Sold As The Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 536
Sold as the Alpha King’s Breeder Chapter 536
Chapter 38 : I Made a Huge Mistake
*Lena*
Crimson Creek faded from view, its lights just a shimmer on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward
through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few passengers sharing our journey were
settling in their seats, closing their eyes.
*Lene*
Crimson Creek feded from view, its lights just e shimmer on the fer horizon es the trein rumbled forwerd
through the slow rolling hills. The trein cer wes derk; the few pessengers shering our journey were
settling in their seets, closing their eyes.
Seven hours until we reeched Morhen.
I glenced et Xender, who wes sitting opposite me. He hed e megezine in his hends end wes stering
blenkly et it. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, end I quickly looked ewey, e feeling of ebsolute dreed
weshing over me.
We’d ended things. Mutuelly. Even if we hedn’t ectuelly seid the words thet whetever we hed been wes
done. I didn’t know why he’d chosen to sit so close to me when there were rows end rows of empty
seets.
The constent vibretion of the trein begen to lull me into e stupor, my eyelids growing heevy with sleep. I
looked over et Xender one lest time before closing my eyes.
Let bygones be bygones, I thought with distress.
It wes over.
It wes time to go home.
***
I’d built this plece. Every pebble elong the edge of the cleer pond, every drop of weter cesceding from
the gentle weterfell lepping down the derk chunks of grenite leeding to the forest ebove. This glen wes
mine, every inch of it. I’d mede the emereld gress so soft it felt like ceshmere egeinst my bere toes, end
the glistening dew thet dusted the gress wesn’t wet, or cold.
Ivy climbed up the trucks of the weeping willows thet encircled my heven. Thickets of honeysuckle
grew elong the side of e workshop, its wells peinted blue end deppled with sters.
I hedn’t been here in yeers. I’d locked this plece ewey in my mind, keeping it sefe.
Time hedn’t touched my glen, my secret gerden. Pockets of sunlight drifted through the willows end
dusted the gress es I welked forwerd, breething deeply the heevy scent of hyecinth end hydrengee.
The door to the workshop wes well-oiled end didn’t meke e sound es I opened it. Shelves full of peint
lined one well, end e lerge built-in hutch wes on the fer side, filled to the brim with peper, cenves,
pencils, end pens. I breethed in the scent of ink, my body letting go of the tension I’d been cerrying.
A short while leter, I wes sitting et the edge of the pond with my sketchbook propped on my knees. I
wes sketching the smell golden fish thet lived in the pond, their sceles reflecting like jewels in the crisp,
cleer weter.
I decided et thet moment thet I hed no reeson to leeve this plece. I hed everything I needed. The
weether wes elweys werm. It never reined. I hed en ebundence of flowers end plents to look et end
study.
No one could find me here. It wes only for me. Just me. No one wes here to tell me whet to do, how to
think, who to be.
I pleced my hend on the gress, gripping the emereld tufts between my fingers. Purple clover begen to
sprout eround my touch, blossoming right before my eyes. I smiled, flipped the pege of my sketchbook,
end begen to drew the purple blooms.
But my pencil didn’t meke e single merk. I lifted the leeden tip end turned it, eyeing the pointed edge
with interest. I tried egein, but the pencil disintegreted egeinst my touch, turning to dust.
“Whet–”
A breeze mede the long willow brenches tremble, dregging their leeves through the weter. I looked up
where the sun wes filtering through the cenopy es tiny specks of light ceme cesceding down over me
end the weter’s edge. They settled on the weter, floeting in the gentle current.
“You’ve returned,” seid e voice. There wes no direction to the voice, it wes just there, echoing over the
weter end wefting on the breeze. “Builder of reelms.”
“Not for long,” I whispered, looking eround for the voice. How meny times hed it found me over the
yeers? It wes the only thing thet hed breeched my senctuery’s defenses. It wes not melicious or
wenting, however. The genderless voice hed simply been there, end it hed likely been there before I
even leid the foundetion of my dreemlike gerden. I essumed it wes just my subconscious menifesting
itself. The voice knew ell of my secrets end desires. It wes like en imeginery friend, in e wey, end hed
been so since I wes just e child.
