Wanted (3 page)

In the empty kitchen, I refilled my cup. Not wanting to return immediately to the suffocating basement, I took a little self-guided tour. I hadn’t seen Conor yet, and didn’t really want to imagine what he and Victoria were doing in a dark room.

I wandered down a long hallway full of closed doors. Here and there, a painting hung in an ornate frame, or a small, fancy table adorned with a vase sat along the wall. It felt like I was in a museum. All the decorations seemed old, and I didn’t want to touch anything, in fear of breaking it.

I found an open door and walked into a large, cozy room. Bookshelves lined the walls. They stretched from floor to ceiling, and even had those ladders on wheels to help one reach the top shelves. I gasped. It was beautiful. So many books, of every size. Some looked old with leather bindings, and some were obviously newer. A fire crackled warmly in the stone fireplace, giving off an orange glow. Two large, leather chairs sat on either side of a chess board. It was such a cliché and I loved it.

I set my drink on a small end table. In awe, I approached a bookcase and ran my fingers along the spines of the books, reading the titles. My fingers itched to pull them out and read them, smell the pages, ingest the words.

“You like books?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I got halfway around before I blanched and froze, mouth dropping open. Conor walked farther into the room, right at me, a half-smile lingering on his lips, making my knees swiftly turn to mush.

He wore soft, black pants and a dark green button-down shirt that had a kind of sheen to it, like silk. He looked amazing, all black and green and smoldering, and standing right in front of me. He gazed at me expectantly. Oh yeah, he’d asked me a question.

“Uh…Yeah. Actually.” I was freaking brilliant. He was a breath away from me, staring down at me with a strange intensity in his green eyes, and he smelled like heaven. I tried not to visibly breathe him in. His lips twisted into another half-smile.

“Read me something,” his voice commanded soft and deep. The shining emerald color of his eyes mesmerized me.

“Um…what?” Had I heard him right? He reached over my head and pulled a book off the shelf. He flipped through the pages and paused, and then handed me the book, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a grin.

“Read for me.” A command again. I tore my eyes away from his and looked at the proffered book. Love poetry? What a total player!

My mind screamed in outrage, but my eyes scanned the page, ready to read. He had probably done this exact scene a hundred times to get girls all pliable and willing to do whatever he wanted. I knew this logically, yet I couldn’t say no to him. I was alone, in a cozy room, with Conor Peterson, and he wanted me to read him Sir Thomas Wyatt’s “Whoso List to Hunt.” We’d read it in English class earlier in the year. It was supposedly about some dude chasing a deer, but in reality, he was chasing after a woman who wasn’t his.

My heart lodged in my throat. As much as I wanted to throw the book in his face and march out of the room, my mouth read the words aloud. I was basically his to command.

I felt like such a wuss and it struck me again why vamp/witch relationships didn’t work well. The power balance was too uneven. Even with my own power base, he still held me powerless to deny him anything. Or did I feel that way because I might be falling in love with him? Such a sucker, and not in the literal sense.

“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

But as for me, alas, I may no more.

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,

I am of them that farthest cometh behind.”

I recalled so far in the poem, the narrator was looking for love, and he was one of many hunters chasing the ‘deer.’ Was there a specific reason Conor had chosen this poem?

“
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore

Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,

Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.”

I was grateful for our English teacher, because without having discussed the poem, the archaic language would have me so confused. It really was pretty when you heard it read aloud, and thought about what it meant. The narrator knows his love of the woman is futile, and he knows he must stop chasing her, but he can’t. Kind of like my crush on Conor—futile, yet I persisted. Huh. Over-relate much?

“
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I may spend his time in vain.

And graven with diamonds in letters plain

There is written, her fair neck round about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar’s I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.”

There it was, the collar that read “Don’t touch, I belong to someone else.” Conor didn’t wear a collar, but he was still not mine. I wondered not for the first time if he was trying to tell me something. Was he the deer? Or was I? His looming presence unnerved me and my voice started weak and breathy. As I read, it grew stronger, the words sounding almost musical, even to me. I tried not to stumble over the Latin phrase
Noli me tangere
. I was sort of familiar with the language as it was often in my spells, and knew it translated to “don’t touch me.” Then I was done.

