Scorch (21 page)

He would never be her Tristan again. But he
was still Tristan, still someone she would always love and could
probably love again.

"Kira?" He asked, confused at her prolonged
stare.

She had intended to tell him that Pavia would
be dropping in, but different words tumbled out, "What do you want
to do when you grow up?"

He smiled, tilting his head in surprise. "I'm
not certain. I feel like an adult already."

"But you're not," Kira said, sitting back
down at the table, "you're only seventeen. Heck, you're younger
than me now. You have an entire life ahead of you." And he did. He
had an entire human life, a new life not plagued by his past,
because he didn't really have one, not a long one anyway.

"I have always loved art, so I suppose
something with that."

Kira smiled, "that sounds perfect for you."
She looked at him again, imagining age lines along his perfect
face, maybe a pair of glasses perched on the rim of his nose. An
art history professor, she could see it perfectly. All the girls in
his class would come for office hours, gossip about him as soon as
they walked out the door. But he would be good at that, history and
art. They had always been his favorite things.

"What about you?" He asked.

"A chef, I've always wanted to be a chef."
And she could be one, Kira realized, if she could split her powers.
If she became a Protector, her life wouldn’t be totally ruled by
her powers, by vampires chasing her down.

Kira had a choice.

And she realized something she had never
thought of before, Tristan deserved one too. He deserved to decide
his own fate. She couldn’t bear to see that haunting look return to
his eyes, to watch him retreat back into the recluse he had been
before they had met—the one who never let anyone get close, never
let his walls fall. She loved him too much for that.

But it was his life—his choice.

"Do you want to remember, Tristan?" Kira
asked softly, staring down at her fingers rather than at him.

"Yes," he said. Kira sucked in a breath. "And
no." She exhaled. "There are things I wish I did remember, things
like you, but there are other things too. Watching this entire town
prepare for a fight against the thing I used to be, hearing how
they attacked you before, how they attacked your mother, it makes
me question who I became. And if it was a bad person, who did bad
things, I don't think I want to know that that part of me
exists."

"You were never a bad person," she said and
looked up.

"But I did bad things…" Kira didn’t say
anything. There was no denying the truth in that statement.

"I fought in two battles during The Civil
War. In the first, I was so frightened that I never fired my
weapon. I was saved only by luck. And in the other, I shot a man in
the shoulder. I was so overcome with shock that he had time to fire
back, wounding me, and I fell. That is my last memory before waking
up next to you, and I can live with that. Some might say it was
cowardly, but I would rather be named a coward than a killer."

"You're neither," she said gently, "you're a
good person." You opened my eyes to love, she told herself
silently, you made everything seem somehow possible and I will
always love you for that even if you don't remember it.

And she would. Even as her love for Luke
grew, a small part of her would always belong to Tristan.

Kira pulled out her phone and scrolled down
to Pavia's name. She couldn't delay any longer. It was time.

"Hey, Kira. What's up?"

"Where are you guys?"

"Close. We're hanging back until we get word
from you. Nothing's started yet, right?"

"No this is about something else. About
something we spoke about earlier, back in Charleston, by the
marsh…"

"Oh?"

Kira waited for her to understand. She didn’t
want to say it out loud, to alert Tristan.

"Oh…" Realization dawned. "Oh, that. What
about it?"

"We need to do it now, before the fight. I
need to know that he'll," Tristan squinted at her, listening in,
and Kira gulped down the words, "that everything will be okay, you
know, in case the worst happens."

"The worst being you die or you become an
original vampire and kill everyone?"

Kira rolled her eyes and pursed her lips.
"Really?"

"Just asking." Kira felt the smile and shrug
through the phone.

"Either."

"On a scale from one to ten, ten being you
turn into a vampire, what are the chances of me becoming a human
after all of this?"

"If you keep teasing me? Eleven."

"Alright, alright, ruin my fun. How do you
want to do this?"

