Bring Me to Life (23 page)

She crept in. “Vincent?

“Bryna,” he said in a groggy tone. He reached out with his hand, and she grasped it.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like my face was just cut open.” He tried to sit up, but Bryna put her hand on his chest.

“Don’t. You lost quite a bit of blood.” She pulled up a chair, and sat down, never letting go of his hand. “We survived. Draven is dead.” That could change, she knew, if another Hell Spawn or whatever went to another time to get a living Draven to try again, but for now, they were both alive.

“Closer,” he whispered. “I need you closer.”

“That gurney isn’t big enough for you, let alone me,” she whispered back.

“Don’t care,” he said in a weak tone. “They stitched me. They are going to give me a unit or two of blood, and then let me sleep off the narcotics they gave me.” He patted his chest. “Please. Need you.”

Bryna stood up, and laid her torso across his chest. His arm looped around her. He pulled her up on top of him, banding her in place with his arm. “Much better. Love you, my Bryna.”

She sniffled, but this time her tears were happy as she curled up on his chest. Her Vincent was alive. Nothing else mattered. Nothing had ever mattered without him to share her life.

Two weeks later

Vincent stood in the tiny bathroom of the one-room apartment he shared with Bryna. He hadn’t looked at his face since he’d gotten home from the hospital. When dead he hadn’t had to use a mirror to make sure his appearance was reasonably well put together, but alive, it was a different story, especially with long hair. The bandage still slashed across his face, making it difficult to see. The doctor said the bandages could come off, and he and Bryna would be going to the doctor to get the stitches out soon.

He drew in a deep breath and slowly unwound the bandage, and then steeled himself for what he was going to see in the mirror. He looked a boy of eighteen, but with a savage scar running down his face. The flesh around the wound was still red and puffy in places, but the doctor said he wasn't infected. The scar wasn’t as bad as he thought. It was worse. No way could he keep this scar. It would scare Bryna and remind her for the rest of forever what they’d been through, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to give up a large part of his identity.

“Vince,” she said from the bathroom door. “You okay?”

He swiveled his head around, his breath caught. He went rod stiff in his jeans.
Fuck.
Being in the body of a teenage boy sucked. She wasn’t in anything special, just a pair of form-fitting skinny jeans, and one of those shirts with fluttery sleeves in a soft green to go with her red hair and freckled skin, with a hint of cleavage to make him stare. Her hair was pulled back on one side with a flower hairpin to hold it in place. Gone was the gothic girl look, and the soft, feminine innocence look was back. Soft, light brown leather boots covered her feet. She looked at him with those wide, mesmerizing green eyes. No wonder he’d fallen so hard and thoroughly for her. He was a stark contrast to her in ripped jeans, combat boots, a black death-metal band T-shirt, and leather jacket. His hair usually hung to his shoulders in a mess, and now he had a scar slashing down his face. They were total opposites in size and appearance. While he was sure he’d grown another inch since the night he’d killed Draven for good, she was still as tiny as ever.

He shook his head, and then offered her a grin. “Wow, Bryn, you look hot.”

A smile touched her lips. “Thanks, but I am more worried about you. How are you doing? Mrs. Hanson missed you in English class today.”

He snorted and casually leaned against the wall by the tub. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Oh no, this doesn’t sound like a conversation to make me happy.” She came into the bathroom and hopped up onto the sink counter. “So, what is it?”

“I, uh, well,” he started, and then got distracted by the way her breasts strained against the green fabric. He shook it off, and focused on her face. “I’m going to drop out. With the back pay Felix gave me, I thought maybe hiring a tutor and getting a GED might be a better option for me.”

“Actually,” she said as she slipped off the sink and crossed the distance between them. “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I don’t like the idea of being in school when a demon or vampire could show up at any time. Maybe we should just move, and either do a tutor, or one of those online schools.”

He wrapped his arms around her, aware her gaze kept traveling the length of his scar. “We’ll start scoping new places tomorrow. Maybe a house in the woods?”

She rested her forehead on his chest. “Sounds perfect. I get the need to do all the wonderful teenage things we missed, but we’re not those kids anymore, even if we look like them.”