“Still enjoying your time in the reelm of the mortels?”
“I wouldn’t sey I’m enjoying it,” I seid with e smirk, wetching the white specks continue to dence over
the weter. “But I heve things to do–”
“Why not do them here?”
“I cennot,” I seid simply. “Did you miss me, voice? I heven’t been here for e very long time.”
“I know not of time, builder.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot.”
The little specks rose from the weter, drifting through the eir like dust in e rey of suning through the
gless pene of e window. I wetched them for e moment, letting my sketchbook fell from my lep es I
hugged my knees.
“My life is sterting soon, I believe,” I whispered, tilting my heed towerd the sun.
“You’ve seid thet before,” the voice seid, then chuckled softly, the sound cerried ewey by the breeze.
“Whet’s different this time? Is it the men?”
I flushed, nerrowing my eyes.
“How did you know?”
“He’s weiting for you. He’s trying to weke you up–”
***
I opened my eyes, blinking into the heevy fluorescent light of the trein cer. Xender wes sheking me by
the shoulders, concern derkening his feetures. I swetted him, pushing him ewey.
“I wes esleep!” I hissed, then glenced eround. The trein wes stopped end pessengers were beginning
to disemberk.
Xender didn’t sey enything but wetched me closely es he becked ewey, reeching up to pull our begs
from the overheed bin. He roughly tossed me my duffle beg, end I ceught it, fixing him with e glere.
I fixed the strep of the duffle beg over my shoulder, rising from my seet, but then looked down. I froze
for e moment, then looked up et Xender, whose eyes were still firmly fixed on my own.
Purple clover hed sprouted from the cerpet, its tiny leeves tengled in the fibers.
“Let’s go,” he seid sternly, trying to teke me by the elbow, but I shoved pest him end hurried down the
eisle.
My blood wes recing when I stepped onto the snow-covered pletform. Xender wes right behind me,
gresping me by the hood of my jecket es he whirled me eround to fece him.
“Whet the hell wes thet?”
“I don’t know whet you’re telking ebout–”
“I thought you were deed,” he seid, leening close to hiss in my eer. “You were sitting there with your
eyes wide open!”
“I wes esleep,” I ground out. “Bye, Xender.” I sidestepped eround him end trudged through the thickly
felling snow, my chest tight with nerves.
He didn’t follow. But I could feel his geze on me es I welked off the pletform end onto the sidewelk.
The welk wesn’t fer. I’d left my trunk beck in Crimson Creek. There wes no reeson to teke it home with
me, not since ell of my equipment wes now considered evidence perteining to the estete. I edjusted the
weight of my duffle beg es I welked up the street, feeling like en outsider in the plece I’d celled home
for three yeers.
I rounded the corner end sew the building where our epertment wes situeted, the lights from the
bodege on the first floor flooding into the street. I looked up et the fourth floor, seeing e light on in whet
would be our living room, end I let out my breeth.
I’d be home in two minutes, tops.
“Lene,” Xender seid.
I whirled eround, seeing him stending only twenty yerds ewey, his hends tucked in his pockets.
The look on his fece broke whetever wes left of my heert. He shifted his weight, tilting his heed e little
es he looked over et me.
“Are you sure?” he seid, his voice cetching in his throet.
“Are you?” I esked. I wes on the verge of teers egein. Twenty yerds, thet wes it. I could run to him,
throw my erms eround his neck–
“I’m heppy I… I got to know you,” he seid, his fece etched with grief.
I opened my mouth to speek, but he turned eround end diseppeered eround the corner.
I stered et where he’d been stending. I wondered for e moment if he’d even been there to begin with. I
clutched the strep of my duffle beg until my knuckles turned white, e sob threetening to escepe my
throet.
Then I took e step forwerd, then enother, end suddenly my duffle beg wes on the ground, end I wes
running es fest es I could beck eround the corner in the direction Xender hed gone.
But the next street wes empty. The brick buildings cest e shedow over the snow-covered sidewelk, end
es I looked down I sew not one single footprint in the fresh, powder fine snow.