"Do you remember that secret tunnel Luke
mentioned? Its entrance is right out at the end of the road, I'll
text you the address. Just follow it until the end and I'll be
there waiting."

"Done," Pavia said, and then paused, holding
her breath in a way that made Kira know there was more to say. She
waited. "Kira," and there is was, the voice of the Pavia she liked,
the honest and caring one, not the shielded sarcastic one.

"Yeah?"

"You are sure about this right? I mean, once
it's done, there's no going back."

Kira looked at Tristan, running her eyes over
his face, over the open and waiting expression, the unguarded
eyes.

"I'm sure."

"Good, I'll see you soon then."

Click.

It was done.

Chapter Fourteen

Kira paced around the dark cellar, thoughts
spinning over the all too many outcomes that the end of this fight
could have. But there would be one definite outcome. Tristan would
be okay. He would finally feel whole for the first time in over a
century.

Now if Pavia would just get here a little
faster… Kira had tried calling her, but a secret underground tunnel
wasn't really ideal for cell reception.

She scanned the room again. No light bulb and
she didn't want to go down the road of using her power, so she
strained her ears listening for Pavia's footsteps. But the only
footsteps she heard were her own.

Okay stop, Kira told herself and slowed her
shuffling feet. Tristan was upstairs, reading the history book Kira
had given him back in the hospital. Yes…that's right—reading a
history book for fun. Sure, he missed out on a few decades of his
life, but still. But that's Tristan, Kira thought—half-smirking
just like he used to do.

A scraping noise started behind her, like
stones protesting against one another.

"Pavia?" Kira asked into the void. Who
doesn’t have a working light in their unfinished basement? Oh
right, conduits…

"It's me," a voice said roughly. Oh it was
Pavia alright, a slightly ticked off Pavia at that.

"Are you okay?"

"No, thanks for asking. Has anyone be down
there in the past, I don't know, hundred years? I'm a walking
cobweb." Kira rolled her eyes—Pavia was probably just angry she
wouldn't be able to twirl her hair very easily.

"Come on, the lights work upstairs."

"Wait," Pavia reached out her hand, landing
it perfectly on Kira's forearm because of her enhanced vision. A
few weeks ago, Kira would have jerked away from the touch. But now
she really felt like there was nothing to hide—no memory of hers
that Pavia hadn't already seen. "Don't you want to hear what's
going to happen first?"

"What do you mean?

"I mean the process of removing his
memories."

"It's not just like," Kira shrugged, "poof,
you don't remember anything."

Pavia's eyebrow raised, Kira knew it from the
tone of her voice, "No, it's not just like poof."

"Oh," Kira said, her body suddenly felt
heavy. She turned around, looking for the steps somewhat lit by the
crack under the door and sat down. "So what happens?"

"Well, I've only done this a few times
before, but those memories have already been in the person's
awareness, so I just had to erase them. I can't really explain how,
I just make them dissolve into nothingness, just make them fade
out. But in order to do that, I need to make Tristan remember. I
need to break down the wall."

"So he'll remember everything?" Kira asked
softly.

"Yes."

Her hands rose to rub at the spot between her
eyes, calming the anxiety that was quickly strengthening.

"For how long?"

"I can't say for sure. I'll work as quickly
as I can, but it'll be at least ten or fifteen minutes before the
entire process is done."

Ten or fifteen minutes. Ten or fifteen
minutes to say goodbye? To kiss? For him to yell? To hate her for
ending things between them?

Or would it be worse than just that… ten or
fifteen minutes for one hundred and fifty years of memories? Kira
would just be a blip on the radar—one happy thought in the sea of
despair that would pour out of him.

She gulped, but then nodded. "If that's the
only option, then we have to do it."

"Lead the way," Pavia said, so Kira stood and
walked up the stairs, trying to remember that in the end, it would
be better for him. It would be worth it.

She noticed Tristan before he did her. Kira
couldn’t miss the black hair popping over the edge of her
grandparent's floral couch. He was right where she had left
him—feeling totally safe in her care, totally trusting that Kira
would never betray him.

