Strays Page 12

  “You’re not getting my gun!” Darcy shouted.

  “It’s too early for this.” Max sat on the small space by Dakota’s legs.

  Dakota’s ears twitched at the sound of shuffling and grunting. Darcy and Curly were most likely going at it. Normally, he would have jumped in to defend his brother, but he didn’t want to and he doubted he had strength enough to anyway. All he wanted was to focus on Max’s voice, but she was silent.

  “Get…” Darcy tried to speak through his own breaths. “Get… off… give… get off!”

  “They’re going to wake up the whole house,” Max said.

  “Give me my gun back!” Darcy shouted.

  “So you can shoot my brother again?” Curly laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t even know you, dude, but I’m going to tell you, this isn’t happening. Taddy’s going to hear about this.”

  “I look afraid of him?”

  Darcy stomped off.

  “Never a dull moment when testosterone’s involved,” Max said, laughing, still thinking Dakota was asleep.

  “How’s he doing?” Curly’s voice was closer now.

  “Still asleep, but he looks better. His color’s coming back.”

  Curly sighed. “That jerk.”

  “Darcy’s not a jerk. It was an accident. Did you really take his gun?”

  “Hell yeah. He shot my brother!”

  “Accidentally.”

  “Yeah, sure. Or maybe he was aiming for Taddy or Strays, or you. I don’t know. I don’t know that guy! I can’t trust him.”

  “But I do. I know him, Curly.”

  Curly was quiet for several long seconds. Dakota could barely stand it. He listened and waited for what his brother would say next.

  “It seems wrong to do this now, but you were crying last night so I didn’t want to intrude.”

  Dakota didn’t like to hear that she was crying. He especially didn’t like to think that she had been crying over him.

  “I got you something yesterday.”

  “Me?” Max said.

  “Yeah.” Curly shuffled around with something in his bag. Dakota listened to the swishing papers.

  “What?”

  Whatever Curly pulled out for her silenced her. “Here,” he said. “For you.”

  Max dropped Dakota’s hand to take Curly’s gift. “Dante.”

  “Yeah, I thought—since you dance.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, don’t cry. Why’re you crying? I thought you’d like them.”

  “I do! I love them, Curly. They’re beautiful.”

  “You can dance for me in them one day.”

  Max stifled her tears with a laugh. She sniffled and sat back down on the sofa. “Thank you, Curly. I love them. Really.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll be in the kitchen. Let me know if he changes.”

  Dakota didn’t open his eyes, until his brother was out of the living room. He shifted his eyes to Max, who sat on the other side of the sofa holding a pair of pointe shoes. Her tears brightened her blue eyes. She smacked them away and stared at the shoes. Dakota stared at her for as long as she stared at the shoes. She looked in love. She looked like she was staring at her significant other, silently thanking him with her eyes for being in her life. She couldn’t have been happier. She smiled without smiling. Then, still holding the shoes, she wiped her eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said, to no one. She sniffled and Dakota watched as she began to take her boots off. Quickly, she snuggled her feet into the pointe shoes, but just before she pushed her right foot inside he noticed an odd, rigid scar on her right ankle. She tied the ribbons around her ankles, covering the scar from view. “Size six.” She smiled. “Wish my feet weren’t so flat.” She laughed at herself and skipped onto her feet. She moved so fluently as a dancer that Dakota thought he was dreaming again. She did a quick spin around the living room.

  “Should warm up,” she said, stretching her legs wide and doing a full split on the floor. Dakota had to turn on the sofa to see her, but she didn’t even notice when he moved. Just like she didn’t notice when Curly stepped into the doorway to watch her. Not even when she had finished warming up and had gone straight to dancing did she know she was being watched. That’s what Dakota liked. That’s what he appreciated about her, that she didn’t know how incredibly and wonderfully oblivious she was to her own radiance.

