He spoke calmly, with a commanding
voice.
"How?" She cried, not knowing how to turn it
off. She was scaring herself.
"Just close your fists and let go of the
anger." He tried to sooth her and ran his hands up and down her
arms. She attempted to let go of the fear of knowing how close she
had come to death. She tried to let go of the anger at Diana for
wanting to kill her, and for torturing her and Tristan to do so.
Kira tried to let go of the anger at Tristan for giving in and
showing her that her trust in him might not have been worth it.
But most of all, she tried to let go at the
anger she felt with herself, for not knowing who she was, for not
being more demanding, for not being able to stop, for hurting
Tristan, and for feeling the urge to kill. And the fear, the fear
was the worst. How could she let go of the self-fear—the fear of
what she was and what she was capable of?
When Kira admitted all of this to herself,
she felt a slight release, and though it took all of her strength,
she slowly brought her fingers down to curl into her palm. Kira
brought her thumb around to hold the light and trap it within her
hands. Tendrils of fire tried to seep through the cracks in her
hand, but Kira held steady until finally the heat died and she was
able to just let it go.
She looked at the back wall where Diana, John
and Jerome jumped from the crevices they had been pressed into and
ran from the room. Tristan dropped slowly down and gave her one
more glance. In that instant, she realized he was right—they could
never be. He looked at her one last time, with sadness and fear,
and followed his friends out the door.
Kira knew he was different, she could see the
humanity in his eyes where it was absent from his friends, but it
wasn’t enough to make her chase after him. Instead, she looked at
Luke—at his familiar eyes, friendly demeanor, and look of
concern—and collapsed into his open arms as tears began to fall
from her eyes.
Chapter Seven
Kira stared out at the churning waves, barely
registering the body heat coming from Luke’s arm around her
shoulder. He had held her while she cried and after a long time of
sobbing, he had brought her to the Folly Beach pier to let the
rhythm of the water calm her. They hadn’t spoken more than five
words to each other since he carried her from the auditorium,
because Kira simply didn’t know what to say. How do you ask someone
if vampires are real and if what seemed like live fire just shot
from your hands? How do you admit to yourself that you clearly
aren’t human let alone ask someone else to believe it? Most of all,
how do you confess that you started falling for the one guy your
best friend told you not to and that everything he feared had come
true?
It wasn’t easy, Kira thought, to admit how
naïve you had been and to admit you were wrong about everything. It
wasn’t easy for her to think of Tristan, his eyes in pleasure at
the taste of her blood or his eyes in pain as her power slowly
started killing him. It was worse still to think of herself and
what she was. Kira couldn’t ignore it, but how in the world could
she face it?
How do you face it, she thought, and then
answered herself, you just do.
"Luke?" She turned to him. Luke didn’t move.
He just watched and waited to see what she would say. It was like
he knew her perfectly, knew what was coming but also knew that Kira
needed to hear herself say it before it could be true. "Luke…what
am I?"
"A girl," he replied, half-jokingly and
half-reassuringly. She nudged him with her shoulder.
"Seriously, no jokes," she said. He lifted
his eyebrows in response as if to say ‘who, me?’ but then realized
even his jokes wouldn’t adjust Kira’s frown. Kira could tell the
instant his mood changed from protector to informer. She could tell
from the furrow of his eyebrows that the jokes meant to cheer her
would be exchanged for serious talk she wasn’t used to from him.
Kira felt sadder when he lifted
voice.
"How?" She cried, not knowing how to turn it
off. She was scaring herself.
"Just close your fists and let go of the
anger." He tried to sooth her and ran his hands up and down her
arms. She attempted to let go of the fear of knowing how close she
had come to death. She tried to let go of the anger at Diana for
wanting to kill her, and for torturing her and Tristan to do so.
Kira tried to let go of the anger at Tristan for giving in and
showing her that her trust in him might not have been worth it.
But most of all, she tried to let go at the
anger she felt with herself, for not knowing who she was, for not
being more demanding, for not being able to stop, for hurting
Tristan, and for feeling the urge to kill. And the fear, the fear
was the worst. How could she let go of the self-fear—the fear of
what she was and what she was capable of?
When Kira admitted all of this to herself,
she felt a slight release, and though it took all of her strength,
she slowly brought her fingers down to curl into her palm. Kira
brought her thumb around to hold the light and trap it within her
hands. Tendrils of fire tried to seep through the cracks in her
hand, but Kira held steady until finally the heat died and she was
able to just let it go.
She looked at the back wall where Diana, John
and Jerome jumped from the crevices they had been pressed into and
ran from the room. Tristan dropped slowly down and gave her one
more glance. In that instant, she realized he was right—they could
never be. He looked at her one last time, with sadness and fear,
and followed his friends out the door.
Kira knew he was different, she could see the
humanity in his eyes where it was absent from his friends, but it
wasn’t enough to make her chase after him. Instead, she looked at
Luke—at his familiar eyes, friendly demeanor, and look of
concern—and collapsed into his open arms as tears began to fall
from her eyes.
Chapter Seven
Kira stared out at the churning waves, barely
registering the body heat coming from Luke’s arm around her
shoulder. He had held her while she cried and after a long time of
sobbing, he had brought her to the Folly Beach pier to let the
rhythm of the water calm her. They hadn’t spoken more than five
words to each other since he carried her from the auditorium,
because Kira simply didn’t know what to say. How do you ask someone
if vampires are real and if what seemed like live fire just shot
from your hands? How do you admit to yourself that you clearly
aren’t human let alone ask someone else to believe it? Most of all,
how do you confess that you started falling for the one guy your
best friend told you not to and that everything he feared had come
true?
It wasn’t easy, Kira thought, to admit how
naïve you had been and to admit you were wrong about everything. It
wasn’t easy for her to think of Tristan, his eyes in pleasure at
the taste of her blood or his eyes in pain as her power slowly
started killing him. It was worse still to think of herself and
what she was. Kira couldn’t ignore it, but how in the world could
she face it?
How do you face it, she thought, and then
answered herself, you just do.
"Luke?" She turned to him. Luke didn’t move.
He just watched and waited to see what she would say. It was like
he knew her perfectly, knew what was coming but also knew that Kira
needed to hear herself say it before it could be true. "Luke…what
am I?"
"A girl," he replied, half-jokingly and
half-reassuringly. She nudged him with her shoulder.
"Seriously, no jokes," she said. He lifted
his eyebrows in response as if to say ‘who, me?’ but then realized
even his jokes wouldn’t adjust Kira’s frown. Kira could tell the
instant his mood changed from protector to informer. She could tell
from the furrow of his eyebrows that the jokes meant to cheer her
would be exchanged for serious talk she wasn’t used to from him.
Kira felt sadder when he lifted
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