But she couldn’t think of it like that. He
had said so himself—he didn’t want to remember. He wouldn’t be able
to live with it.

She swallowed.

"Tristan?" His head bobbed, but his eyes were
still focused on whatever words he was reading. "Tristan, Pavia is
here."

He sat up higher and twisted his head around,
following the sound of Kira's voice.

"Good morning," he said, smiling and shutting
his book, "I thought you were all staying outside the wall."

"We were," Pavia said, stepping past Kira,
farther into the living room. "But I thought of something that
might help Kira fight, might help us win." She stepped closer to
the couch, looking both innocent and guilty at the same time.

"What?" He stood, looking at Pavia to hear
the response. Contact broken, Kira was finally able to step closer,
to feel free of the scrutiny that lived only in her head. But she
had to stay strong, for him.

"Kira can tell you," Pavia said, nudging her
head in Kira's direction. Tristan turned, presenting his back to
Pavia, and before Kira even saw her move, white hands gripped
Tristan's scalp and his eyes went blank, completely devoid of life.
His entire body stopped moving, a puppet with no master. Someone
else was in control.

And then a spark.

A hint of something returned.

"Kira?" He said slowly, a lopsided smile
stirred on his lips—just wide enough to show he was happy but small
enough to hide the fangs that were no longer there.

"Tristan," Kira said, her voice wavering. Was
it really him? Was he really back?

He jerked his head forward, but Pavia held it
steady, refusing to let him out of her grip. She couldn't lose
contact with his skin.

But that didn't stop him. His hands whipped
up, gripping Kira's cheeks, pulling her closer, until their lips
were molded together. Kira sighed into his touch, letting her hands
slide up to grasp his strong shoulders.

He pulled her back, eyes wide and grin even
wider, "you saved me, you turned me human, oh god, how did you, for
days I've just wanted to tell you how much I love you."

He tugged again, bringing their mouths back
together, forceful, like a drowning man who needed water. Kira
obliged. It was the last time this would ever happen after all, the
last time Tristan would remember all of the nights Kira would never
be able to forget.

"How do I remember?" He asked with a voice
colored by wonderment. "How did I ever forget?" He stroked her
cheek, lightly running his thumb from her lips all the way to the
base of her earlobes—strips of skin that remembered his touch. His
eyes drank her in, scanning every inch of her body, remembering it
as belonging to him. Kira leaned into his palm, trying not to let
the brimming tears fall down her cheeks.

He brought her close again, this time kissing
every inch of her that he could—quick pecks landing on her nose,
her chin, her forehead, any wisp of open skin he could find. And
then he started laughing. Tears did start falling, but they were
ones of happiness. And Kira let hers out, a mix of joy and sadness,
selfish love and selfless love. Now that he was back, she wanted
him to stay, wanted to rip him from Pavia's hands and end it.

She put her palm over his, holding his warm
skin to her cheeks, drinking him in through watery eyes. Oh god,
she had missed him.

But then Tristan stilled.

Kira's heart stopped. Was it already over?
She never said goodbye.

His grin retreated. His lips closed, pressing
tightly together. The light in his eyes faded, turning dark. The
chocolate clouded over, like a shadow had fallen. His knees
wobbled, so did his eyebrows. The hands on her face began to
tremble—a shake that traveled up his arms, until his entire body
was vibrating.

"Tristan?" Kira asked.

His palms slide from her cheeks, landing
lifeless at his sides.

Kira looked at Pavia. The vampire was staring
straight ahead, looking beyond Kira into something otherworldly.
She was reliving everything with Tristan, inside his mind, working
through it. What was going on?

Tristan's lips fell open. His eyes widened,
viewing some horror Kira didn't understand.

In the same moment his knees gave out, his
hands shot up, gripping the back of his neck, and a wail erupted
from his entire body. A scream that didn't sound human, didn't
sound possible, as though his body were being ripped apart, or
maybe it was his soul shredding to pieces.