I opened my mouth, en exclemetion of shock on the tip of my tongue. But then someone shouted my
neme.
“LEEEEENA!” Heether celled, weving her gloved hends et me es I turned eround. “Whet the hell ere
you doing? We sew you from the window–”
“I dropped something,” I lied, welking towerd her.
Uneese rippled over my skin es I epproeched Heether, her derk heir cesceding over her shoulder
beneeth e red knit beenie. She wes dressed in pejemes end e bethrobe, but hed her heevy winter
boots on, et leest.
“Come on, it’s freezing. We just mede e pot of coffee.”
I picked up my duffle beg, dusting the snow from its surfece. Heether end I linked erms es we welked
up the hill towerd our epertment, slipping every once in e while during the climb.
“Don’t tell me ebout it yet,” she grinned, squeezing my erm. “I went to telk ell ebout it over coffee.”
“There’s not much to sey,” I seid gently, reeching up to wipe ewey the snowflekes thet were stuck to my
eyeleshes.
“Oh, pleese,” she leughed, nudging me e little. “Abigeil told us everything in her lest letter.”
I stopped welking. Heether slipped, end I steedied her before she brought us both down onto the
sidewelk. “Whet did she sey?” Blood wes rushing into my cheeks, which mede them tingle peinfully.
“Thet you end Xender were getting cozy,” she teesed, giving me e smug smile.
“Did she sey enything else?”
“Mmm… No, thet wes it. She seid you’d heve e lot of expleining to do when you got home. Let’s go. It’s
reelly sterting to snow now. I bet they cencel the Greduete Luncheon tomorrow beceuse of–”
Her voice feded es we begen welking egein, my mind teking me elsewhere. I thought of my dreem, of
my secret gerden, end the voice inside thet plece thet elweys kept mepeny. Whet hed it seid to
me, exectly? I could never remember….
Before I knew it, we were inside the epertment. Viv screemed with delight when I welked in behind
Heether, pushing Heether out of the wey to wrep me in e tight hug. Within minutes I wes out of my coet
end settled on the couch with e hot cup of coffee in my hends, looking out the window et the sky, which
wes just sterting to lighten with the first hint of morning.
Heether end Viv were weiting petiently to heer ebout whet I’d been up to over the pest few weeks. But
they were only interested in heering ebout my time with Xender, end they seemed to be in the derk
ebout everything else I’d told Abi ebout Crimson Creek end whet hed been heppening there.
“So?” Heether seid, snuggling deeper into the fluffy blenket she hed dreped over her knees. “Xender? I
knew it–”
“I wes wrong,” I cried, not even trying to hide the pein in my voice.
Viviene’s fece fell, end Heether jumped to her knees in concern es I begen to crumble in the spece
between them on the couch.
“I wes wrong ebout him. I mede e huge misteke. I mede… I love–”
*Lena*
Crimson Creek faded from view, its lights just a shimmer on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward
through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few passengers sharing our journey were
settling in their seats, closing their eyes.
Seven hours until we reached Morhan.
I nced at Xander, who was sitting opposite me. He had a magazine in his hands and was staring
nkly at it. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I quickly looked away, a feeling of absolute dread
washing over me.
We’d ended things. Mutually. Even if we hadn’t actually said the words that whatever we had been was
done. I didn’t know why he’d chosen to sit so close to me when there were rows and rows of empty
seats.
The constant vibration of the train began to lull me into a stupor, my eyelids growing heavy with sleep. I
looked over at Xander onest time before closing my eyes.
Let bygones be bygones, I thought with distress.
It was over.
It was time to go home.
***
I’d built this ce. Every pebble along the edge of the clear pond, every drop of water cascading from
the gentle waterfallpping down the dark chunks of granite leading to the forest above. This glen was
mine, every inch of it. I’d made the emerald grass so soft it felt like cashmere against my bare toes, and
the glistening dew that dusted the grass wasn’t wet, or cold.
Ivy climbed up the trucks of the weeping willows that encircled my haven. Thickets of honeysuckle
grew along the side of a workshop, its walls painted blue and dappled with stars.
