, he looks like a normal guy.  “And what happened to your skin?”