NOCTE (Nocte Trilogy #1) (18 page)

“I’ll see you soon, Calla-Lily,” he
promises huskily.
 
I nod, and watch
him turn and walk away.
 

God,
he looks good walking away.
 

And then I float upstairs to my
room.
 

It’s not until I’m staring out my bedroom
window and see Finn that I come crashing down.
 

He’s standing out on the edge of the
trees.
 

And he’s covered in blood.

VIGINTI
TRES

In
my head, all I can see is blood as I clatter down the stairs and rush to get to
my brother.
 

What
has he done?

I race outside, but when I reach where he
was standing, he’s no longer there.
 
I spin in a circle, gazing about, but there’s no sign of him.
 

Until I see a flash of green from the
corner of my eye, the exact color of his shirt.
 

Viridem.
 

He’s headed for the beach so I take off
like a rocket, pummeling the ferns as I trip over them on my way to the
shore.
 
I skid over the rocks and
the clay and the dirt, and when I hit the bottom, he’s there.
 

Simply standing there on the edge of the
water, waiting for me, like he’s been there all along.
 

He stands limply, his hands at his sides,
and blood runs from his elbows to his hands.
 

“What the hell?” I shout as I race to
him, grabbing his arms and examining them.
 
“What did you do?”

Long scratches stretch the length of his
forearm, deep enough to bleed, perhaps even deep enough to scar.
 
But not deep enough
for stitches, or for permanent harm.
 

Thank
you, God.

I look up frantically, and Finn stares
down at me, his pale blue eyes so eerily calm.
 

“Why did you do this?” I ask, my voice
shaking.
 
“Are you upset because I
went with Dare?
 
Because you told me
to do it.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he says
limply.
 
“I was out in the
woods.
 
The branches….” His voice
trails off and he would really have me believe that the branches cut his
arms.
 

I stare at him in disbelief.
 

“I’m stressed,” he mumbles.
 
“Maybe it was an accident.”

I open my mouth, but he holds up a
hand.
 

“Calla, I don’t want to fight.
 
And no, of course I’m not upset with you
for going with Dare. I want you to go with Dare.
 
I want you to be independent.
 
Can’t you see that?
I’m trying to show you.”

His face is pained now, but he’s still
handsome and calm. He’s still my Finn.
 

“I don’t know what you want,” I admit
softly.
 
“I don’t want to feel
guilty when I do something without you but when I do, I’m afraid you’ll react
like…
.
this
.”

I purposely don’t look at his arms, at
the blood that drips on the sand, staining it crimson.
 

“What are we gonna do, Finn?” I ask
quietly.
 
“We’ve got to get a handle
on this.”

He smiles gracefully, his teeth perfectly
white and straight.
 
“You say
we
like it’s your problem, Cal.
 
I guess
that’s
your problem. You’ve always assumed my issues like they’re
your own.
 
They’re not.
 
We’re different in that way. You’re
healthy, Cal.
 
Act like it.
 
It’s time.”

His voice is firm, an assertive tone that
he rarely takes with me and I stand shocked, mesmerized by this new side of
him.
  

“I don’t understand,” I tell him softly.
“What do you want?”

He smiles again, and it’s eerie now in
the fading light.
 
Eerie with it’s
calm, eerie with its knowingness.
 

“I want you to let go,” he says
simply.
 
“Just a little.
 
You have to.”

I start to shake my head because
a desperation
wells up in my chest and threatens to
overwhelm me.
 
He holds up a hand.

“Let’s not argue,” he suggests. “I’m going
to go clean up.”

And so I trail behind him, back up the
trail and into the house, where we clean him up and wrap his arms in
bandages.
 
He doesn’t flinch when I
spray him with first aid spray, even though I know it stings.
 
He doesn’t flinch when I tell him he has
to be more careful.
 
He just remains
calm.
 

It’s enough to terrify me.

Because one thing about my brother, he
never remains calm.
 
That’s not his
thing.

But today it is.