  Sixteen

  Dakota

  ●

  I remember how fast my heart raced when the basement door was unlocked, when Curly led me by the arm out through the front door… into the sun… into the sun, which blared hot and rich on my skin and burned my eyes so strongly that it was hard to keep them open. But I had kept them open. I had welcomed the sun… burning on my skin… and into my eyes… and the dry, sweet taste of the heat that waved nearly invisibly around me, circulating, my eyes open… my eyes open still…

  When Dakota was finished healing and he could think straight for the first time since he’d been shot, it was two days later and three o’clock in the morning. That’s what the miniature grandfather clock on the mantelpiece said. And he was thirsty. If he had a mirror he was sure red eyes would stare back at him. His jaw was sore where the bullet had penetrated and broken all his teeth. But his teeth, a painful process, had repaired themselves and there was no sign of a bullet hole ever having been there.

  Grunting, he forced his body upward and it felt as if his bones were robotic limbs waking from hibernation. His back hurt and his side, where he’d been shot, felt sore. Max, who had been nothing but an angel through the whole process, was asleep on the floor with her butt pressed against the sofa and her arms over her head. She had taken off his shoes and, even though she was asleep, he was embarrassed that his socks were so dirty. He stepped over her and went into the kitchen because, not only was he thirsty for blood, but he wouldn’t mind water either. His throat was dry and scratchy. Curly was nowhere in sight, but his bag was on the table, along with the other supplies they had taken from the department store.

  Dakota laughed. Looked like Ginger had taken more feminine products than she’d needed. Boxes of tampons and sanitary pads sat in neat stacks next to folded clothes, separated into men’s and women’s. And he didn’t know who had carried the water, but there were two twenty-four packs on one of the kitchen chairs. Most of the food was canned goods, accompanied by some junk food—cookies, chips, cans of Pepsi—all on the verge of expiration.

  Dakota was thirstier than he was hungry. He tore the plastic and grabbed a bottle of water. He snapped it open and gulped the whole thing down at once. It didn’t provide instant hydration, but it was a start. He checked the kitchen sink for running water, but there was none. So—as quietly as he could manage—he used two more bottles to wash up at the sink with what was left of the dish detergent, looking over his shoulder periodically. An open tube of half empty toothpaste sat on the counter, like someone had used it earlier, but Dakota didn’t touch it. When he was finished washing he dressed in a white t-shirt, a pair of black sweatpants and clean white socks. Clean socks. The dish liquid made his skin dry, but at least he felt clean.

  And this wasn’t fair. This life—his life—wasn’t supposed to be like this, washing up at the sink, eating peas from a can and potato chips. He should have been in college. At least then he could survive on Roman Noodles and Hot Pockets. He had sometimes looked forward to going before he was a vampire. He should have been in college, as far away from his mom and Curly. He hated feeling like he belonged to them. Stuffing another spoonful of gross peas into his mouth, he wondered about Reagan and the others. He hoped they were still at Lincoln, safe, eating, sleeping without fear… safe.

  …into the sun…

  He spotted an old, black hand-mirror wedged between a box of cereal and a bag of potato chips. He grabbed it and examined himself. For some reason he thought when he looked in the mirror he wouldn’t look so tired. No, he definitely looked exhausted and he appeared demonic
with those red eyes. He didn’t belong there, did he? The stubble on his chin and the messy way in which he had pinned up his dreadlocks made it no better.

  “Great,” he said to the quiet kitchen. “I look like shit.”

  “You look fine to me.” Max’s voice was behind him.

  He turned to find her standing in the doorway. She must have cleaned up earlier, too, because she was wearing fresh clothes and her hair looked a lot lighter and more weightless than it had before. The pungent aroma of lemon dish detergent combined with her blood made his nostrils flare.

  She walked to him, reached her arms around him and pulled his shirt down in the back. “I didn’t peg you for the boxers type.”

  Dakota was intimidated by her confidence. “You’re really specific about your types, aren’t you?” He didn’t really have many underwear options to choose from these days, anyhow.

