Chapter Twenty-Six (Xed)
I had no idea what to say.
Or do.
So I only stood there dumbly as Newell looked at me in complete and utter horror. He didn't say a word, just leapt off the bench and took off running out of the courtyard, slamming the door shut behind him and leaving me to stand there, dumbfounded.
I had only come in to wake him up as he could get frostbite sleeping outside in this weather. He wasn't waking up, but he seemed breathless. I leaned down to further to make sure it was him breathing so quickly when he grabbed my face and kissed me.
My body roared to life the moment his lips touched mine. My blood felt like lava flowing through my veins as his little tongue turned into my mouth, tasting every inch of it. He cut his tongue on my teeth, but I made sure he didn't repeat the mistake, although, he didn't seem to notice. It took me a moment to realize he was still asleep until something shook him awake and he opened his eyes to stare at me.
The blood had drained from his face and he shoved me away.
He regretted it to the core of his soul and my body went limp, heart clenching in my chest as I watched him depart from the courtyard. I looked down at the mug he'd left behind that'd been drained of blood. I picked it up, moving like a robot as I started to carry it back to the kitchen, only to pull up short to see Vladimir leaning against one of the cherry blossom trees. I went still.
Had he seen what happened? Did he know?
The smug look on his face told me he did. I simply stood there staring at him as he stared back before pushing off the tree with a sigh.
"Well, I figured there was something going on between you two," He said after a while, coming over and taking the mug from me to run his finger along the inside, scooping out less than a teaspoon of leftover blood, which he sucked off his finger, licking his lips, "Newell wouldn't have let you stay this long if he didn't feel something. Naturally I assumed he just saw you as someone to replace his father. Obviously I was wrong." I frowned at that.
Vladimir scooped out another teaspoon of blood, sucking it off his finger before looking down into the mug, then up at me with a sharp glint in his eyes.
"But I assure you that that is one romance you do not want to involve yourself in," He stated, making me glare at him now before he continued, "I'm not saying this to protect your feelings, but Newell's as well." I gave him a puzzled and suspicious stare and he chuckled in response.
"Believe it or not, Newell wasn't always an obnoxious little brat. There was a time he was just like everyone else, hoping and talkative. He would always come up to me during our Sabbat celebrations so enthusiastically," He smiled as if the memory amused him before his smile wilted into a frown, "But all childhoods end and his ended quite abruptly when his father found out he wasn't aging. Newell may have kept you around, and yes, he probably does care about you, but there's a different between caring and trusting. Newell won't trust you. He never will. He won't love you either. Newell became incapable of love the moment everyone turned their backs on him. There is no love without trust, and no trust without love. And Newell will never have either of those."
I didn't like what he was saying. How could he give up on Newell so quickly? If they were so close at some time, why would he say such things? Surely Newell's wound wasn't deep enough to completely impair his natural abilities to love, to care, to feel.
Vladimir quickly caught onto my thoughts in a way that made me uncomfortable.
"I'm only telling you the truth," He responded, "I gave up on Newell when he stopped coming up to me at celebrations. I gave up on him when his smiles turned into sneers. I gave up on him when he slapped the world in the face for slapping him. Newell is the perfect example of eye for an eye, until you're blind. Newell is blind. The world beat him, he beat it back, and now the world's retaliating again."
But the world did Newell wrong first, I wanted to say. Newell couldn't help what his body did to him, what people saw him as, what his father was like. None of that was his fault, so why would the world punish him for it? He had every right to get revenge.
"He did," Vladimir said, answering my thoughts and making me give him an odd look, "We all want revenge on those who've wronged us. And some of us get away with it... But Newell didn't. And it's because the world is unfair. Everyone thought they did nothing wrong, nothing to provoke Newell, but they did. Revenge is a vicious cycle, Xed, and Newell's tangled in his own web of lies and deceit. What I'm getting at is that you're barking up the wrong tree. Newell cannot and never will love you as much as you love him. If I were you, I'd run away while you still can before you're killed."
With that, Vladimir left me alone to stand in the cold courtyard as snowflakes began to gently sprinkle down from the sky.
No, I thought bitterly.
Even if my family did want me back, I could never go back.
Because Newell was like a drug. I'd already gotten enough of him to make me addicted. No matter how frustrating he is, now matter how much he complains or shoves me away, I won't be able to leave him. I was trapped, too, in Newell's tangled web.