We curl up in my room and listen to
music,
to old albums that mom loved… the Beatles, the Cure,
U2.
  
It starts to rain and it
runs down the glass like rivers and finally, Finn turns to me.
 

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Okay.”

“I’m tired, Cal.”

And he looks so very tired.
 
So pale, so skinny.
 
I suck a breath in because it’s like
he’s deteriorating in front of my eyes. Dad is so lost in his grief about mom
that he doesn’t even notice.

I’m the only one.
 

Like always.

“You’ve got to start eating better,” I
tell him.
 

“I know.”

“Let’s take a nap, Finn,” I suggest.
 
He nods and climbs into my bed.
 
I cover him up with a quilt before I
curl up beside him.
 
He falls asleep
quickly, and he doesn’t stir.
 

Beneath him, between my mattresses, his
journal rests.
 
I know I have to
force myself to read more of it, no matter how much it scares me, because I
have to uncover the truth.

Something is bothering him, something is eating
at him, and little by little, it will drive him completely mad… if I don’t stop
it first.
 

VIGINTI
QUATUOR

Finn

I can’t sleep.
 
That’s the problem.
 
I seldom
sleep now and the redness of my eyes is driving me to the brink.
 
They burn and burn, and still sleep
won’t come.
 

Even now, I feel Calla watching
me, waiting for me to be normal, waiting for me to sleep, so I feign it.
 
I pretend to dream.
 

But I’m a faker.
 

Instead of dreaming, I lie here
listening to the fucking voices.
 

SheDoesn’tDeserveYouSheDoesn’tDoesn’tDoesn’t.
 
Don’tYouSee? Can’tYOU? Can’tYOU?
 
SheDoesn’tKnow Shedoesn’tknow.
 
She doesn’t.

They hiss and whisper and yell
and scream and I fight the urge to flinch, to scratch,
to
shriek.
 
But through it all, I lie
as still as a corpse, as quiet as a ghost.
 

Serva
me, serva
bo
te.
 
Serva me.
 
Serva me.
 
Serva me.
 

Save
me and I will save you.
 

I
will save her. I will I will I will.

It’s my voice now, rising above
the others, ringing out loud and clear and most important.
 
I can fend them off for a while, for
long enough to do this.
For long enough to save her.
 

My secret will come out. But
before that, I will save her.
 

I
will.

VIGINTI
QUINQUE

Calla

I
don’t wake until morning, and when I do, Finn is gone.
 
That’s the first thing I notice.

I open my eyes and my hand runs along the
cool smooth sheets of the empty side of my bed.
 

The second thing I notice is the piano
music.

Since I know there isn’t a funeral today,
this is very odd.
 
My mother was the
only one who knew how to play in our family.

I crawl out of bed and pad down the
stairs, inching into the Chapel, not sure what I expect to see.
 
But nothing I expect prepares me for
what it is.
 

Dare sits at the piano in the front, the
sunshine pouring in from the windows above and reflecting off of his dark hair,
like he’s been chosen by God Himself.
 
His eyes closed in
concentration,
he plays as
if the music flows through him like blood or air, like he has to play to
live.
 
 

I lean against the door, watching his
hands span the keys, urging the music from them, with all the grace of an
accomplished pianist.
 
I don’t
recognize the song, but it’s beautiful and haunting and sad.
 

It’s just right for this place.
 

And even though Dare is wearing dark
jeans and a snug black shirt and that trendy silver ring on his middle finger,
he’s right for this place too.
 

Because he’s playing the piano as it
should be played.
 

With reverence.
 

Here in this chapel, it’s only right to
revere our surroundings, the quiet peacefulness of a room used to honor the
dead.

I close my eyes for a
minute,
unable to stop myself from imagining what it would be like if his hands
worshipped my body in the same way as they worship the keys. My dreams have
been like foreplay, because every night, he touches me.
 
He claims my body as his own, and every
night, I enjoy it.
 
Right now, I
recall those dreams, and my cheeks flush as I picture his fingers trailing over
my hip, up my abdomen, pausing at my breasts.
 
