Chapter 32: Chapter Thirty-Two--Hatred Is A Disease

Carmen left.

This time, I’d stayed conscious long enough for her to force-feed me a thick, slightly chunky concoction smelling of mint and coconuts, tasting of chocolate, with an aftertaste of tree bark. Kalvyn claimed she was the Clan healer. He didn’t trust human doctors.

So? Carmen was better.

I pretended to sleep as Kalvyn pulled me against his chest, legs molding to the backs of mine, shifting the air mattress. I vaguely remembered a conversation about going back to the cabin, one I’d flat out refused. The drive hadn’t appealed to me, especially in light of Carmen assuring that she could care for my concussion anywhere. Oh yes, I’d gotten lucky.

Apparently.

That was what they wanted me to believe. I’d had a concussion before. No comparison. But they wouldn’t give me answers, no matter how I phrased the question. I’d taken the various elixirs and concoctions Carmen shoved in my direction.

They worked. No two ways about it. Pharmaceutical companies would commit murder to spend an hour with that woman, to come out with the next best thing. Over the past two days, I’d slipped farther away from the darkness that hovered over my head, waiting to take me every hour someone jerked me awake.

Pretty lies didn’t cover the facts. Yeah, I’d been out of it, but whole minutes stuck with me in my delirium. Kalvyn’s madness. Quinn and Syber pacing around Carmen as she worked on me. I distinctly remembered the words her brain is hemorrhaging. Herbs didn’t fix that. What they had done was sedate me to the point of hallucinations. Their pretty stories never changed, no matter who I asked.

I asked myself again, did it matter? They hadn’t run me over with a boat. They’d picked up the pieces and put Humpty Dumpty back together, with gentle hands and soothing words.

Kalvyn’s breath evened out. I rolled over, careful of the bandage on the back of my head: a testament to their lies. Was I angry?

How different he looked asleep. Not innocent. Oh no, not possible. The hard lines of his face softened. By comparison, I realized just how stressed he’d been since I met him. How tense his shoulders always were. I traced the line of his lips. His arm flexed, drawing me closer.

He smiled right before his eyes popped open, fully aware. “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

“How long?”

“I never fell asleep.”

“You should be resting,” he said gruffly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Head doesn’t hurt quite so much anymore.”

“Stomach?”

“Fine.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Are you?” I shot back.

“Touché.”

At least he admitted it.

I studied him, just as he did me. “Have you left this tent at all in the past two days?”

“Not unless I had to. My responsibility was you, and only you.” He ran his fingers through my hair.

I softened into the air mattress. I sensed danger in him, as if he barreled toward a revelation. I’d had about enough of those.

“I have to stop these near-death experiences. They’re hell on my manicure.” I waved my nails that were chewed to the nubs.

He laughed without humor. “We have to talk.”

“Do we really? Haven’t we done enough of that?”

“Katrina, I need to know about that woman.”

My blood slowed in my veins. “What woman?”

“The hunter.”

I wiggled away, but his arm turned to stone. “Why did you hate her?”

I started to clam up. “You don’t know anything.”

Then I took a breath and ordered myself not to be so childish.

“I smell many human emotions on you. And, yes, they have a particular scent, just as fear does. You despised her. She seemed concerned about your welfare. Or was that just an act?”

I sneered. “Trust me, she has a past chocked full of only caring more about herself.”

I tried to roll over. His thighs encased mine.

“You know her.” A statement.

I counted the fibers of his tent. Would he hate me? I had no doubt those hunters meant the Colbane family major harm. In return, those four and whoever else followed them would suffer immensely for it. Knowing her identity changed nothing. My mother long ago had become nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

“I did, once. A long time ago. In another life, where I thought I could touch rainbows, and one day, dad would buy me a pony.”

He hissed. Not like when I do, but when a feral cat hisses on the tail of a drawn-out growl. “She did not notice her own daughter?”

I startled. Really? Just like that, he’d figured it out?  Was I that transparent? “No. You have to remember she hasn’t seen me since I was eight.”

“So what? Animals know their children, no matter how long it’s been.”

“You work on a different wavelength, remember?”

“You knew her,” he countered.

“Her face haunted me, branded itself into my memory. And unlike her, I grew from a child into adulthood. I dye my hair every other month. I’ve gained weight, making me rounder than I should be.”

His brow cocked. “I like your weight just fine.”

“For once, not my point. Just a fact.”

He casually shrugged. “You are fine with this? Katrina, that had to hurt. You didn’t even try to get her attention.”

Sadness engulfed me, and I fought not to shed a single tear for the woman who abandoned me.