  Max shrugged. She pointed to the mirror. “I found that. It’s cool, right?”

  “Mm.”

  “I wonder who it belonged to.” But when she reached for it, every vein in Dakota’s face and hands bulged, alerting him that human blood was nearby. She took the mirror from his hands and again reached behind him to set it on the table. “Are you thirsty?”

  “Yes,” he said, quietly, opening his eyes. He tried his best to fake his frustration with a pleasant smile. She was too close to him. He thought that maybe she was always too close to him… and that maybe she wasn’t supposed to be.

  Max moved aside her collar, revealing the healing punctures he’d left the last time he’d bitten her, and he wondered if the fact that he needed her was more embarrassing than needing her.

  “No, I’ll wait for Curly.”

  “It’s really fine, Kota. I don’t care.”

  “No,” he said again. “I don’t want your blood.”

  “Oh.” Max nodded slowly. “Okay.”

  “I didn’t mean like–like that. I just don’t want you doing that for me anymore. But… thanks.”

  Max shrugged. “On another note,” she walked around and pulled out a chair, “how’re you feeling?”

  “Like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He felt like he had missed so many important things and his mind was still recovering from its own delusions. He sat and when he did, Max pulled her chair close to his. Now Dakota regretted not rubbing the toothpaste over his teeth and tongue. And he wondered just how long he could put up with the scent of her blood.

  “Yeah, you had us scared.” She brushed stray curls back into his hair with her fingers. “Well me.”

  Dakota wasn’t good at this, so he was sure he was looking at her funny. Comforting her had been easy when she had thought Eric was dead, but responding to her affection for and toward him was hard. Not only did he suck at responding, but he wasn’t very good at looking her in her eyes either. “Did Curly freak out?” He felt like he wasn’t allowed to mention Curly to her, like they had become bitter exes.

  Max slapped her knees, shrugging. “Of course.” She looked over her shoulder. “You know your brother better than I do. He thinks Darcy did it on purpose.”

  Dakota spooned another mouthful of peas. “Why does he think that?” He chewed a couple times before swallowing hard.

  “Because the world sucks and no one can be trusted. But that’s just a guess.”

  Yeah, that sounded like Curly. It sounded like Dakota too. He hadn’t seen Darcy pull the trigger, but he wanted to know why he had. Strays, whatever. Or maybe it was what Curly had said. Maybe he had been aiming for Taddy, trying to get him back for being his blood supply. If that was the case, why would he wait for such an awkward time to do it? And he had to have known that Taddy would heal, just like Dakota had, right? Unless he had been aiming for his head, and he’d been damn close to taking off Dakota’s. He didn’t know. Maybe he was thinking too much into it.

  “I’ll talk to Darcy myself.” Whatever had happened he would get to the bottom of it on his own.

  “Fine. But I trust Darcy.”

  “I trusted my mother and she locked me in a basement. Some people can’t be trusted.”

  “Do you trust me?” She inched closer, alerting his senses again.

  He wanted to yank that pretty black hair back and sink his teeth into her neck. Then he wanted to kiss her like her lips were on fire and his lips were the only thing that could extinguish them, with her blood still on his tongue and his fingers in her hair. “I don’t know you,” he simply said.

  Max sat back, nodding. “That’s why I like you. You’re honest.”

  “I think me sucking down your blood has got you dazed and confused.” He couldn’t look at her. God. Why couldn’t he look at her? He put his hands on the table and then in his lap and then back on the table. “Curly”—

  “Stop. Making. Excuses.”

  He looked at her. “I’m n”—

  “I don’t want Dante, Kota.”

  “Max.”

  A soft thud from upstairs made Max and Dakota both look at the ceiling. Dakota stood up before Max did, but she followed him. He grabbed the gun Darcy had shot him with from an end table in the living room and cocked it without knowing what they’d find yet. Dakota didn’t know why Max was following him, but he got the feeling that she trusted him more than he thought she should. He was left with a terrible thought that he would let her down.