My lips tingle from wanting his kiss.
 
My breath hitches, my tongue darts out,
licking at my lips, my face slightly feverish.
 

It’s only now that I realize the music
has stopped.
 

I open my eyes and find Dare turned
toward me, watching me. There is amusement in his eyes, like he knows exactly
what I’d been daydreaming.
 

If ever there was a time to wish the
floor would open up and swallow me, it is now.

“Hi,” he offers.
 
“I hope I didn’t wake you.
 
Your dad said I could come in and grab
some orange juice. I saw the piano and…well, I intruded.
 
I’m sorry.”

His accent makes everything ok.
And the fact that he plays the piano.
 
More than ok, in fact, it might make him
the sexiest man alive.
 

“You’re not an intrusion,” I tell
him.
 
Or if he is, he’s a welcome
one.
 
“You play beautifully.”

He shrugs.
 
“It was one of my step-father’s
rules.
 
Everyone in his family had
to learn to play because that’s what refined people do.”
 
He looks bored with the sentiment and
closes the lid to the keys.

I raise an eyebrow.
 
“Are you?
 
Refined, I mean.”

Because his LIVE FREE tattoo begs to
differ.

He smiles.
 
“I’m a bit of a rogue, I’m afraid.”

I’m
not.
 
Afraid, that is.

“Your dad said to tell you that he had to
run into town,” he offers as he gets up and lithely moves toward me.
 
I can’t help but draw a parallel…
between Dare and a graceful jungle cat.
 
Long, lithe, slender, strong.
 
He and I are connected by an invisible band
,
and he flexes that band as he strides down the aisle of the chapel before he
stops in front of me like a panther.
 

Am
I his prey?

God, I hope so.

In the light, his eyes are golden, and I
find I can’t look away.

“Thanks,” I tell him.
 
“I bet my brother went with him.”
 
I don’t mention that my brother slept in
my bed last night, because that would seem weird.
 
Like always, I have to hide certain
things for appearances sake.
 

“I don’t know about that,” Dare answers.
 
“I haven’t seen Finn today.”

“He must’ve,” I murmur.
 
In fact, my father probably took Finn in
to his group.
 
I’m free to focus on
what is standing in front of me.
 

Dare
DuBray.

His smile gleams.

“I have another question to ask you,” he
tells me, with a certain smug look settling on his lips. I raise an
eyebrow.
 

“What, already?
 
You just asked one days ago.”

He chuckles.
 
“Yep.
 
But not here.
 
I want to ask it somewhere else.”

I wait.
 

And wait.
 

“And that is…where?” I finally ask.
 

He smiles.
 
“Out on the water.”

I pause.
 
“On the water?
 
Like, on our boat?”

He nods.
 
“Is that ok?”

Of
course it is.
 

“It’s just a little boat,” I warn
him.
 
“Nothing fancy.”

“That’s perfect,” he answers.
 
“Because I’m nothing fancy, either.”

Au
contraire.
 
But of course I don’t say that.
 
And it’s a good thing I slept in my
clothes because this way, we can go straight there without pause.
 
But of course I don’t say that either.

Instead, I simply lead the way outdoors
and to the beach, not hesitating in the rain.

“We can still go,” I tell him. “It’s just
a little rain, the waves aren’t bad.”

“I’m not worried,” he grins.
 
“I’m used to rain.”

“That’s right,” I answer as I motion for
him to climb aboard. “I forgot.”

He steps across and I untie the boat from
the dock, before I toss the rope to him.
 
I leap before the boat can float away, and land unceremoniously beside
him.

He lounges against the hull as I steer
through the bay, and suddenly, the rain stops as suddenly as it started. The
clouds part, the sun shines down upon us and I lift my face to the warmth.

I live for times like these, when my
grief pauses long enough for me to enjoy something.

And I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying
more and more moments since Dare came to my mountain.
 

“You make me feel guilty,” I tell him
quietly, opening my eyes.
 
