REAPING INNOCENCE ◦ STILINSKI [3]

xxiii.

xxiii. CREATURES OF HABIT

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Oh, stupid, stupid, Carter thought, forging through the trees to the other side of Woodbine Lane. She'd missed her chance to ask Stiles how much he knew about her death and about Theo.

But melancholy was pulling at her, tugging her thoughts away. Her mind kept returning to the bright house she'd just left, going over the things she'd never see again. All the clothes and jewelry she had "accidentally" left in Stiles' room—what would he do with them? I don't own anything anymore, she thought. I'm a pauper.

Caterina?

With relief, Carter recognized the mental voice and the distinctive shadow at the end of the street. She hurried toward Malakai, who took his hands out of his jacket pockets and held hers to warm them.

"I had to see him," Carter said. That was all she could say, but as she leaned against him for comfort, she knew that he understood.

"Let's find someplace we can sit down," he said, and stopped in frustration. All the places they could go were either too dangerous or closed. And neither of them had a car—Carter's was still at the bottom of the quarry.

Eventually they just went to the high school where they could sit under the overhang of a roof and watch the leaves drift down. Carter told him what had happened in Stiles' room.

"I think we should ought to be watching Theo," she concluded.

"We'll tail him," Malakai said, and she couldn't help smiling.

"It's funny how much more normal you've gotten," she said. "I hadn't thought about it in a long time, but when we first started communicating you were a lot more...I don't know, foreign? Now nobody would know you hadn't lived here all your life."

"I've learned how to adapt. I had to," Malakai said. "There are always new countries, new situations. You'll adapt, too."

"It scares me. Everything about this scares me, and sometimes I think I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again..."

In the shelter of his arms she felt safer, and she found her new senses were just as amazing close up as they were at a distance. She could hear each separate pulse of Malakai's heart, and the rush of blood through his veins. And she could smell his own distinctive scent mingled with the scent of his jackets, and the wind, and the wool of his clothes.

"Please trust me," she whispered. "I know you're angry, but try to give all of them a chance. I think you'll find that there's more to them than there seems to be. And I want their help in finding The Doctors, and that's all I want from them."

At that moment it was completely true. Carter wanted nothing to do with the hunter's life tonight; the darkness held no appeal for her. She wished she could be at home sitting in front of a fire—the beast inside her chest held no warmth for her tonight. She was utterly cold for the first time in almost three years. But it was sweet just to be held like this, even if she and Malakai had to sit in the chilled air to do it. Malakai's breath was a warm as he kissed her temple, and she sensed no further withdrawal in Malakai's body.

In death, she understood Malakai in a way she never had before when she was alive. Understood him better than she did anyone else. And her understanding brought them closer, until their minds were touching, almost meshing with each other's. It wasn't noisy chatter of mental voices clashing; it was deep and wordless communion.

"I love you, you know that, right?" Malakai said against her temple, and she held on tighter. She understood now why she'd been afraid to say those very words for so long. When the thought of tomorrow scared you sick, it was hard to make a commitment. Because you didn't want to drag someone else down with you. Particularly someone you loved.