Sisters Red (18 page)

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their life fighting. Come on, sit down with us." He steps toward me and extends a hand. He has a way of talking sometimes that makes me feel as if it's only him and me in the room. I want to take his hand. More than anything, I'd like to sit down and not think about hunting for just a moment, to ignore my responsibilities like they so easily can.
They
--the two beautiful people, unmarred, an exclusive club. Of course they want to sit and talk through the night instead of hunt.

Silas and Rosie lean toward each other, like they can each shield the other from me, like I'm the outsider instead of a sister, instead of a partner. I shake my head in frustration and duck back into the bathroom, letting the door slam behind me. I turn on the ice-cold shower to drown out the sound of their hushed whispers, the sirens in the city below, and the muffled, choked sobs that force themselves up from my ugly, scarred throat.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Rosie

I don't go to a class at the community center the
following week. I make ramen noodles every night, and we eat the leftovers the following morning. We barely leave the apartment. It feels as if we're standing still. Scarlett and I push the couch aside and train in the apartment. She does it because she says I'll lose my edge if we don't. I do it because I think she'll lose her mind if we don't. She counts down the days till the next full moon like a death-row inmate counting down steps to the electric chair.

Of course, I might lose my mind as well. I'm in love with a woodsman and I simply
can't
be. Scarlett has no time for love, so why should I? But it gets harder and harder not to blurt out my feelings to him; while my sister spends the days poring over notes on Fenris, Silas tugs me away, convinces me

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to walk around the block or the street or the entire city until we lose ourselves in a flow of conversation. I try not to touch him, not because I don't want to, but because I'm afraid that if I let my hand brush his or he puts a casual arm around my waist, I won't be able to stop. I'll want to touch him again. And again. I'll want him to pick me up into his arms like he did the night he returned to Ellison. I already want him in a way that delights and frightens me at once.

And Scarlett knows.

Well, she doesn't
know,
but she's not stupid--I see her cast Silas and me suspicious glances every now and then. I think she knows we're pulling at the ropes that bind the three of us together; I just don't think she knows that Silas and I are pulling as one.

But I am a hunter, and when we return from a walk and see Scarlett, brows knitted together in what's become a permanent frown, the point is driven home: I can't act. I have to wait for the feelings to pass. I owe Scarlett my life, and if she insists I spend it chasing Potentials and Fenris, well... it's the price I pay.

By the following Tuesday, Scarlett has brought home another giant stack of books from the library with Silas's help. They're fairly ridiculous--books on wild wolves, monsters, myths... She's getting desperate, rereading books that can't possibly help us figure out who the Potential is. I force her to eat something for breakfast, but by lunch, I feel as if I'm going to snap. Energy leaps under my skin, begging me

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to do something,
anything
but sit in the apartment for even another second.

Silas groans as he stretches toward the bathroom door where Scarlett is showering. "Hell,
one
wolf. If she could just bag one wolf, I think she'd relax. Is there anything I can do, anything I haven't thought of?"

"No," I sigh. "I don't think so. You know how she is."

"Yeah," Silas answers quietly, but there's new guilt in his eyes. "But she isn't always like this. She's hardly even thinking straight. Am I..." He pauses and looks down as he walks to the kitchen. "Am I pulling you away from her?"

I blink, surprised--is he asking what he means to me? He pours himself a glass of water while I try to come up with some words. When I don't, Silas speaks again.

"You know, telling you about those classes... I don't want her to feel like she's losing you. I just wanted you to be able to live a little. Maybe I should mind my own business--"

"Oh," I answer quickly. "No, Silas. Those are my decisions."

"Right. It's just..." Silas grimaces and runs his fingers over the condensation on his glass. "I don't want to play any part in breaking up the two of you. I know what it's like to be on one side of a fence while your siblings are on the other, furious with you. I can't do that to you and Scarlett. I can't... lose both you and Scarlett, to be honest. You're all I have left... She's lost weight--did you notice?"