And I refused to believe that Newell could never love.
Everyone could love. Sooner or later.
And maybe not with me, as painful as the thought was, but with someone, someday.
With that thought in mind, I departed from the courtyard to go check on Starling, whom I left in the den with his flashcards. When I returned, Starling was chewing on one of the flashcards and watching the fire crackle. I sighed, walking over and plucking the half chewed card from Starling's mouth. He whined and grasped out to take it back, but I refused. The cards had cost five dollars, money we could have spent on clothing or something else far more important, but Newell insisted on teaching Starling how to speak and understand.
Of course, he didn't know that every so often, I would also take a peek at the cards. My English wasn't flawless, speaking wise. I could barely read and I definitely could not write in the language. The letters were oddly shaped and irritated me. And there were too many ways to say certain letters or words. There was simply too much. English was far more difficult to learn than the language of my people, or Greek. Even Atlantean was easier than English and Atlantean was very specific about masculine and feminine terms.
I took Starling's hand and led him upstairs so he would be out of the way of the servants that had moved into the den to dust and clean. Starling went right to the bed to jump up and down. It took some doing, but I managed to get him off the bed and on the sofa. I turned on one of the strange American educational cartoons that involved little colorful creatures that sang too much.
Starling's attention glued right to the television screen. I sat beside him, but I couldn't focus on what was playing. I was too distracted by Newell, who wasn't even in the room.
In fact, I had no idea where he was and that concerned me.
I got up and made a stay motion with my hand to Starling, who seemed to understand and went back to watching his show. I could only hope he didn't chew on anything else in the room as I went to search for Newell.
It wasn't until I came downstairs that I heard a piano playing. I instantly recognized the tune. It was one Newell played very often whenever we had the chance to be near a piano. I forgot the name of it, but I could never forget how delicate and oddly mournful it sounded when Newell played it.
I followed the tune through a couple of hallways until I reached a very large, elaborate ballroom. It was designed a bit old-fashioned, like the ballroom of a palace, with drapes hanging on the walls and large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, making the spotless marble floor glitter. Across the rounded room in front of a wall entirely made of windows, Newell was sitting at the piano.
I only watched as his fingers flew over the keys with hyponotizing ease. His motions were fluid and natural, as if he had become part of the instrument. He struck a few notes harshly, only making the tune sound more emotional... painful. The notes rose and fell gently before heightening, then easing up again.
I had never played an instrument before and to see someone so expertly make music like that was stunning. My people never particularly emphasized music. We were too busy fighting for position of chief and obtaining food. While I had listened to the music that sailors played, it was nothing like actually watching and listening to someone play something so deep. It gave me chills to hear Newell play something so poignant. It made my heart ache.
However, while the music overflowed with emotion, Newell's face remained impassive as he played, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he struck key after key, moving like water, gracefully, yet powerfully all at once. He continued playing and I continued listening until his fingers suddenly struck the keys hard enough to jolt me out of my trance.
"I came in here to be alone." Newell deadpanned, adding a bit of strain to the last word. I frowned, but made no move to leave. Newell tensed and I could feel the air of irritation boiling around him, but he didn't look at me. If anything, I'd say he was embarrassed to look at me.
He was still embarrassed about the kiss, but why? I had kissed him back. Granted, I was still in shock, but I still kissed him back. He was kissing me, which meant there was something there, something.
"I think you should stay here with Starling." Newell said suddenly. I blinked and stared at him in disbelief.
What? What was he talking about? Why should I stay with these people? While I had grown attached to Starling, it was nothing compared to my attachment to Newell. I couldn't possibly leave him alone. What if something happened? What if someone managed to capture him and take him to Zephyra? What if he was sold in another auction? What if he needed someone to dispose of the corpses he drained?
What had I done to make him draw this conclusion?
"You're becoming a nuisance," Newell said after a while, making me stiffen as he ran his fingers along the keys, but not playing a note, his eyes studying the keys intently, "I don't have time to deal with your petty feelings, Xed. I'm trying to gain back what I lost and you're not helping me reach that goal."
What goal? Newell only wanted back what was taken from him and that was his place as the heir of the Drakon Clan. He wanted his followers back. He wanted a house to call his own. He wanted peace and quiet. But he couldn't gain all of that without help and whether he wanted to admit it or not, I helped him. He couldn't have gotten this far without me.
He needed me.