“Yeah,” he said in a soft cadence. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Find the school you want, and we’ll move there.”

She tilted her head back, the line of her gaze going over his scar again. “Mr. Lutz already gave me some pamphlets to cyber schools. He thought you might be interested.”

Vincent snorted, let Bryna go, and then walked into the living room. This apartment was too small, and it started to feel like it was closing in on him. “Lutz has no love for me.”

“He’s worried about you,” Bryna said as she followed him. “And with the story Caleb gave those cops.”

Vincent rolled his eyes and went into the kitchen. It had been such a long time since he’d had to eat, and he’d forgotten just how much food his growing body needed. He pulled out a bucket of fried chicken he’d gotten the night before, and leaned a hip against the counter. Caleb convinced the police Vincent had singlehandedly stopped a serial killer when the twisted fuck had tried to hurt Bryna. Not that he wouldn’t have gutted anyone who wanted to hurt Bryna, but he didn’t like the news or the police thinking things about him that never happened. Though, he wasn’t about to ask Caleb how he’d managed to produce an actual serial killer who liked to cut up people’s faces, even if it gave credibility to Caleb’s story and the police someone to arrest. One less killer on the streets was good. A reason for the town’s people to try to be nice to him was something different. Lutz, the school vice principal, worried about him was just creepy. “He wanted to kick me out of school last week because I make the cheerleaders nervous.”

Bryna got herself a slice of cheese and a pickle out of the fridge. “You don’t make them nervous in the way Lutz thinks you make them nervous. I don’t think the football team likes you anymore.”

Vincent barked out a laugh. “They never liked me, either.”

Bryna let out a long sigh. “We’re over this part. We just have to get to my eighteenth birthday, and all this stupid human crap goes away.”

“I know.” He put the remaining chicken back into the fridge and washed his hands. “Ready to go deal with humans?”

“They aren’t as bad as you think they are.” Bryna popped a piece of cool mint gum into her mouth. “Let’s go get your stitches out, and I need to stop at the book store. I think I want to get a cookbook and see if I can actually make something edible at some point.”

This was a good moment to ask the question he wanted to ask, since they were kind of talking about it. He drew in a deep breath. “About the stitches…Bryna, I was wondering if you thought I should just have Felix heal over the scar or not.” He’d found out he could heal himself with his powers, or in the natural slow human way, but only Felix could heal a scar.

She stilled by the counter where she’d been getting her backpack. “He told me he’d heal it for you if that’s what you wanted.”

He moved up beside her. “I mean, do you want me to get rid of it?”

She slipped the backpack strap onto her shoulder and looked up at him. Her gaze moved to the line of his scar first, and then she lifted a hand to trace the line without touching him with her delicate finger. “That depends. What does it remind you of when you see it or feel it?”

He searched her face and then let out a breath. “Me. I see me.”

A faint smile touched her pink stained lips. “Then keep it. I’m kind of used to it being there.”

He expelled a breath, not realizing until that moment how important it had been to him to keep the scar. “Now I just need to grow that last two inches, and gain about fifty pounds of muscle, and I’ll be back to full fighting form.”

She giggled. “I think you were born in full fighting form, but I must admit, I am kind of looking forward to you at thirty.”

He hooked his arm around her neck and kissed the top of her head. “Come on. Let’s go freak out the good people of this town by putting you on the back of my bike.”

They walked together to the closet by the door where he kept his skull helmet, and the pink paisley one Bryna had picked out for herself. He grabbed her leather jacket, the one matching her boots, and handed it to her. Even when dressed for a motorcycle ride, she still didn’t project the image of the tough Bryna he’d come to know and love.

“You know, if you like the Goth look, you can do it,” he said as they walked out the door.

Bryna waited for him to lock the door and linked her hand with his as they walked down the hall to the flight of stairs. “I’ll try this look again, for a while, and see if I like it still, or not, since I already have all the clothes and accessories for it.”

There was an odd hitch to her voice. They hadn’t talked about if her memories had returned or not, and he was a little worried about how to help her cope with it. “What is it?”