My heart beat wildly. His scent invaded my senses and my skin prickled with warmth. My tongue stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. Why was my drink so far away?

I closed the book and handed it to him, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just reached up and replaced the book on the shelf.

I could tell he was still looking down at me. His hand rested on the shelf next to my head and his other hand came up on the other side, trapping me between his arms. I looked up shyly. How many times had I pictured being alone with Conor? It was like a dream, and I was frozen, unsure of what to do, unsure of what he wanted from me. What was he playing at?

He leaned toward me, holding my gaze with his. I forgot how to breathe, how to think. Then his lips touched mine, electricity exploding up and down my body. Soft and gentle, they probed, tasting, testing. I didn’t move to touch him, just remained frozen. There was only the kiss. His mouth moved to my jaw, kissing his way down to my neck. His teeth grazed my skin.

I unfroze and found my voice. “No!” I felt a surge of power push through me.

Conor flew backward across the room. He crashed into a bookcase, sending an avalanche of books over him as he fell to the floor. He slumped there, holding his head, dazed.

He looked up in confusion, mouth opened ready to speak. At that moment, my muscles remembered how to move and I ran for the door. It opened in front of me, not of my power, and Matt appeared. He’d probably felt my surge of power. I hadn’t meant to throw Conor. Panic had overtaken me and I had lost control for an instant.

I flew into Matt’s arms and he embraced me. Matt was my rock. His presence calmed me, it always did. He was like a protective big brother. I knew he understood the whole scene in the seconds before I’d found his arms. I buried my face in the T-shirt pulled tight across his strong chest, and breathed in his scent, a mix of fabric softener and cologne. It was familiarity, it was home, and it helped to center me. I peeked out at Conor. He stepped out of the pile of books and straightened his clothing.

“Is she yours, Matthew? I thought she was unclaimed.” Conor was now being formal. Vamps often addressed each other formally, even the teenage ones. He thought I was Matt’s, and to bite me would have been a serious offense to Matt’s family. I was not claimed, nor would I ever be, thank you very much. Matt’s arms tightened around me.

“No. I told you she’s not claimed. Did you try to bite her?” Each word seethed with anger. I had never heard so much menace in Matt’s voice. He trembled ever so slightly. Wasn’t Conor his friend? I felt like there was something else going on here I didn’t quite get.

“I just assumed she’d agree.” Conor’s voice came from right behind me. “I’ve never been turned down before.” His voice wasn’t cocky, not even confident. He stated it like he’d simply said his eyes were green.

“Did you ask her?”

Conor said nothing. Matt must have seen something in Conor’s face, though, because his grip on me tightened, voice outraged. “You didn’t even ask her?” He was furious. I raised my head. There was fire in his eyes, and if looks could kill, Conor would have been so much more than dead.

I turned in Matt’s arms, forcing him to loosen his hold, although he didn’t let go completely. Conor’s brow furrowed, mouth drawn into a tight frown.

“I thought it was what she wanted.” His voice was soft and unsure.

Matt let go to put me behind him, further protecting me. “Ashlinn’s been bitten before. Without permission. Without the aid of making it feel good. Drained. Almost to the point of death.”

I shivered, remembering the night I met Matt. I would never forget the feeling of having life literally sucked out of me, of hovering so close to death. I was so young, at the time I hadn’t really known what was going on. Almost dying, however, would remain embedded in my memory forever. Matt had found me and knew what to do to nurse me back to health. He’d been my protector ever since.

I looked around Matt’s broad back. Conor’s wide-eyed gaze found mine. “I am so sorry, Ashlinn. I offended you. I meant you no harm. I was unaware of your past and thought you were giving me the okay.”

He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. I stepped out from behind Matt, to his side. Matt put an arm around my shoulders, still holding me close. I watched Conor’s gaze slide over the embrace to Matt’s face, before coming back to mine. He had apologized, now he waited for me to say it was okay.