He was only angry because he embarrassed himself. He was behaving childishly. I wanted to say something, anything to defend myself, but Newell was finished with those words and went on to play.
This time, the melody started out with only a couple notes before beginning powerfully right off the bat. He bounced his fingers on the keys before they flew much faster. Judging from the amount of pressure he added to each key as if he were striking out at someone, the eerie tone that reminded me of a dramatic death, signalled that he was angry. I said nothing, nor did anything. Simply stood there and watched his fingers moving quickly across the keys.
I waited for a mistake. Any kind of mistake, but if he made one, I didn't notice. I could only watch his fingers hit the keys rapidly, growing faster. I'm surprised his fingers didn't snap at the speed he was going before he abruptly slowed, then sped up again in a low crescendo before he hit several high notes.
He finished the song with a sharp slamming of his fingers on the keys, moving onto another song that sounded vaguely familiar. He hit a couple of notes repeatedly, then added more with his other hand. The song was beautiful and dainty now as he moved at a slower pace, probably calming down from his anger.
I listened to him as he continued to play, the sound echoing around the room. It was a surreal experience and it certainly cooled the temper in me that threatened to rise at Newell's previous words.
He could repeat them all he wanted.
Because I would never leave.
My place was beside him for as long as I lived.
Newell continued playing even after footsteps entered the room. I don't think he was even paying attention as Alexander entered. He looked awed as he stopped beside me to watch Newell play. He cast me a quick, curious look. I resisted the urge to smile proudly. Newell slowed down before striking the final note and looking up, a frown working its way onto his face.
"How long have you been standing there?" Newell demanded in irritation. Alexander smiled.
"Long enough. You're very talented. My brother, Julian, really likes the piano, but he plays a lot of rock songs. You were just playing Fur Elise, right?" He asked. Newell paused, studying Alexander hard before averting his eyes.
"Yes." He answered, sliding off the bench and approaching us. He didn't make eye contact with me. If anything, he avoided my presence altogether. Alexander just kept smiling, completely oblivious to our tension.
"Well, I came to tell you we're going to do one more test today. The results still aren't in from the other ones, so we figured we might as well get the MRI over today." He explained. Newell merely nodded. Alexander led him away, but I followed. I could see Newell getting angry again that I was following, but he said nothing to me. He was going to continue giving me the cold shoulder until his temper exploded. Worse still was that he couldn't do much about me. Fighting me was impossible and while I felt guilty for making Newell feel inferior, I couldn't let him abandon me.
We went down a few hallways before reaching a door that required a pass code, which Alexander entered. We came into a very large room full of tables and people doing odd experiments. We walked across the room to a door that led to another room where a huge, round machine sat with a table that went through the center. A small glass room was inside that room, allowing us to look out at the machine.
Alexander asked that Newell remove his clothing, and as per usual, Newell ordered that we look away while he changed out of his clothing and into the hospital gown Alexander had given him. Alexander had Newell lie on the table before he moved him into the machine. I got an odd feeling in the pit of my gut as Alexander took me into the smaller glass room and sat down at one of the computer monitors there. He typed for a moment, then clicked a few times, before turning on a small microphone at the same time an image of Newell's bored face came up onto the monitor.
"Newell, can you hear me?" Alexander asked.
"Yes." Newell answered monotonously.
"Good," Alexander seemed relieved, "Okay, I'm going to turn the machine on. Are you comfortable? Some people get a little claustraphobic in there. Vladimir can't lay in there for more than a couple minutes without having a panic attack."
"That's because he's a child." Newell deadpanned. Alexander's mouth twitched and he gave up trying to talk to Newell and instead began to type and hit a few things on the keyboard. The machine hummed to life. Newell continued to lay in the machine, expression unwavering for a while.
Things were going well until Newell's expression finally twitched and he sucked in a deep breath.
"Are you all right?" Alexander asked. Newell hesitated, looking around the inside of the machine before nodding slowly, then shaking his head.
"Are you feeling sick?" Alexander asked. Newell shook his head. I frowned. Why wasn't he saying anything?
"All right," Alexander said, "Just give me a few more minutes. We're just about done. Some of these are coming in oddly, so we need to redo a few." Newell didn't respond. Just stared up at the top of the machine, but I could see he was growing restless.
"You need to stop moving." Alexander warned as he clicked a few times. Newell finally gasped.
