Rogue. Rachel Vincent

I knew that since I could still hear Marc’s footsteps, he could hear anything I said. But the other reason, of at least equal importance, was that I had no clue what to say.

      “Have you been thinking about me?” Andrew said into the empty static over the line.

       Shit. Until he spoke, I’d clung to the sliver of hope that I’d been wrong. That it wasn’t his phone number on my screen. But that hope was now as real as the Easter Bunny. “I know you’re there, Faythe. I can hear you breathing, so answer the fucking question.”

      I opened my mouth, yet I had no idea what I was going to say until the first word slipped from my lips.

       Eight

      “Yes.”

      Frustrated with my own answer, I let my head fall to thump against the door, then held my breath until I was sure Marc wouldn’t turn back to investigate the sound. He didn’t. Instead, from across the house came the barely there sound of the magnetic seal breaking as he opened the refrigerator door.

      “Really?” Andrew sounded suspicious, almost as surprised by my answer as I was. But it was the truth; I had been thinking about him. In fact, I’d had trouble blocking him from my thoughts. I felt guilty about the way I’d left things between us, and about how ugly the whole situation would get soon if he didn’t stop calling.

      I sighed silently. Why did I feel compelled to be honest with Andrew, but not with Marc? Did I owe Marc any less than I owed Andrew?

      No. The truth was that I owed them both an explanation. I’d left each of them—albeit five years apart—without saying goodbye. But Marc was like me. He was strong, and stubborn, and…one of us. Resilient. Andrew was human, and thus fragile in a way I could never really understand, and Marc could no longer remember. Honesty was the least I owed Andrew—up to a point.

      “Yes, really,” I said at last. I snatched the remote from my desktop and aimed it at my stereo. Music blared to life from the speakers mounted in the corners of the room. The All-American Rejects, “Dirty Little Secret.” Frenetic, taunting tempo and all.

       Figures.

      Counting on the music to cover my voice, I turned my attention back to Andrew and exhaled slowly in anticipation of a very awkward conversation. “I was thinking that I should have tried harder to get in touch with you in June.”

      “How right you are. Fortunately, you’re going to have the opportunity to make that up to me. Soon.”

      What? My pulse spiked. No. He was coming to see me.

      Andrew couldn’t come to the ranch. There was no possible way for a meeting between him and Marc to go well. Or even a meeting between him and my father, who also assumed my human indiscretion to be a thing of the past.

      “What does that mean?” I asked, my voice soft with horror I couldn’t quite disguise, but he only laughed. “Andrew, how do you want me to make it up to you? You want to talk? We can talk. Let me explain what happened.” One version of it, anyway…

      He snorted. He actually snorted into my ear. “Oh, let me guess. It’s not me, it’s you. I just don’t fit into your life anymore, right?” The bitterness in his voice stung.

      “It’s not like that.” But it was. It was exactly like that—in no way he could possibly understand.

      “Oh? What is it, then? Your parents? You’re scared to introduce me to your parents?” I started to answer, but he spoke over my protest. “They don’t even know about me, do they? You never told them.” His accusation was sharp and pointed. But this time he was wrong.

      “Of course I did.” My words came out rushed; I was eager for something legitimate to deny. “They know.” Did he honestly think my parents thought I was a virgin? That I was afraid to tell them I’d gone off to college and had sex? Sure, my mother looked like she belonged in a fifties sitcom, but my parents were neither stupid nor naive. Which was no doubt one of the reasons they’d sent the guys to watch over me.

      “You told them?” He didn’t believe me; that much was obvious. “And they’re okay with it?”

      I shrugged, though he couldn’t see the motion. “Well, I doubt they’re thrilled by it.” They were no more pleased with my perceived promiscuity than any parents would be. But their real problem was not that I’d let a guy into my bed, but that I’d let a human guy into my bed. A guy I could have no future with, who could never marry me and give them grandchildren.

      None of which I could tell Andrew, naturally.

      “You’re lying,” Andrew shouted into the phone, and I could actually hear his teeth grinding together as he spoke through them. “You’re fucking lying, and we damn well know it.”

      “We?” I frowned in confusion. “Who’s w—”

      “You didn’t tell them about me. You didn’t tell your family any more than you told him.”

      “Andrew…” On the radio, the All-American Rejects gave way to an announcer rambling on about the weather and the traffic, and I lowered my voice, hoping no one would walk by my room before the next song came on. “Andrew, what the hell are you talking about?”

      “You owe me, Faythe. I know where you are, and I know who you’re with. And when the time comes, that won’t make one fucking bit of difference. He won’t be able to prote—”

      Another voice barked in the background, pounding through Andrew’s fury like a hammer through a block of ice—quick and violent. And effective. I couldn’t make out what he said, and before I had a chance to think about it, Andrew was back. “I’ll see you soon, Faythe. Tell Marc I’ll see him, too. I think he and I have a lot to talk about.”

      Oh, no. Oh hell no. Alarm shot through my limbs and I stood so fast my chair fell over on the carpet in front of me. “Andrew!” I whispered into the phone, glancing at my bedroom door, just to be safe. “You have no idea what you’re—”

      But he was gone. He’d hung up on me. Again.

      Furious, I snapped my phone shut and tossed it onto the desk behind me, then bent to pick up my chair. What the fuck is wrong with him? I slammed the chair on the floor, but that did nothing to help burn off my anger. Andrew and I had only dated for four months and we’d now been apart almost as long as we were together in the first place. So what the hell did he hope to gain by coming here and confronting Marc?

      Oh, shit. Marc. I sank back into the chair, facing my desk this time.

      Marc would never attack a human, and under most circumstances would make no offensive moves even if assaulted by one, so I wasn’t really worried about him hurting Andrew. But my father would never trust me again when he found out I’d kept the first call to myself. And neither would Marc.

      I’d meant no harm by keeping my secret. But seriously, how was I supposed to know that one little human exboyfriend could be so much trouble? That not breaking it off with him in person would turn a calm, rational, nice individual into the bitter, angry man I’d just spoken to?

      The thing I’d liked most about Andrew was how very normal he was. How incredibly even-tempered and predictable. He was almost boring, which I loved because of how well it contrasted with my claws-and-kicks home life.

      The most daring thing I’d ever done with Andrew was, well…him, in broad daylight. In his apartment. Beneath the covers. With the door locked. Andrew wasn’t a daring sort of guy—at least not when we were a couple. Even during our one nooner, only hours before I’d left campus, he’d complained when I nibbled too hard on his earlobe. I’d barely broken the skin, but he jumped as if I’d tried to pierce his ear.

      Instead of protesting, Marc would have upped the ante. He was always up for more. Faster. Harder. Anytime. Anywhere.