She shook her head. “I want to be this girl, the one who wore flowers in her hair, and did cute instead of scary.”

He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I can reschedule the appointment or have Zerek take the stitches out, if you need to talk instead.”

“It’s not that,” she said softly. “The memories are all the same, basically. Some guy pops out of nowhere, tells me I need to live, and then I die trying to save him from Draven, and the Hell Spawn.” She shrugged. “I thought it would be horrible too, but it’s not, not really. Yeah, I died each time, but each time I knew I was getting closer to being with you.”

“Bryna—”

*

She pulled away from him and headed for the stairs. It wasn’t nearly as bad as anyone thought it would be. It was a muddled mess of weird shit that didn’t feel like her life. She remembered the fear and the pain, but there had been a grim acceptance of her own death, and as much as she knew for ten years that had been exactly what she’d wanted, the last two weeks changed everything. She looked over her shoulder at Vincent. “Are you coming?”

It only took him three strides to catch up to her. He wrapped his hand around hers. “I don’t want to ignore this.”

“And you’re not. I’ve been able to sleep next to you, knowing you’re going to be there in the morning. If bad, scary things come, I have you to help me beat it. I probably should be a hot mess with the memory of dying so many times in my head, but I’m just not.” She was getting annoyed with herself and decided to focus on getting down the stairs and to the parking lot.

She wasn’t even old enough to drive a car anymore. Being a teenager sucked. Three months, and she’d be sixteen, then she’d be able to drive again. Which was good, if Vincent wasn’t going to let anyone heal him. Someone had to be able to take him to all the doctor appointments he was sure to need. They had his bike, and his car, both of which he’d inherited from his parents.

“Bryna,” Vincent’s tone was stressed. “These last two weeks have been all about me. I’m worried about you.”

She let out a breath, and then shook her head. “But I’m okay. I promise, I will tell you if I suddenly get freaked out.”

His mouth thinned into a straight line on his face. “Then why did you get upset when we talked about your wardrobe?”

Oh that.
She snorted and pulled her helmet on, making sure to be careful of the faux flower holding her hair back. She flipped up the visor. “I’m learning to be me again, and it’s a little awkward. I can’t always tell if you’re asking a question because you like this me better and don’t know how to say it, or if you preferred what I did in another time line when you died.”

He stooped down so they were at eye level. “I want you to be Bryna. However that turns out.”

And just like that, the worry lifted. She’d feared he think she was pretending to be that naive girl she’d once been. Even though she wasn’t, she wanted the softer Bryna back. The one who wanted to learn how to bake cookies, and not burn Vincent’s birthday cake. She was getting a redo, and damn it, she was going to make it count. She gave him a tight hug and then pushed back. “Part of being Bryna is being this cute girl madly in love with the dark and dangerous Vincent Asher, who shouldn’t belong on the back of his motorcycle, but loves being there anyway.”

He righted and let his gaze drag over her before a slow grin moved over his face. He pulled his helmet on and tugged her to the bike. He got on, and waited for her to get herself settled behind before he let the engine roar to life. Bryna wrapped herself around him and closed her eyes.

Then they were moving, and she finally felt like she was home.

The ride was over far too quickly as Vincent pulled to a stop in front of the clinic where he was supposed to get his stitches taken out. She slipped off the bike, and pulled off the helmet while she waited for him. He dismounted and took off his helmet, tucking it under his arm. He put his hand out to her. “I can already hear them whispering.”

Bryna looked around, and realized, she could almost hear the people walking by talking about her. She shrugged and took his hand. “I never cared what they thought. I’ve always known the real you.”

He winked as they walked into the clinic. Several of her classmates where sitting in the waiting room with their parents. They all stared at her as she went to the intake nurse to sign Vincent in.

One of the mothers kept letting out long sighs and rolling her eyes. She shifted in her chair this way and that while Bryna and Vincent went to a couple of chairs not near anyone else.

The woman let out a loud huff, got out of the chair and walked over to them. “You’re setting a bad example for my Tracy. She wants me to let her move in with her boyfriend.”