Allegiance(23)

From her perch, she could also see the community house at the head of Cotton Street. She’d know when Cage came home from the accident site and know that he, too, was safe. Melissa no longer took a single day for granted. She’d learned the hard way that monumental change could take place in a heartbeat.

She thought she’d seen Cage earlier, but it had been Fen coming out of the house. He’d sat on the porch for a while, then walked down Cotton Street toward the old mill. She watched him until he turned the corner, and she thought about calling Aidan.

She was probably being paranoid, but Fen was one more person she didn’t know. And after the last nine months, that meant more people she didn’t trust. In Penton, trust was now a rare commodity. She resented like hell what had been done to her town; she resented all the bad things that kept happening to people she cared about.

And she, Melissa Calvert, former familiar of Aidan Murphy and wife of Mark Calvert, sat here with fangs, at midnight, afraid, not sure who she was anymore. Cage, Aidan, Krys—they all kept telling her she wasn’t a monster, that she was still the woman she’d always been.

They were right on one count; she wasn’t a monster. She’d been around too many kind and honorable vampires to believe that lie.

But she had changed. She’d turned from a naively fearless human into a cowardly, fanged night crawler, like those big, stretchy worms she’d dug up as a kid to use as fishing bait.

 The worms were slow, rubbery creatures that instinctively hid from anything that came too near, seeking out the comfort of earthy darkness in which to burrow and hide. That was her. What Melissa Calvert had become. Or had reverted back to—just like when she’d been Melissa Williamson, before meeting Aidan. The young woman who had gravitated to abusive relationships like iron filings to a magnet. The woman who sank so deeply into her mother’s trap of depression that she couldn’t climb out and thought a bottle of pills was her only escape.

Aidan had saved her that time. Turned her into a new person. And Mark had completed her.

Now, she felt the depression threatening to take her down again, and damn it, she didn’t want to resurrect Melissa Williamson. She didn’t want to wallow in a paralysis of sadness and fear. She didn’t want to be a blind, light-fearing night crawler that could function only in mental darkness.

Cage had been the light that tried to lead her out of it after Matthias took her, but she didn’t want to rely on him again. Or on anybody but herself.

Another hour passed, and finally, just before midnight, Mirren’s Bronco stopped in front of Aidan and Krys’s house. A wave of relief washed through Melissa when Mark slid out of the backseat; her tense shoulders released, a shaky breath escaped. He had a bandage on his left temple, but no other visible injuries.

Her relief died a quick death, though, as she watched Mark walk up the sidewalk. His movements were slow and stiff, and he half-pulled himself up the short set of steps to the porch by grasping the side rail.

She recognized the gait. Chronic back pain had turned him into a heavy user of oxy 80, which led to a string of petty thefts when the doctors cut him off and he needed money for black-market buys. Then heroin, cheap and plentiful on the streets of Atlanta, had claimed him. None of it helped him move any better; it simply made him care less.

Melissa swallowed down the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her. She stood up once she saw Aidan, Mirren, and Max getting back into the Bronco, leaving Krys behind. Krys was a doctor, but she might not know all of Mark’s history. Melissa could help.

She walked out of the house without stopping to think about what she was doing. Otherwise, she’d chicken out. Since she’d been turned, Mark had made her feel guilty with his need, his love, his patience. He would wait for her, he said. He’d love her when she was ready. They’d try again, as soon as she felt comfortable feeding from him.

Instead, she had turned away. She’d turned to Cage out of fear. She’d broken Mark’s heart, even though she’d done it for both of them.

Oh, Mark would be honorable. He’d try to make it work. She loved him so much her heart felt big and ungainly behind her ribcage, as if it might swell and burst whenever she saw him. But eventually he’d reject her, and as selfish as it would seem to everyone else, she had to protect her own heart and walk away before he had the chance. She couldn’t survive his rejection.

Krys stepped out the front door and onto the porch, closing the door behind her before Melissa cleared the stairs. “I’m glad you’re here. Mark needs sleep, but his medical records were stored in the part of the clinic that burned.” She sat on the top step and slid over for Melissa to sit beside her. “I know about his problem with heroin, but it started with painkillers, didn’t it? He injured his back again. Wasn’t that his problem before—his back?”