"Let me out." He commanded. Alexander blinked at Newell's sudden command.
"Give me a second," He said carefully, "Just another minute."
"I can't," Newell gasped again and this time, put his hand on the top of the machine, breathing hard, "I want out. Get me out."
"Newell--"
"Get me out!" Newell barked. His eyes flickered as if he suddenly saw something that we didn't. I looked at Alexander, but he was staring at something on the other computer monitor. I followed his gaze and we found ourselves staring at Newell's scans. It seemed relatively normal, save for extra blue patterns, but there were also a few black clouds. I looked at Alexander questioningly as he frowned, running his finger over the blue.
"Well, at least we confirmed that he's depressed as hell," He muttered, then ran his finger over the black, "But these... They're not tumors. Our species doesn't get things like that. We're exempt from STDs, cancer, and most diseases that humans get, but this is also a bit different from what Vladimir has." He went through some of the papers on the desk and I looked at the monitor to see Newell breathing hard. I tapped Alexander's shoulder to try and get his attention.
"One sec." Alexander told me. I scowled.
"Alexander," Newell said in a hard, quick voice, "I realize you're probably doing something, but let me out right now or I'm going to rip your machine to pieces."
"You better not," Alexander warned as he searched through papers, "That's my mother's and she's still making payments. And I don't think you want to make her angry."
"I don't care," Newell gasped in exasperation, perspiration glittering at his temples, "I'm suffocating." Alexander looked up with a frown, then quickly made a few clicks on the other screen.
"Okay, I'm printing off the scans. Just wait one second. There's something there, but it's not like Vladimir's."
"Great," Newell managed, "Fantastic. Last thing I need is to be compared to the greatest dictator in the world, now let me out! I can't breath in here! It's hot!" Alexander winced and looked at me.
"Isn't there something you can do to calm him down?" He asked. Yeah, I wanted to say. I could sing, but last time I did that, he hated me for it and I'm sure he still did. If I did it again, he would make my life a living hell, but at the same time, my heart was clenching painfully at the sight of seeing him panicking in there. He was never fond of tight spaces and I didn't think the machine was that small inside, even for Newell. How Vladimir could last in there was beyond me.
"Xed," Newell said suddenly, making me look at the screen to see him glaring straight into the camera, "If you even think about what I think you're thinking, I will make you wish you were never born, do you understand me? I much rather suffocate to death than listen to your obnoxious voice."
"Well, that was rude." Alexander muttered, but he got up from his seat and left the glass room. I followed close behind him. I was already used to Newell insulting me and while at first it irritated me, I knew he was only attempting to appear authoritative. Alexander hit a button on the side of the machine and the table pulled out. As soon as it did, Newell lunged to the side and vomited. Alexander winced and leaned over to make sure he was all right. I'd seen Newell vomit enough to know he was all right, thought.
"Ugh," Newell spat, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand before sitting back on his other hand to glare at Alexander, "Next time I tell you something, you listen to me. I have absolutely no qualms about ripping open your throat and bathing in your blood." Alexander stiffened, but didn't seemed intimidated. Not very many people were.
"I'm sorry, but we were just about done. We have what we need anyway," He answered, "You can go rest. We'll do a few tests tomorrow evening. In the mean time, don't do anything stressful." Newell didn't answer, just glared at him before he climbed off the table. His legs wobbled and he almost fell, but I caught him just before he could fall. As expected, he instantly shoved my arms away and regained his balance, shooting me a dirty look.
"Turn around, both of you." He ordered. Alexander and I both sighed, but obeyed as Newell changed from the gown back into his regular clothes.
"Couple problems?" Alexander asked dryly. I glanced at him, tempted to reply with something sarcastic if I could.
"I can hear you." Newell snapped.
"I wasn't talking to you." Alexander returned snootily, then looked at me and raised an eyebrow. This time, I couldn't resist a smirk, to which Alexander beamed at me for. Newell finally dressed and we left the room for the janitor to come in and clean up. Alexander led us out of the room and gave us permission to return to our room. I stayed behind Newell obediently and he didn't say a word to me the whole way there.
As soon as we got into the room, Starling cheered at seeing Newell again. He ran over and hugged him. Newell stiffened at the contact, but he didn't shove Starling away, just stood there and grimaced. Starling pulled back and waved a finger at the television.