"Lett and I will be okay. We've always been okay," I say

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softly, though I'm not sure I'm telling the truth. It isn't okay to hope your sister isn't in the room with you and Silas; it isn't okay to betray her, to sneak around behind her back. If I still thought of Silas as just a friend, I might hug him for comfort, but there's that rumbling desire in my chest that is afraid I'll hug him too closely, touch him too tenderly. How can my sister and I be okay when all I want to do is
touch
her partner?

I fold my arms over my chest and lean back against the counter. I
have
noticed she's lost weight, and I've noticed the dark circles under her eyes, the way she twists and turns in the night like she never did before. The wolves haunt her, while I lie awake longing for the boy only a few yards away... I'm a terrible person.

"I'm sorry, Rosie," Silas says when he sees the sadness in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to brush the look away, but Silas isn't easily deterred. He hesitates, then leans on the counter beside me, moving slowly as if he needs verification that each move is acceptable, wanted.

"Hey," he says, resting two fingers on my arm. It starts as a friendly gesture. I press my lips together as he slides his palm up my arm and around my shoulders. Silas pauses, and though I'm not certain, I think he realizes that the touch is far more than friendly as well--a thought that makes me dizzy but practically forces me to move my own hand to the small of his back. I close my eyes and inhale, and I feel Silas's breath on my forehead, hear his relaxed heartbeats. His lips

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are so close to me, I could easily tilt my head back and kiss him if I were braver. It's hard to
not
sigh, like the exhausted breath is building up in my chest and I'm holding it back, though more than anything I want to release it, to truly hold myself against him--

Scarlett's shower cuts off. Silas snatches his arm away and I lean back up, head swirling from the quick change.

"Um... right," Silas says, looking startled. He looks at me. "Okay, back to studying Potentials, wolves, important stuff..." He shakes his head as if he's casting away a mental fog.

I bite my lip. I want to get out of here--I
need
to get out of here, or the thumping desire for Silas is going to consume me. There's no way Scarlett won't figure it out if I can't escape and get my mind off him. It's just for a little while--I can go get groceries or something. Silas will help her research. We can't keep paying for Chinese food. I meet Silas's eyes, dashes of sky colors in the monotone apartment.

"I'll be back," I say, then dart for the door.

"Wait!" he whispers sharply. He lunges toward the couch and tosses me the belt with my knives on it. "Just in case." I catch it with one hand and swing it around my waist. Silas gives me a sly smile--does he know the effect that smile has on me?

I manage a feeble smile in return and leave. I inhale deeply once I get outside. Have I even been outside in days? The scents of cigarette smoke and fresh air mingle in my nose. I

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hurry off our dilapidated block, rubbing the bills together in my pocket as I head toward Kroger. Just a few groceries and I'll go back.

A sharp breeze whips over me, swirling my hair into knots. Cars honk, traffic halts in the intersection, and I dart between taxis to cross the road. Maybe a short class--I've been hunting-focused for so long. Silas's face keeps flashing through my mind, encouraging me, supporting me.

Just one really quick class. Thirty minutes or less.

The community center is several blocks away, but I run; if I'm focusing on avoiding the crowds of people on the sidewalk, on putting my feet one in front of the other, then I can't focus on the tiny spark of guilt in the back of my mind. I dart through the community center door and hand the smiling woman behind the desk my class card.

"Which class?" she asks.

"Um..." I scan down the board. Cake Decorating, Belly Dancing, Stock Market Trading...

"Natural Drawing," I say quickly. "Wait--do I need drawing stuff?"

"No, supplies are included with the course. It's in room three and probably starting shortly. Are you eighteen, dear?"

The question throws me as I step away from the desk toward the classroom. "Um, yeah," I answer quickly. The woman nods and turns back to her desk.