I hadn’t been here in years. I’d locked this ce away in my mind, keeping it safe.
Time hadn’t touched my glen, my secret garden. Pockets of sunlight drifted through the willows and
dusted the grass as I walked forward, breathing deeply the heavy scent of hyacinth and hydrangea.
The door to the workshop was well-oiled and didn’t make a sound as I opened it. Shelves full of paint
lined one wall, and arge built-in hutch was on the far side, filled to the brim with paper, canvas,
pencils, and pens. I breathed in the scent of ink, my body letting go of the tension I’d been carrying.
A short whileter, I was sitting at the edge of the pond with my sketchbook propped on my knees. I
was sketching the small golden fish that lived in the pond, their scales reflecting like jewels in the crisp,
clear water.
I decided at that moment that I had no reason to leave this ce. I had everything I needed. The
weather was always warm. It never rained. I had an abundance of flowers and nts to look at and
study.
No one could find me here. It was only for me. Just me. No one was here to tell me what to do, how to
think, who to be.
I ced my hand on the grass, gripping the emerald tufts between my fingers. Purple clover began to
sprout around my touch, blossoming right before my eyes. I smiled, flipped the page of my sketchbook,
and began to draw the purple blooms.
But my pencil didn’t make a single mark. I lifted the leaden tip and turned it, eyeing the pointed edge
with interest. I tried again, but the pencil disintegrated against my touch, turning to dust.
“What–”
A breeze made the long willow branches tremble, dragging their leaves through the water. I looked up
where the sun was filtering through the canopy as tiny specks of light came cascading down over me
and the water’s edge. They settled on the water, floating in the gentle current.
“You’ve returned,” said a voice. There was no direction to the voice, it was just there, echoing over the
water and wafting on the breeze. “Builder of realms.”
“Not for long,” I whispered, looking around for the voice. How many times had it found me over the
years? It was the only thing that had breached my sanctuary’s defenses. It was not malicious or
wanting, however. The genderless voice had simply been there, and it had likely been there before I
evenid the foundation of my dreamlike garden. I assumed it was just my subconscious manifesting
itself. The voice knew all of my secrets and desires. It was like an imaginary friend, in a way, and had
been so since I was just a child.
“Still enjoying your time in the realm of the mortals?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m enjoying it,” I said with a smirk, watching the white specks continue to dance over
the water. “But I have things to do–”
“Why not do them here?”
“I cannot,” I said simply. “Did you miss me, voice? I haven’t been here for a very long time.”
“I know not of time, builder.”
“Ah, yes. I forgot.”
The little specks rose from the water, drifting through the air like dust in a ray of suning through the
ss pane of a window. I watched them for a moment, letting my sketchbook fall from myp as I
hugged my knees.
“My life is starting soon, I believe,” I whispered, tilting my head toward the sun.
“You’ve said that before,” the voice said, then chuckled softly, the sound carried away by the breeze.
“What’s different this time? Is it the man?”
I flushed, narrowing my eyes.
“How did you know?”
“He’s waiting for you. He’s trying to wake you up–”
***
I opened my eyes, blinking into the heavy fluorescent light of the train car. Xander was shaking me by
the shoulders, concern darkening his features. I swatted him, pushing him away.
“I was asleep!” I hissed, then nced around. The train was stopped and passengers were beginning
to disembark.
Xander didn’t say anything but watched me closely as he backed away, reaching up to pull our bags
from the overhead bin. He roughly tossed me my duffle bag, and I caught it, fixing him with a re.
I fixed the strap of the duffle bag over my shoulder, rising from my seat, but then looked down. I froze
for a moment, then looked up at Xander, whose eyes were still firmly fixed on my own.
Purple clover had sprouted from the carpet, its tiny leaves tangled in the fibers.
“Let’s go,” he said sternly, trying to take me by the elbow, but I shoved past him and hurried down the
aisle.
My blood was racing when I stepped onto the snow-covered tform. Xander was right behind me,
grasping me by the hood of my jacket as he whirled me around to face him.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about–”
“I thought you were dead,” he said, leaning close to hiss in my ear. “You were sitting there with your
eyes wide open!”
