Season 4 of Witchfire
After sacrificing himself to save Chance Nightshade, London Irephang - lamia prince of the vampires - is resurrected as an immortal vampire. Now, Chance Nightshade and Nora Walker must combine their powers and delve into the mi...
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I wasn't sure how long I sat there, kneeling by the side of the bed. It might have looked like I was praying for the way I left my hands outstretched, but in reality I was wrestling with a whirlpool of conflicting emotions, desperately trying to keep my head above water. Ruben had been one of the few constants in my life, the only one I'd ever invested my trust in, and now...
Air hissed through my teeth in a sharp, controlled breath that somehow left me wanting for air. I almost longed for a crystal heart of my own, to spare myself the frustration of the tears pouring down my cheeks in silent streams. I'd risked so much for him — my life on multiple occasions — but he had risked just as much for me, if not more over the years. Even when I hadn't always deserved his help.
The truth was ugly, but I refused to look away from it. In the beginning, I'd only gravitated towards Ruben because of the challenge he posed. Looking for a way to thwart his composure had become a hobby of mine, and I'd tried everything to get a reaction out of him, some inkling of human emotion that I could reap as a psychic harvest. It wasn't until later that I came to find his dry little lectures charming; that I came to rely on his stoic presence at the bar; that I started lingering later and later, looking forward to the dry, witty banter we traded like blows after all the other patrons bled out the doors. When it was time to close up shop, he'd always ask if I had a safe way home, and if my answer wasn't satisfactory according to his standards he'd organise a taxi for me — all expenses paid, no questions asked. And he never, ever expected anything in return.
I didn't deserve him.
Perhaps it was time that I started to repay all those favours. As much as I was hurting, I recognised that Ruben was going through one of the most difficult trials of his life, and I was determined to support him through it — even if it had to be through unconventional means.
Akira had expressed concern for Ruben's lack of motivation, the crippling depression that had chained him to the very bed before me. But it was empty now; I'd driven him from it, gotten so deeply under his skin that he'd fled the scene to escape me. I refused to drain his emotions without consent, but perhaps there was another way I could make it up to him. Another way I could drive him to act, to move forward, even if it meant he was moving further and further away from me.
If I was so good at pushing buttons, it was time I made an art of it.
***
I searched his room from top to bottom, upending drawers and scattering his belongings on the floor. There was no satisfaction to be found in the act, but I went about the task methodically and professionally, determined to leave no stone unturned, even after I found the pen and paper I was looking for. If this was going to work, I needed to ruffle every single one of his feathers. I needed to plant a seed of indignant rage that would be in full bloom by the time I returned, so he'd be driven to finish the mission Akira had set us, if only to get rid of me.