Well, I'm sixteen, close enough. Scarlett is eighteen, which makes Silas... wow. What does someone Silas's age want with a kid like me? I enter the room and take one of only two

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available easels that are close to a chair sitting in the center of the classroom. Mostly middle-aged women chat hurriedly on either side of me, but I barely hear them. Maybe I'm mis-interpreting everything with Silas... maybe the fluttery feeling is just on my end.

Two men enter the room, one old and mustached and the other young and tawny-headed, wearing sweats and a worn T-shirt. He looks like Silas, actually--god, what am I, obsessed? But there really is something of the woodsman in the younger man's face, with his full lips, his slightly curled hair that turns like tendrils around his ears... I look away before studying him too closely.

"All right, ladies, are we ready?" the older man says enthusiastically. There's a loud rustling of paper as we all flip the enormous sketchbooks on our easels until we find blank sheets. I draw a few soft lines on my page, unsure what--

Non-Silas rips off his T-shirt, revealing lightly defined muscles on his pale chest. I raise an eyebrow just as he tugs at the waist of the sweatpants. They drop to the floor in a fluid, sweeping motion.

There's nothing underneath them. At all.

My charcoal slips through my suddenly sweaty fingers.

Non-Silas steps out of the puddle of his clothes and moves to the center of the room, fluorescent lights reflecting off his slick abdomen. He's smiling as though he isn't naked, smiling as though I didn't somehow manage to get the seat closest to him. As if I can't see... um...
everything
only a few feet from my face, making my mind clumsily spiral. I

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squeeze my eyes shut for a moment; he looks like Silas in the face, and because of that I keep wondering if he looks akin to Silas
everywhere else
.

"All right, ladies, this will be a seven-minute pose. Ready?" the older man says, positioning himself behind the other empty easel. The roomful of housewives nod in one hungry motion. I quiver. "Go!" the older man says, starting the stopwatch. Non-Silas poses, something reminiscent of Michelangelo's
David,
only instead of marble eyes looking into nothingness, non-Silas is staring almost straight at me.

Draw.
I'm supposed to be drawing. I grab a new piece of charcoal from the bottom of the easel and begin hastily making lines in my sketchbook. I can't
not
look at him, or he'll think I'm not drawing him. I glance hurriedly, trying to avoid the region my eyes continuously return to. I start to feel fluttery.

How long has it been? Surely it's been seven minutes. I try to add some tone to my drawing's chest. I wonder what Silas's chest looks like...
Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop
--

"Right, then!" the older man says as his stopwatch beeps loudly and the scratchy sound of charcoal on paper ends.
Thank you, sir, thank you
--

"Annnnd next pose!"

Non-Silas turns his head away, till all I can see is his wren-colored hair and his side, including a side view of... how many times am I going to have to draw this man's
area?
What's worse is that he looks even more like Silas now that

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I can't see his eyes.
Just
like Silas, I bet. My eyes linger longer than necessary now that non-Silas isn't staring straight at me.

By the end of the class, I've drawn eight mediocre pictures of him, each one with a large white void in the crotch area. The housewives compare drawings with ravenous looks in their eyes as non-Silas tugs his pants back on and leaves the room, nodding politely. I picture him naked again.

I sprint from the class, abandoning my sketches--how could I explain them to Scarlett or Silas?
Stop thinking of Silas, stop thinking of Silas.
I dart into the Kroger, relieved when the cool air of the frozen-foods section splashes over my skin. I grab ice cream and frozen peas--anything cold. I hold the bag of frozen peas against my neck as I wait to check out. Finally, the flustered feeling drains away and I manage to go a few moments without thinking about the nude man I just saw.

I hurry back to the apartment, wondering how long I've been gone. I push the door open, then promptly drop the frozen peas.

Silas grins at me, shirtless, slightly toned chest glimmering in the sunlight pouring in through the dirty windows. His pants are slung wantonly low on his hips, and I can't help thinking about the drawings I left behind, the way non-Silas's abs looked nearly identical to real-Silas's, and therefore everything might look identical... My face flushes and I exhale shakily.

Then Scarlett kicks Silas solidly in the stomach.