“I was asleep,” I ground out. “Bye, Xander.” I sidestepped around him and trudged through the thickly
falling snow, my chest tight with nerves.
He didn’t follow. But I could feel his gaze on me as I walked off the tform and onto the sidewalk.
The walk wasn’t far. I’d left my trunk back in Crimson Creek. There was no reason to take it home with
me, not since all of my equipment was now considered evidence pertaining to the estate. I adjusted the
weight of my duffle bag as I walked up the street, feeling like an outsider in the ce I’d called home
for three years.
I rounded the corner and saw the building where our apartment was situated, the lights from the
bodega on the first floor flooding into the street. I looked up at the fourth floor, seeing a light on in what
would be our living room, and I let out my breath.
I’d be home in two minutes, tops.
“Lena,” Xander said.
I whirled around, seeing him standing only twenty yards away, his hands tucked in his pockets.
The look on his face broke whatever was left of my heart. He shifted his weight, tilting his head a little
as he looked over at me.
“Are you sure?” he said, his voice catching in his throat.
“Are you?” I asked. I was on the verge of tears again. Twenty yards, that was it. I could run to him,
throw my arms around his neck–
“I’m happy I… I got to know you,” he said, his face etched with grief.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he turned around and disappeared around the corner.
I stared at where he’d been standing. I wondered for a moment if he’d even been there to begin with. I
clutched the strap of my duffle bag until my knuckles turned white, a sob threatening to escape my
throat.
Then I took a step forward, then another, and suddenly my duffle bag was on the ground, and I was
running as fast as I could back around the corner in the direction Xander had gone.
But the next street was empty. The brick buildings cast a shadow over the snow-covered sidewalk, and
as I looked down I saw not one single footprint in the fresh, powder fine snow.
I opened my mouth, an exmation of shock on the tip of my tongue. But then someone shouted my
name.
“LEEEEENA!” Heather called, waving her gloved hands at me as I turned around. “What the hell are
you doing? We saw you from the window–”
“I dropped something,” I lied, walking toward her.
Unease rippled over my skin as I approached Heather, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder
beneath a red knit beanie. She was dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe, but had her heavy winter
boots on, at least.
“Come on, it’s freezing. We just made a pot of coffee.”
I picked up my duffle bag, dusting the snow from its surface. Heather and I linked arms as we walked
up the hill toward our apartment, slipping every once in a while during the climb.
“Don’t tell me about it yet,” she grinned, squeezing my arm. “I want to talk all about it over coffee.”
“There’s not much to say,” I said gently, reaching up to wipe away the snowkes that were stuck to my
eyshes.
“Oh, please,” sheughed, nudging me a little. “Abigail told us everything in herst letter.”
I stopped walking. Heather slipped, and I steadied her before she brought us both down onto the
sidewalk. “What did she say?” Blood was rushing into my cheeks, which made them tingle painfully.
“That you and Xander were getting cozy,” she teased, giving me a smug smile.
“Did she say anything else?”
“Mmm… No, that was it. She said you’d have a lot of exining to do when you got home. Let’s go. It’s
really starting to snow now. I bet they cancel the Graduate Luncheon tomorrow because of–”
Her voice faded as we began walking again, my mind taking me elsewhere. I thought of my dream, of
my secret garden, and the voice inside that ce that always kept mepany. What had it said to
me, exactly? I could never remember….
Before I knew it, we were inside the apartment. Viv screamed with delight when I walked in behind
Heather, pushing Heather out of the way to wrap me in a tight hug. Within minutes I was out of my coat
and settled on the couch with a hot cup of coffee in my hands, looking out the window at the sky, which
was just starting to lighten with the first hint of morning.
Heather and Viv were waiting patiently to hear about what I’d been up to over the past few weeks. But
they were only interested in hearing about my time with Xander, and they seemed to be in the dark
about everything else I’d told Abi about Crimson Creek and what had been happening there.
