Darknight(103)

What that meant for us, I had no idea.

I couldn’t dwell on that, though. Instead, I went and fetched him some water, which at least he did take from me, and then got a fire going in the hearth. False cheeriness, but better than the cold emptiness of the space between the two of us, a space that hadn’t been there even an hour ago.

Of course I knew why. I’d killed his brother. Never mind that I’d had no choice, that if I hadn’t done so he would’ve killed me and probably Connor as well in his blind animal rage.

He hadn’t been an animal there at the end, though.

Tears began to sting my eyes, and I blinked them away. I had a feeling Connor wouldn’t much appreciate me grieving over the man I’d killed. And how could I ever explain that they weren’t tears of grief, but of relief and joy? I’d seen that same expression of utter elation on Aunt Ruby’s face when she passed. I knew what it meant — despite everything he’d done, Damon Wilcox had not met damnation as he left this world, but the woman he loved, waiting for him.

It turned out to be convenient that he’d died in his home. Marie and her crew moved him upstairs to his bedroom, settled him there, and removed every trace of a struggle. Then she called the paramedics, saying she’d come to visit her cousin, who hadn’t been feeling well, and found him dead in his own bed.

There were questions, but in the end, since there was no sign of foul play, the medical examiners ruled it a natural death, probably from an aneurysm. The wounds Damon’s skin-walker form had suffered did not transfer to his human body, so there was nothing for the coroner to find. The Wilcoxes were allowed to grieve, to have the public memorial service that someone of Damon’s stature in the community required.

I was surprised to see so many civilians there, so many weeping students — female, of course — so many sad-faced faculty members. Truly, it was quite the send-off. I wished I could ask Connor about it, ask him if Damon had really been that popular. My entire knowledge of him was based solely on what he had done as primus of the Wilcoxes, not as the public man he’d been.

But I didn’t dare broach such a subject, because in the three days since Damon’s death, Connor had barely spoken to me, except about practical things like planning the funeral. Something inside me was quiet and cold and still, frightened, knowing things were horribly wrong and not knowing what in the world I could do about it.

Of all people, Lucas was the one to give me some comfort. I’d thought he’d be furious over our subterfuge, but when I approached him at the reception after the service, he only gave a philosophical shrug and said, “There are some things you can’t come back from, Angela. Damon crossed a line. He endangered all of us.” For a second I thought I saw a flicker of real anger cross his features, but then he laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You did what you had to do. Don’t ever forget that.”

I’d only nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Although I never thought I’d find myself grateful for Marie, I had to admit that she’d done a good job of smoothing things over with the rest of the clan, of trying to make them understand that I’d done them all a service. Whether they truly believed that, I didn’t know, but at least I wasn’t getting death threats.

Then again, that probably wasn’t very likely. After all, I was the consort of the new primus. Or was he my consort? I had no idea, couldn’t begin to guess how his change in status would alter our relationship. Maybe I would’ve liked to have found out, to have the two of us come together while seeking some solace, some comfort, but Connor hadn’t touched me. True, he hadn’t gone so far as to ask me to move back into the guest room. It was enough that he lay huddled on his side of the bed, not reaching out to me, not cuddling together as we’d done so many times before.

Time, give it time, I told myself, trying to ignore the creeping chill within me. But maybe there were some wounds time just couldn’t heal.

It wasn’t that late when we got back from the reception, just a little before seven. A weird time, because usually around then I would have either started making something for dinner, or we would’ve decided where we wanted to eat if we were going out. I certainly didn’t have much of an appetite, and Connor had even less. The past few days he’d barely eaten anything.

We entered the apartment, and I set my purse down on the dining room table. Connor had been looking stiff and uncomfortable in his suit jacket all afternoon, so I wasn’t surprised to see him shrug out of it and drape it over the back of a chair.

I started to limp toward the living room; the Wilcox healer had done a good job on me, but I still had some lingering muscle damage from Damon’s attack. I had the vague idea that maybe I’d put on some music or turn on the TV. Anything to cover up the silence. But I hadn’t gone two steps before Connor said, “This isn’t going to work, Angela.”