He’s
sprawled out, his legs propped up on a seat.
 
He glances at me, his forehead furrowed.

“Why in the world is that, Calla-lily?”

The name makes me smile.
 

“Because you make me forget that I’m
sad,” I say simply.

Softness wavers in Dare’s eyes for a
minute before they turn back into obsidian.
 
“That shouldn’t make you feel guilty,”
he tells me. “In fact, that makes
me
happy. I don’t like the idea of you being sad. Come sit by me.”

He opens his arms and I sit on the seat
next to him, leaning against his hard chest and into his beating heart. His
arms close around me and for the first time in my life, I’m lounging in a guy’s
embrace.
 
And not
just any guy.
 
Dare DuBray,
who I’m guessing could have any girl he wants.
 

And right now, in this moment, he wants
me.
 

It’s unfathomable.
 

It’s the perfect temperature as we drift
in the sun, as the warmth saturates my shirt and soaks into my skin.
 
I drag one hand over the side, letting
it float on the surface of the water as I listen to Dare’s heart.
 

It’s strong and loud against my ear.

Thump.
Thump. Thump.

The rhythmic sound reminds me of the day
he was punching the shed.

I look up at him, reluctant to bring it
up, but wanting to know the answer.

“That day outside,” I begin. “When you
were punching the shed.
 
What
exactly was making you so upset?”

He almost flinches, but he doesn’t move.
He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders and his dark eyes
closed.
 

“Why do we have to talk about that?” he
asks, his voice husky with relaxation.
 
“I thought you wanted to hear my question?”

“I do,” I tell him quickly.
 
“But I want to hear this first.
 
You told me you were mad at
yourself, that
you were letting something get to you.
 
What was it?”

Because
I have to know.
 

He sighs, and then opens his gorgeous
eyes.
 

“You,” he says softly, the word grazing
along the edge of my heart.
 
“I’m
letting you get to me.”

I suck in my breath and draw back, trying
to see more of his face, trying to figure his answer out.
 

“Why would that piss you off?” I ask him
hesitantly.
 
“I’m a girl, you’re a
guy,
I
think it’s an entirely normal thing.”

He closes his eyes again, but his arms
are still wrapped around me.
 
Thank
God.

“It is.
 
But you’re not in a good place and I
guess I was pissed at Serendipity for her bad timing.”

I’m silent because I don’t know what to
say, and Dare opens one eye.
 

“Back home, girls often want to date me
because of my step-father’s family, because they have a lot of money.
 
I hate all of it, but I especially hate
the part where I never know when someone is sincere and wants to be close to me
just because I’m me.”

He pauses for a minute. “You have no idea
who I am, but you like me just the same.”

I’m desperately confused now. “And that’s
a bad thing?”

He shakes his head and opens his eyes and
stares out at the water.
 
“No, it’s just
a bad time.
 
You’re not ready for
someone like me.
 
You’re not in a
good place.”

That sort of pisses me off and I shrug
out of his arms.
 
“Not in a good
place?
 
My mother just died.
 
I’m hardly balancing on the edge or
something.
 
People die, and it sucks
but it doesn’t mean that I’m a fragile little flower.”

He levels a gaze at me, a look as black
as night. “Be that as it may,” he concedes.
 
“You’re still grieving.
 
And we can’t begin something beautiful
when there is still so much ugliness around us.”

I’m stunned and sad and silent as I stare
away from him, out toward the opposite side of the boat.
 
So he likes me, but he can’t be with
me.
 
What the hell kind of thing is
this?

After a minute, he turns my chin with his
thumb, making me look at him.
 

I don’t want to, but then again, I
do.
 
Because even
when he’s infuriating, he’s beautiful.
 

“Ask me what my question is,” he instructs
me.

I lift my chin.
 

No.
 

“Go on,” he urges.
 
“Ask me.”

I want to know. I want to know why he
wanted me out here in the middle of the water so he could ask it. I want to
know what it is.
 
I want to know
what it could possibly be.
 
So I
ask.