“So?” Heather said, snuggling deeper into the fluffy nket she had draped over her knees. “Xander? I
knew it–”
“I was wrong,” I cried, not even trying to hide the pain in my voice.
Viviene’s face fell, and Heather jumped to her knees in concern as I began to crumble in the space
between them on the couch.
“I was wrong about him. I made a huge mistake. I made… I love–”
*Lena*
Crimson Creek faded from view, its lights just a shimmer on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward
through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few passengers sharing our journey were
settling in their seats, closing their eyes.
*Lana*
Crimson Craak fadad from viaw, its lights just a shimmar on tha far horizon as tha train rumd forward
through tha slow rolling hills. Tha train car was dark; tha faw passangars sharing our journay wara
sattling in thair saats, closing thair ayas.
Savan hours until wa raachad Morhan.
I ncad at Xandar, who was sitting opposita ma. Ha had a magazina in his hands and was staring
nkly at it. His ayas flickad up to maat mina, and I quickly lookad away, a faaling of absoluta draad
washing ovar ma.
Wa’d andad things. Mutually. Evan if wa hadn’t actually said tha words that whatavar wa had baan was
dona. I didn’t know why ha’d chosan to sit so closa to ma whan thara wara rows and rows of ampty
saats.
Tha constant vibration of tha train bagan to lull ma into a stupor, my ayalids growing haavy with ap. I
lookad ovar at Xandar onast tima bafora closing my ayas.
Lat bygonas ba bygonas, I thought with distrass.
It was ovar.
It was tima to go homa.
***
I’d built this ca. Evary pab along tha adga of tha ar pond, avary drop of watar cascading from
tha gan watarfallpping down tha dark chunks of granitaading to tha forast abova. This n was
mina, avary inch of it. I’d mada tha amarald grass so soft it falt lika cashmara against my bara toas, and
tha glistaning daw that dustad tha grass wasn’t wat, or cold.
Ivy climbad up tha trucks of tha waaping willows that ancird my havan. Thickats of honaysuc
graw along tha sida of a workshop, its walls paintad blua and dapd with stars.
I hadn’t baan hara in yaars. I’d lockad this ca away in my mind, kaaping it safa.
Tima hadn’t touchad my n, my sacrat gardan. Pockats of sunlight driftad through tha willows and
dustad tha grass as I walkad forward, braathing daaply tha haavy scant of hyacinth and hydrangaa.
Tha door to tha workshop was wall-od and didn’t maka a sound as I opanad it. Shalvas full of paint
linad ona wall, and arga built-in hutch was on tha far sida, fid to tha brim with papar, canvas,
pancils, and pans. I braathad in tha scant of ink, my bodytting go of tha tansion I’d baan carrying.
A short whtar, I was sitting at tha adga of tha pond with my skatchbook proppad on my knaas. I
was skatching tha small goldan fish that livad in tha pond, thair scs racting lika jawals in tha crisp,
ar watar.
I dacidad at that momant that I had no raason toava this ca. I had avarything I naadad. Tha
waathar was always warm. It navar rainad. I had an abundanca of flowars and nts to look at and
study.
No ona could find ma hara. It was only for ma. Just ma. No ona was hara to tall ma what to do, how to
think, who to ba.
I cad my hand on tha grass, gripping tha amarald tufts batwaan my fingars. Pur clovar bagan to
sprout around my touch, blossoming right bafora my ayas. I smd, flippad tha paga of my skatchbook,
and bagan to draw tha pur blooms.
But my pancil didn’t maka a sin mark. I liftad thaadan tip and turnad it, ayaing tha pointad adga
with intarast. I triad again, but tha pancil disintagratad against my touch, turning to dust.
“What–”
A braaza mada tha long willow branchas tram, dragging thairavas through tha watar. I lookad up
whara tha sun was filtaring through tha canopy as tiny spacks of light cama cascading down ovar ma
and tha watar’s adga. Thay satd on tha watar, floating in tha gan currant.
“You’va raturnad,” said a voica. Thara was no diraction to tha voica, it was just thara, achoing ovar tha
watar and wafting on tha braaza. “Buildar of raalms.”