“I suppose I probably was.” My voice was soft, though not wobbly. “Though I didn’t mean to.” I was pretty calm now, thanks to Matt. And I was almost sure Conor wasn’t going to attack me. I had unknowingly given him the green light, forgetting he wasn’t just a normal boy, and this wasn’t just a normal party. I liked him so much, I had sent him signals that probably seemed the same as “Bite me!”

“Sorry I threw you across the room.” I did feel bad. I hadn’t meant to hurt him.

Matt looked at me as Conor smiled slightly. “I deserved it.” Some of the confidence returned to his voice. “It was quite impressive.”

“You did that?” Matt sounded surprised and a little proud. “Your power?”

I nodded. “I guess the panic took over. I reacted without thinking. And there he was, flying, crashing.” I gestured from where I’d read the poem to the pile of books on the floor.

Matt’s smile was big and genuine. “That is awesome, Ash.” He gave my shoulder a small squeeze.

Conor took a step toward us. I didn’t flinch. I knew he meant me no harm. If he had bitten me, my mind knew it would have felt amazing, completely opposite of how it had felt the last time I was bitten. Although, it would still have been against my will, without permission, and that was rape. No one was going to bite me again, ever. Even Conor. I didn’t want to be under anyone’s control but my own.

“You’re very powerful,” Conor observed.

I shrugged. “I guess.”

Sometimes, when I performed spells, I had surges of power, though more frequently I had those small bouts fueled by emotions, like what had happened at school days earlier. Yet, I couldn’t control it well enough to make things like books fly when I wanted them to.

I was vaguely aware of Matt’s arm still around me. Conor, however, seemed well aware.

“Matthew,” He pointedly looked at Matt’s arm. “I would rethink your opinion that she is not yours.” Matt let go of me, a derisive sound coming from his throat.

“She’s one of my best friends. I’m protective. Ever since I found her practically dead,” Matt protested. “Besides, you know she’s obsessed with you.”

My head snapped to Matt.

“Matt!” I screeched.

He didn’t look at me. My face flushed with heat.

Conor crossed his arms, face neutral. “So you said. Which is why I thought I was in the right.”

My jaw dropped. “You told him?”

Matt frowned, but offered no excuses. My whole body was now on fire, a fine trembling beginning in my hands. I was both mortified and pissed as hell. A few books fell off shelves across the room, though, thankfully, no flying objects yet. The boys didn’t notice.

Goddess, what an idiot. It was all a set-up, a joke. The hallway at school, the freaking poetry. And oh, that kiss.

Conor knew I liked him and was playing me so I would let him bite me. He’d been using me to get what he wanted.

Realization washed over me quickly, leaving me nauseated. And Matt had helped him, he had told Conor I liked him, made Conor think I would let him bite me. I felt so stupid, so betrayed, so naïve. I stepped away from my best friend, shaking. Glancing across the room, I noticed with relief the books had quieted.

“Wow,” I croaked, backing toward the door.

Matt had lied to me. To
me
. He had never lied to me, ever.

He didn’t look at me. He knew I was pissed and there was nothing he could say right now. Hanging his head, he ran a hand through his hair.

I ignored him and turned my furious glare on Conor. “I’d say you’re an asshole, but it’s my own dumbass fault.” My voice was low and thick with tears threatening to surface. I shook my head and gave a sarcastic laugh. “I’m an idiot.”

“Ashlinn,” Conor started.

I held up a hand to silence him and closed my eyes, holding back the stupid tears. I turned on Matt. He stared at me, an expectant look on his face. What was he waiting for? Forgiveness? I wasn’t ready to offer it yet. I knew he could see my tears. My pain was reflected on his face.

“Thanks, Matt,” I managed around the lump in my throat, my sarcasm evident. Stupid vamps. I couldn’t believe I’d actually thought Conor might really like me. I shook my head. Their bent heads made them look like little boys who’d been caught being naughty. I turned my back on them and left the room. I felt betrayed by Matt and angered that Conor turned out to be a big jerk.