A Banshee's Wail (The Banshee Curse #1)

Chapter Eight

     We'd put a few blocks between us and the unconscious mob-guy, so I pulled him to a stop. “Lyle?” I exclaimed breathlessly, staring up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. What the heck was he doing here?

     I saw his back stiffen before he turned around, his smile almost sheepish as he glanced up at me. “Hey, Jemma,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

     It was very evident that I was angry with my next words. “What in the world are you doing here?” I cried, my hands clenching at my sides. He was supposed to be back at the academy!

     His whole demeanor changed, and suddenly he was very tense too. “What am I—?” he sputtered, his voice incredulous and outraged at the same time. “What are you doing out here, Jemma? You said you wouldn't leave!”

     It was my turn to be sheepish. “I can't let you die,” I mumbled, looking at the ground and scuffing it with my shoe. My sneakers were ratty and let the cold air right in, making me curl my toes in on themselves.

     “That's not the point, Jemma,” Lyle shouted, making me cringe. “You said you wouldn't leave, and then the next thing I know, I'm punching some guy's lights out about a mile away from St. James's!”

     I remained silent, unsure of how to respond to that. “What were you doing following me?” I whispered finally, peeking up at his face.

     He ran his hands through his hair angrily. “I had this feeling you were lying,” he muttered angrily, staring off into the distance. His jaw was set and he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “And that kiss—God, that kiss. It was amazing. There was no way you'd just give something like that away unless you thought you wouldn't see me again.”

     So I was right, it was completely idiotic of me to kiss him in the way that I had. Why did I have to be so stupid? I bit my lip and stared at the ground, letting my hair blow around my face. My hood had fallen down when Lyle had grabbed my hand and practically dragged me down the roads. I glanced around the abandoned street warily, I still felt like someone was watching us.

     “We need to go,” I muttered, grabbing onto his hand and pulling him behind me as I hurried down the street—still in the opposite direction of the knocked out mob-guy. I think.

     “What, why?” Lyle exclaimed quizzically, but he didn't pull away as I led him down the street.

     “It's not safe out here,” I told him, glancing around. Rubbing the back of my neck, I decided to cross the street.

     “Where are we going then?” he asked, lacing his fingers with mine. Now, instead of me leading him, he was just walking with me. We just looked like a normal couple out for a midnight stroll.

     I paused at an intersection and glanced around before choosing to turn right. “I don't know,” I admitted, tightening my hand around his. “Just somewhere that isn't out in the open.”

I dug through my bag, searching for the first aid kit that I'd stuffed somewhere in it. Lyle had split his knuckles when he'd punched the guy in the face. “You must've hit him pretty hard,” I muttered, frowning and pulling my bag closer so I could look in it as I dug through it. “I mean, he was out cold.”

     “You have a first aid kit?” Lyle asked instead, his nose scrunching up like he couldn't believe that a first aid kit was something I'd packed.

     I shot him an exasperated look and pulled the first aid kit. “We were all required to have one,” I told him, pushing the bag out of the way. “Didn't you have one?” I began disinfecting the small cuts spanning across his knuckles.