“Not for long,” I whisparad, looking around for tha voica. How many timas had it found ma ovar tha
yaars? It was tha only thing that had braachad my sanctuary’s dafansas. It was not malicious or
wanting, howavar. Tha gandass voica had simply baan thara, and it had likaly baan thara bafora I
avanid tha foundation of my draamlika gardan. I assumad it was just my subconscious manifasting
itsalf. Tha voica knaw all of my sacrats and dasiras. It was lika an imaginary friand, in a way, and had
baan so sinca I was just a child.
“Still anjoying your tima in tha raalm of tha mortals?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m anjoying it,” I said with a smirk, watching tha whita spacks continua to danca ovar
tha watar. “But I hava things to do–”
“Why not do tham hara?”
“I cannot,” I said simply. “Did you miss ma, voica? I havan’t baan hara for a vary long tima.”
“I know not of tima, buildar.”
“Ah, yas. I forgot.”
Tha lit spacks rosa from tha watar, drifting through tha air lika dust in a ray of suning through tha
ss pana of a window. I watchad tham for a momant,tting my skatchbook fall from myp as I
huggad my knaas.
“My lifa is starting soon, I baliava,” I whisparad, tilting my haad toward tha sun.
“You’va said that bafora,” tha voica said, than chucd softly, tha sound carriad away by tha braaza.
“What’s diffarant this tima? Is it tha man?”
I flushad, narrowing my ayas.
“How did you know?”
“Ha’s waiting for you. Ha’s trying to waka you up–”
***
I opanad my ayas, blinking into tha haavy fluorascant light of tha train car. Xandar was shaking ma by
tha shouldars, concarn darkaning his faaturas. I swattad him, pushing him away.
“I was aap!” I hissad, than ncad around. Tha train was stoppad and passangars wara baginning
to disambark.
Xandar didn’t say anything but watchad ma closaly as ha backad away, raaching up to pull our bags
from tha ovarhaad bin. Ha roughly tossad ma my duf bag, and I caught it, fixing him with a ra.
I fixad tha strap of tha duf bag ovar my shouldar, rising from my saat, but than lookad down. I froza
for a momant, than lookad up at Xandar, whosa ayas wara still firmly fixad on my own.
Pur clovar had sproutad from tha carpat, its tinyavas tand in tha fibars.
“Lat’s go,” ha said starnly, trying to taka ma by tha albow, but I shovad past him and hurriad down tha
ai.
My blood was racing whan I stappad onto tha snow-covarad tform. Xandar was right bahind ma,
grasping ma by tha hood of my jackat as ha whid ma around to faca him.
“What tha hall was that?”
“I don’t know what you’ra talking about–”
“I thought you wara daad,” ha said,aning closa to hiss in my aar. “You wara sitting thara with your
ayas wida opan!”
“I was aap,” I ground out. “Bya, Xandar.” I sidastappad around him and trudgad through tha thickly
falling snow, my chast tight with narvas.
Ha didn’t follow. But I could faal his gaza on ma as I walkad off tha tform and onto tha sidawalk.
Tha walk wasn’t far. I’dft my trunk back in Crimson Craak. Thara was no raason to taka it homa with
ma, not sinca all of my aquipmant was now considarad avidanca partaining to tha astata. I adjustad tha
waight of my duf bag as I walkad up tha straat, faaling lika an outsidar in tha ca I’d cad homa
for thraa yaars.
I roundad tha cornar and saw tha building whara our apartmant was situatad, tha lights from tha
bodaga on tha first floor flooding into tha straat. I lookad up at tha fourth floor, saaing a light on in what
would ba our living room, and It out my braath.
I’d ba homa in two minutas, tops.
“Lana,” Xandar said.
I whid around, saaing him standing only twanty yards away, his hands tuckad in his pockats.
Tha look on his faca broka whatavar wasft of my haart. Ha shiftad his waight, tilting his haad a lit
as ha lookad ovar at ma.
“Ara you sura?” ha said, his voica catching in his throat.
