Scratch the Surface. Amy Lee Burgess

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СКАЧАТЬ “Before I killed her. If she could do it over, she’d leave it to somebody else,” I say.

       “She left it to you. Not Grey. You. I think that says a lot about your bond.” Allerton zips his suitcase shut and straightens the cuffs of his Dolce and Gabbana ice-blue button-down shirt. A dark gray suit jacket is draped carefully over the back of the chair in front of the desk in the corner. His pants match the jacket. They are perfectly creased and fit him as if they had been tailored. His shoes are shiny black Gucci loafers. Even though I love shoes, today I feel nothing when I look at them except that one of the tassels is crooked. I long to fix it but I stand still.

       “I need to be punished,” I whisper in a dreadful voice. I will not cry. I promise myself I will not cry in front of this man.

       He lifts his suitcase off the carefully made bed and puts it down beside his feet. The leather tassel is still crooked. He does not notice. Maybe these things don’t bother him.

       “What more can I do that hasn’t already been done to you by your pack?” His voice is neutral and I can’t tell what he is thinking. He smells only of Armani cologne. He hides his emotions well, but then he is a Councilor.

       “I killed them,” I insist.

       “On purpose?” He fixes me with keen blue eyes that see everything.

       “No,” I falter. I squeeze my hands together in front of me. I feel sick and disconnected.

       “So I cannot punish you any more severely than your pack has already done.” He allows a small amount of impatience to creep into his voice. He glances at his watch—a quick gesture, but I am meant to understand he is in a rush and has other places to be. I am wasting his time. Shamed, I look down.

       “You could make it official,” I tell him. I lift my gaze from the crooked leather tassel on his shoe to stare him full in the face.

       “If I do that—” All the impatience left his voice. “—chances are you’ll never find another bond mate. You’ll never find a new pack. You’ll be an outcast all the rest of your life, Constance.”

       “Yes.” I nod rapidly. Finally, he understands. “Exactly!”

       “I can’t do that,” he says as the tears of shame and grief ignite in my eyes like acid. “I won’t do that. Take that legacy, Constance, and go live somewhere by yourself. In two years I want to see you at the Great Gathering. Time has a way of giving you perspective and...”

       “I don’t need perspective!” I shout. I tremble so hard my bones ache. “I have nothing left because I killed what mattered most. Time won’t change that or bring them back!” I do cry then, cursing myself, and with an inarticulate noise, I whirl to run away.

       That’s when I feel Allerton’s arms go around me and he hugs me, murmuring vaguely comforting things to me as he rocks me and I ruin the front of his Dolce and Gabbana shirt with my tears and snot.

       Until then he has been this looming, authoritarian figure. Bigger than life. Bigger than me. Untouchable and remote. Now he reveals himself as human. I cry like I am being destroyed and he is the only thing between me and annihilation.

       I take the three hundred thousand dollars. I use most of it to buy a condo in Boston where I live by myself for two years until the next Great Gathering.

       I remember his words when I receive my invitation in the mail—on thick parchment paper inked with the date and location. My self-imposed exile is over if I want it to be and two years into the future, just as he’d predicted—I want it to be.

      * * * *

      The mouthwatering scent of frying bacon permeated the entire condo when I emerged, red-eyed and shaky, from the bathroom. Murphy was making breakfast. He always fed me when I was in crisis mode. It was endearing. It didn’t hurt that he made scrambled eggs and bacon in the style of the best greasy spoon diners.

      I pulled on a pair of jeans and a black turtle neck sweater and went in search of gustatory bliss.

      I couldn’t decide which to drink first, coffee or orange juice, but the coffee needed milk and sugar so I went for the OJ. Two gulps and it was gone. The resultant sugar rush made inroads on the empty feeling inside me. It felt as if I’d been hollowed out by a huge ice cream scoop from hell.

      He piled my plate high with eggs from the pan and gave himself a noticeably smaller portion. When he turned his back to get the bacon, I scooped some of my eggs onto his plate to make it a more even distribution.

      He knew I did it, but he didn’t say anything—just gave me twice as much bacon as he gave himself.

      Wheat toast popped up in the toaster and when he was busy buttering it, I gave him half my bacon.

      “Stop giving away all your food and eat some of it,” he suggested, the butter knife scraping against the toast. Melted butter smelled like childhood to me—breakfast from the past—being little and my feet not reaching the floor.

      “Come sit down and eat with me.” I helped myself to the bottle of ketchup and doused my eggs with it. I adored ketchup. Elixir of the gods.

      “The toast won’t butter itself, woman,” he told me, and I stuck out my tongue. I poured milk into my coffee and spooned in two teaspoons of sugar. The spoon clacked against the side of the pottery mug and that was a sound that comforted too.

      “Is there peanut butter?” I shoved back my chair so I could search in the cupboard. We’d bought a ton of groceries the day before, but I couldn’t remember if I’d put a jar of peanut butter in the basket.

      “Sit down and eat.” Murphy put the plate of toast on the table. He went to the cupboard to look for me. I devoured one slice of bacon then another.

      I had one left by the time he came to the table with the jar of peanut butter. Total elapsed time—thirty-five seconds.

      “You make the best damn bacon,” I said around a huge mouthful. I swallowed and gave a contented sigh.

      Murphy pulled out his chair and sat. His hair was tousled and needed to be brushed and razor stubble dotted his cheeks, but he was sexy as hell in spite of it, or perhaps, because of it. He had a long, narrow face with a chin more pointed than round. His cheek bones were high, his mouth dreamy and sensuous. His brown eyes were penetrating and full of intelligence and lively humor. Right now his expression was pensive. The look he gave me measured my mood and, while I think he was pleased I was eating, I don’t believe he was entirely satisfied I was all right.

      I crunched up my last piece of bacon and he reached out and transferred half of his to my plate, never glancing away from my face.

      “I’m going to get fat,” I predicted, but I ate one of the pieces A small smile quirked the corners of his mouth.

      “Never happen,” he drawled. “Your wolf will keep you in shape.”

      I thought back to the night before. After my wolf had come up with the word for ice, Murphy’s had led us off on a wild chase through the winter СКАЧАТЬ