Page 32 of Blood Queen
He must be curious about our house. The crazy recluses of Moffitt who live alone on the mountain.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I can’t stay here, can I? What if those guys come back?” Despite the heat, a chill raises gooseflesh on my arms and I shiver.
He shrugs back. “Don’t know. This is all pretty wild.”
“I’m going to go inside, I guess. Think on it all. Thanks for walking me home.” I turn and head into the cabin.
My mind reels, and I feel stunned. The screen door slaps behind me, but the sound is off—too delayed. I spin around and find Truman in my home.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
He bites his lip. “I can’t leave you alone here.”
My chin pulls in toward my neck. “Why not?” I ask.
He shrugs, yet again. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“What if I told you you’re not welcome here?” I say and drop my bag on the floor.
He taps one foot on the floorboards and smirks. “I guess I’d tell you that’s too bad because, you are the most interesting thing to ever happen to me and what kind of man would I be if I didn’t see this through with you?”
I roll my eyes at him but am slightly relieved at his sense of duty. Papa would like him. The thought sends a fresh wave of grief through me.
“I’m fine on my own.”
He cocks his head causing a loose blonde wave to fall near his eye. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”
I toss my hands in the air. “Semantics. You implied it.”
He holds up his index finger. “No, I implied that you need a friend and that I’m qualified for the job.”
I huff and collapse onto the couch. “Why? Why are you doing this?”
Truman follows me, grinning. “That’s easy, because you’re easily the most interesting person I’ve met.”
I stare at him, a deadpan expression on my face. “You read the letter; trust no one. Tell no one about even the letter.”
Truman thinks on my words. “Yeah. He was right, but I bet he wasn’t talking about a townie boy you just met. How ‘bout I just hang out until you decide what you’re going to do.”
“How’re you going to pull that off with your parents?” I ask.
He lopes to the couch and flops down next to me. “Don’t sweat it. Do we have a deal?”
I rest my head back on the cushion. “Okay,” I sigh, frustrated. “Deal.”
19
Present
Aknock at the door sends an electrifying shock through my entire body. I exhale shakily, clutching the edge of the marble countertop with knuckles that turn white. My fingers tremble uncontrollably. Another knock, fiercer, more demanding.
I force myself away from the counter, wincing as my ribs scream in protest, and swing open the door, my heart pounding in my chest. He stands there in the dimly lit hallway, his chest heaving as if he sprinted through a hurricane to reach me. His piercing, stormy green eyes scan over me, and his whole frame goes rigid, locked with tension.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, his voice a mixture of shock and horror.
I know what he sees.
My eyes, swollen and bruised to a sickly black, my lip, cracked and perpetually on the verge of bleeding, my nose,bruised and likely broken, and a grotesque purple-green bruise blossoming at my temple. His face drains of color before flushing to a deep, furious crimson.
