Chapter 3 3
Kaelen's POV:
I climbed the porch steps slowly, trying not to make any noise with my keys because if Marlen was in the living room she would hear me and come running. The bags hung from my hands, lighter now without the cookies, and I could feel the bruises already beginning to fade beneath my skin, that familiar warmth running through the damaged areas.
The house was small, a monthly rent we had gotten without asking many questions or giving many answers. Two bedrooms, a living room that also served as a dining room, and a kitchen where the three of us could barely fit if someone opened the refrigerator.
The walls were that depressing beige color that all rental houses have, and we still had unpacked boxes stacked in the corners. Three months and we were still living as if we had to run away again at any moment.
Because maybe we would have to.
I opened the door carefully, but it was no use.
"Finally!" Lucian appeared immediately from the kitchen, with that smile that always reminded me why I was doing all this. "I thought you were lost or something. This town is tiny, but the streets ar..."
He stopped. His smile faded.
"What happened to you?"
Shit.
"Nothing, I fell."
"You fell?" he repeated, and closed the distance between us in two strides. He was fifteen, but lately he seemed older, more serious. I hated that. "Kaelen, you've got blood on your shirt."
"Some steps. Didn't see them, it was dark. It's nothing."
Lucian looked at me with that expression that clearly said he knew I was lying but didn't know whether to press or not. His eyes, golden like mine but lighter, scanned my face with concern.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure. Where's Marlen?"
"Here," said a voice from the living room, and Marlen poked her head over the back of the sofa. Her blonde hair was tangled in a messy bun, and she wore reading glasses she had bought at the thrift store, even though her eyesight was perfect. "Why are you both such bad liars?"
Great.
I left the bags on the table in the entryway and carefully took off my jacket, trying not to wince in pain. My ribs still ached a little, even though they were almost healed.
"I'm not lying, Marlen."
"Uh-huh." She got up from the sofa and came over, thirteen years of pure stubbornness concentrated in five feet of height. "What steps? Where?"
"At the store. There are some in the back."
"You went to the store downtown, that one doesn't have steps in the back. I know because I went there yesterday."
Lucian gave me an apologetic look. Marlen was too observant for her own good, she always had been. She got that from our mother, that ability to see through lies as if they were glass.
"Okay," I said, raising my hands in surrender. "I tripped over some drunk guys. They pushed me, I fell. That's it. It's no big deal."
"Did they hurt you?" Lucian asked immediately, his voice taking on that protective tone he had developed since Mom and Dad disappeared. As if he had to take care of me and not the other way around.
"No, it was just a few shoves. Nothing serious."
"What if they had been from the Order?" Marlen's voice was higher than normal. "What if they had recognized you?"
"They weren't from the Order. They were just drunk idiots who didn't even look at me twice."
"How do you know?" she insisted. "Last time you said you were sure and..."
"Marlen, come on," Lucian put a hand on her shoulder. "They weren't from the Order. Kaelen would be... well, he wouldn't be here if they were."
The silence that followed was uncomfortable and heavy, filled with memories that none of them wanted to touch. Last time. The previous city. The child I healed in the middle of the street because I couldn't help myself, because he was a damn five-year-old dying in front of me and my instincts won out over my common sense.
And the men who saw us. The ones who came to our house three days later looking for us.
The ones who almost caught Marlen.
"Let it go," I said, harder than I meant to. "Nothing happened. I'm fine. You're fine. Tomorrow you have to go to school and I have to start college, so what we need to do is get ready for that, okay?"
Marlen looked at me with those eyes that seemed too old for her age.
"Sometimes I hate this," she said quietly. "I hate having to hide. I hate being afraid all the time."
"I know." And I did know, because I hated it too. "But that's the way it is. We just... we just have to be careful a little longer."
"A little longer?" Lucian laughed humorlessly. "We've been careful for five years, Kaelen. Ever since Mom and Dad left. How much longer do we have to...?"
"I don't know." The honesty hurt as it came out. "I don't know, Lucian. But it's better than the alternative."
The alternative was being dead. Or worse, being in the hands of the Order, having our blood drained drop by drop while they sought their fucking immortality.
Marlen sighed and rubbed her eyes under her glasses.
"I made pasta," she finally said. "The kind you like, not Lucian’s. It's in the oven keeping warm."
"Thanks, Marlen."
"And I bought bread." Lucian pointed to the table. "The garlic bread you asked for. I had to go to two stores because the first one was sold out."
"You're the best."
"I know." He smiled a little, and some of the tension dissolved.
We had dinner together at the small kitchen table, cramped but comfortable, talking about trivial things. Marlen told us about a book she was reading for literature class, something about vampires that she found hilarious because "if they knew what really exists in the world, they wouldn't waste their time with sparkly vampires."
Lucian complained about the soccer coach who apparently had something personal against him, although I suspected that Lucian simply wasn't as good as he thought he was.
I acted normal. I smiled. I made jokes. I pretended that nothing hurt and that I wasn't thinking about that girl in the car, about how her hands had been small but firm as she helped me up.
About how my eyes had almost betrayed me at that moment.
After dinner, Lucian went to their room to finish the math homework he had been putting off, and Marlen took a shower while I washed the dishes. The house was filled with the sound of running water and the clinking of dishes against the sink.
I took off my bloodstained shirt and threw it straight into the trash; it wasn't worth trying to clean it. In front of the bathroom mirror, I checked the damage: the bruise on my rib had almost disappeared, leaving only a yellowish mark. The cut on my lip was closed. The eye that should have been black and blue showed only a hint of color.
By tomorrow, there would be nothing left.
That was the advantage of golden dragons. We healed quickly, we healed cleanly. It was a gift of our line, the healing power that had made us valuable in ancient times and dangerous in these.
But as I looked at myself in the mirror, I wasn't thinking about my healing.
I was thinking about her.
About those dark eyes full of determination when she threatened guys three times her size. About how she had acted without hesitation, without fear. And that feeling when she touched me, as if something inside me recognized something inside her.
Impossible. She was human. Completely human. She had to be.
But then why had my eyes reacted like that?
I ran my hands through my blonde hair and tried to shake off those thoughts. Tomorrow was the first day of college. New place, new people, new opportunity to blend in and keep my family safe. My siblings had already started school the previous week and were doing fine.
I had to do it too.
The last thing I needed was to obsess over a girl who probably wouldn't even remember my face in a couple days.
Although something told me it wouldn't be that easy to forget her.