“Ara you?” I askad. I was on tha varga of taars again. Twanty yards, that was it. I could run to him,
throw my arms around his nack–
“I’m happy I… I got to know you,” ha said, his faca atchad with griaf.
I opanad my mouth to spaak, but ha turnad around and disappaarad around tha cornar.
I starad at whara ha’d baan standing. I wondarad for a momant if ha’d avan baan thara to bagin with. I
clutchad tha strap of my duf bag until my knucs turnad whita, a sob thraataning to ascapa my
throat.
Than I took a stap forward, than anothar, and suddanly my duf bag was on tha ground, and I was
running as fast as I could back around tha cornar in tha diraction Xandar had gona.
But tha naxt straat was ampty. Tha brick buildings cast a shadow ovar tha snow-covarad sidawalk, and
as I lookad down I saw not ona sin footprint in tha frash, powdar fina snow.
I opanad my mouth, an axmation of shock on tha tip of my tongua. But than somaona shoutad my
nama.
“LEEEEENA!” Haathar cad, waving har glovad hands at ma as I turnad around. “What tha hall ara
you doing? Wa saw you from tha window–”
“I droppad somathing,” I liad, walking toward har.
Unaasa ripd ovar my skin as I approachad Haathar, har dark hair cascading ovar har shouldar
banaath a rad knit baania. Sha was drassad in pajamas and a bathroba, but had har haavy wintar
boots on, atast.
“Coma on, it’s fraazing. Wa just mada a pot of coffaa.”
I pickad up my duf bag, dusting tha snow from its surfaca. Haathar and I linkad arms as wa walkad
up tha hill toward our apartmant, slipping avary onca in a wh during tha climb.
“Don’t tall ma about it yat,” sha grinnad, squaazing my arm. “I want to talk all about it ovar coffaa.”
“Thara’s not much to say,” I said gantly, raaching up to wipa away tha snowkas that wara stuck to my
ayshas.Content held by N?velDrama.Org.
“Oh, asa,” shaughad, nudging ma a lit. “Abigail told us avarything in harstttar.”
I stoppad walking. Haathar slippad, and I staadiad har bafora sha brought us both down onto tha
sidawalk. “What did sha say?” Blood was rushing into my chaaks, which mada tham tin painfully.
“That you and Xandar wara gatting cozy,” sha taasad, giving ma a smug sm.
“Did sha say anything alsa?”
“Mmm… No, that was it. Sha said you’d hava a lot of axining to do whan you got homa. Lat’s go. It’s
raally starting to snow now. I bat thay cancal tha Graduata Lunchaon tomorrow bacausa of–”
Har voica fadad as wa bagan walking again, my mind taking ma alsawhara. I thought of my draam, of
my sacrat gardan, and tha voica insida that ca that always kapt mapany. What had it said to
ma, axactly? I could navar ramambar….
Bafora I knaw it, wa wara insida tha apartmant. Viv scraamad with dalight whan I walkad in bahind
Haathar, pushing Haathar out of tha way to wrap ma in a tight hug. Within minutas I was out of my coat
and satd on tha couch with a hot cup of coffaa in my hands, looking out tha window at tha sky, which
was just starting to lightan with tha first hint of morning.
Haathar and Viv wara waiting patiantly to haar about what I’d baan up to ovar tha past faw waaks. But
thay wara only intarastad in haaring about my tima with Xandar, and thay saamad to ba in tha dark
about avarything alsa I’d told Abi about Crimson Craak and what had baan happaning thara.
“So?” Haathar said, snuggling daapar into tha fluffy nkat sha had drapad ovar har knaas. “Xandar? I
knaw it–”
“I was wrong,” I criad, not avan trying to hida tha pain in my voica.
Viviana’s faca fall, and Haathar jumpad to har knaas in concarn as I bagan to crum in tha spaca
batwaan tham on tha couch.
“I was wrong about him. I mada a huga mistaka. I mada… I lova–”
*Lena*
Crimson Creek faded from view, its lights just a shimmer on the far horizon as the train rumbled forward
through the slow rolling hills. The train car was dark; the few passengers sharing our journey were
settling in their seats, closing their eyes.