Page 88 of Death is Familiar

I wish I could say I thought of some snappy remark, but expanding my lungs seemed a monumental task. Like not breathing was my last resort to keep me from bursting into tears. Resistance was futile.

Pulling air into my lungs, a dizzying array of emotions swirled through me, wrapping me in a blanket of pine forest. Cedar.

A comforting numb dissipated the sizzle under my skin, threatening to turn my bones to jelly. I didn’t dare move. I worked to keep my muscles locked, but my neck didn’t listen. It gave in, relaxing into Todd’s hold, a slow drip of warm milk snaked its way down my spine. My resolve was slipping.

But I still had my last line of defense.

“I’m just angry.” My words a mumble against Todd’s chest.

To which Jack replied, “Of course.”

“And over-tired.” I sunk lower.

“That too.”

“I’ll be fine once I sleep.”

“I know you will.”

“I’m tough.”

“The toughest.”

I sagged until I was a melted heap against Todd. Jack’s agreement gave me nothing to brut up against. There was no resistance. It was like trying to argue against a cuddle. To play tug of war against an unending spool of yarn.

All of my muscles ceased cooperating, the entirety of my body weight supported between the agents.

I reached for the thoughts that would tell me this was wrong. That I needed to fight. But no matter how far I grasped there was nothing left but calm. A soothing fuzz amongst the crickets and katydids.

My eyes fluttered shut. An immeasurable moment passed, breathing in the grass, and cedar, and pine, and the occasional hint of citrus. The circles Jack rubbed against my back looped and looped, and⁠—

“This is why I wanted to go alone,” I whispered so softly I wasn’t sure the agents had heard.

But a gentle tug on my chin had me looking at Todd. “This is why you shouldn’t have gone alone.”

19

We didn’t speak of the night before when we left for D.C. the next morning. For once, the drive was silent.

For the most part. Apparently twenty-four-hour drives and my passenger carrying status were incompatible.

There was vomiting. Lots of vomiting. And I wasn’t subtle about it.

Seatbelt around my waist, I was lying across the back seat, a makeshift garbage pail in the footwell, curved between my elbow and the bench. Both sets of eyes kept flickering to me in the rear-view mirror. Dark and darker.

This was getting ridiculous. I needed to tell Jack. And I needed to do it in a neutral space, so we wouldn’t get distracted, and so I wouldn’t chicken out.

“I didn’t know you got motion sick, Delilah.” Jack’s eyes didn’t drift from the rear-view mirror.

Waving him away, I kept my mouth shut. I’d kept the contents of my stomach down for the last hour, my pail was empty, and didn’t want to tempt fate.

“She’s not motion sick.”

Todd’s words struck me with a white-hot bolt of panic, but I tempered it down along with the accompanying swell of bile. He raised a thick brow in my direction. Even in my subpar state, I knew he was seeking permission to share the half-truth I divulged back at the vamp gathering. I gave him a nod.

“It’s hormones.” It felt like forever before he added, “Birth control.”

Worry ate at my insides. He would have only paused like that if he didn’t really believe it.