"Bear! Bear talk!" He exclaimed. Newell gave him an odd look and followed him to the television upon which an odd cartoon of a talking bear teaching children the different colors displayed. I could only guess that Starling was surprised to see a talking bear.
We waited until the show was over and Newell took Starling into the bathroom to bathe for the night. I went to the sofa and sat down, frowning. I could still hear Newell playing the piano in the back of my head, a beautiful melody that made me ache to hear it again, but Newell was exhausted from all the testing, and the embarrassment of kissing me.
I knew he wasn't embarrassed becaue of me specifically, but rather, embarrassed that he'd shown some kind of emotion aside from anger. At least, I hoped so.
I wasn't cocky like Vladimir, but I did know that I wasn't unattractive. My siblings as well as both my mothers often complimented me on my appearance. I wasn't spindley or small, but rather muscular and tall. I was also well endowed in other places, one of the many reasons why it simply wouldn't work between Newell and I. He was so small. If something were to happen between us, he would shatter to pieces in my arms and I would never be able to recover from that.
Nor would he.
Not that he would let me touch him now. The way he reacted to me in the MRI room told me that it might take a while, maybe even eternity, for Newell to let me get close enough to touch him. My fingers ached to touch his soft skin, but I knew when enough was enough.
And Newell had had enough.
I waited until he and Starling left the bathroom so I could bathe. I managed to get in the tub and my legs cracked and snapped into a fin that didn't entirely fit into the tub, the end of it sticking out onto the tiled floor. I sighed, folding my arms on the edge of the tub, resting my chin on them, eyes closed in relaxation until the door opened. I frowned, opening my eyes to see Newell coming in.
He was dressed in one of my shirts, something that sent a chill through me. A possessive chill.
"We need to talk." He stated, shutting the door. I frowned, but didn't move from my place as I stared at him.
"I do not understand what I did to upset you." I told him honestly. After all, he's the one who kissed me. I kept that comment to myself. No need to add gasoline to an already hellish flame. Newell narrowed his eyes at me for a moment, then looked away.
"Admittedly, it's not so much as what you did as what I did. I wasn't paying attention and I was half-asleep." He responded. It was his way of saying it wasn't supposed to happen. While I expected it to hurt, it really didn't. I understood. Vladimir had been right about one thing and that was that Newell wasn't much for emotions. To him, they were a hindrance. Of course, to me, they were my strength.
My feelings for Newell are what made me as powerful as I was. I would take down an entire group of oni or werewolves or whatever simply to make sure he was safe.
"I understand." I told him. That made Newell relax.
"Good. Because it won't happen again. Our main priority is to get the research, get Hunter, and leave." He responded sternly. I nodded slowly, then frowned.
"Must we take the human with us?" I asked. Newell cracked a smirk at that, putting a hand on his hip.
"You don't like Hunter."
"I do not like Hunter."
"Why? He seems charming, don't you think?" Newell asked. He was teasing me, a rare thing indeed, but it sent a spark of jealousy coursing through my veins. Charming? Hunter was anything, but charming. He was an obnoxious backwoods human, who stupidly barged into the home of the most dangerous creature on the planet. He was as charming as an anglerfish.
"He annoys me." I deadpanned. Newell continued to look at me as if he were thoroughly amused by my reaction to Hunter. He said nothing, though. So I took the chance to speak again.
"You should play the piano tomorrow. I want to listen." I said. Newell frowned.
"It's not that impressive. Anyone can play Fur Elise."
"I do not care what anyone else can do. I enjoy listening to you play it. And the other song."
"Other...? Greensleeves or Moonlight Sonata?"
"Both. I want to hear them again."
"They're quite plain."
"I do not care. I enjoy listening to it."
"Why?" Newell asked dryly. I was tempted to say because it was beautiful and it made him seem all the more engimatic and attractive, but I had just won back his favor, so there was no point in endangering that favor further. Instead, I shrugged lightly.
"My people do not focus on music. It is rare that I am given the chance to listen to something inspiring and powerful. You play very well."
"You don't have much to compare it to then," Newell answered flatly, then paused, folding his arms over his chest, "But I suppose it's all right. I rarely get the chance to practice and I would really rather not get rusty. Not to mention, I like it when people suck up to me. Anyway, hurry with your bath so we can sleep." With that, Newell was gone. As soon as the door shut, I smiled against my arms, leaning on the edge of the tub.
Even if I could never tell him, I could always think it.
Newell was beautiful.