  Dakota hadn’t been upstairs since they had taken hold up in that house. He walked quietly up the carpeted stairs, keeping close to the wall. He hadn’t heard the thud again, but it was better to be safe. Someone could have left a window open and a Stray could have gotten in. When he reached the top landing, he was overwhelmed by the pile of dirty clothes thrown all over the floor and the mildew stench of them.

  “Kota,” Max whispered, but he couldn’t hear her. She tapped his shoulder and pointed to the door down the hall where the candlelight peeked through. Every door was closed, including the bathroom door. Dakota’s body had literally just finished healing, so he was beyond distressed to think he would have to fight another Stray. He wanted a break from them. They walked slowly, until they were outside of the door. Max had followed him without a weapon. It wasn’t smart. He didn’t want her there, but it was no sense in telling her to turn around now.

  He didn’t bother tapping on the door. If there was a Stray in there, and if he intended to kill it, he would have to get a jump on it, catch it by surprise. As good as their hearing was, he doubted the thing hadn’t heard them coming. One hand on his gun, he closed his free hand around the golden doorknob. He turned it slowly… and he couldn’t think about it… he threw the door open without another thought and it slammed against the wall.

  But there were no Strays. In fact, Dakota’s eyes widened at what he saw and his hand went instantly to the doorknob again. Taddy wore nothing, but socks and Ginger was naked and on her hands and knees. Taddy moved behind her, his hands on her hips, his mouth covered in her blood. Crimson streaks of it poured from orifices on her neck, like the ones Dakota had put on Max’s. Ginger’s face was flushed in a stupid euphoria. She moaned quietly.

  Saying nothing, Dakota quickly closed the door. “I didn’t need to see that.” When he turned around, Max had her hands over her face. “I really didn’t need to see that.”

  “Me either,” she whined. “Aaah! I’m never going to get that image out of my head.” She chuckled.

  Dakota tucked the gun into the back of his pants and followed her down the stairs. They should have gone into the living room to sleep where Curly and Eric were, but they walked to the foyer, instead. The door was locked and thick strings of wire had been tied around the knob and three giant screws in the walls. Dakota had taken the comforter from the sofa, which still carried a faint scent of his blood and sweat. If Max was bothered by it, she said nothing. He lied down carefully and scooted his back to the walls. Max lay quietly beside him and scooted so close to him that they didn’t even need the comforter to stay warm.

  For a while, they stayed that way a
nd listened to the night and Dakota prayed silently and the wind whistled and crept outside of the door and Strays could be heard in the distance and the world was scary and the world was scary and the world was damned scary. Max turned so that she was facing him. His heart raced and his skin was hot.

  “You’re still on the train.” She closed her eyes. “Keep me safe.”

  How could she put that kind of trust in him, the kind to trust him with her life? Her life? “I will.”

  Seventeen

  Dakota

  ●

  She dances.

  It could be heaven. Where we are. It could be heaven.

  Or I could be stuck in an eternal hell, where she dances, and I’m doomed to watch her forever, dancing, and never touch her. Could I call this hell? If she’s here? Could it be hell?

  Dakota opened his eyes. He was so thirsty that he could hardly think about his erection pushing against the back of Maxxy’s pants. He was thirsty. So thirsty that it was beginning to hurt. A burning sensation, deep in his gut and throat made him shiver. The sun was up, which meant the house would be awake soon. He didn’t hear anyone awake now, but he knew they would be soon. Curly would be soon. He needed to wait. He just wasn’t sure he could. Max, still asleep, moaned softly and turned over so that she was facing him. She brought her body close to his so that she could, consciously or unconsciously, push her hands into his pants.

  And the way she rubbed him felt… good… and wrong… because she was supposed to belong to Curly… and Dakota was supposed to be smart enough to remind her of that. Reluctantly, he moved her hands from his pants and sat up.