The Rephaim: Burn Part 9

'That's not why I went to see him. f.u.c.k, not everything is about us.'

'Please don't swear at me.'

'I went to see him because he's my brother. I don't agree with his choices or the company he keeps, but that doesn't mean I've stopped caring about him.'

'He has an agenda.' It's not a question.

'He doesn't.'

Daniel watches me for a moment. Sighs. He knows there's more but he's not ready to push me. Yet.

'Was anyone else there?'

I raise my eyebrows at him. 'Did I come back with blood on my knuckles?'

A wry smile. And then he leans in and kisses me. It takes me by surprise-Daniel doesn't do impulsive-and I kiss him back without thinking. He steps closer, brushes his thumb across my collarbone. There's sadness in the kiss, longing. But no demand, no urgency. And that's always been part of our problem.

I break contact first. 'Daniel...'

'I miss you, Gabe.' He traces the line of my jaw. I miss him too, sometimes. The long conversations in the early hours of the morning; the way he would kiss the nape of my neck when I was getting dressed; his willingness to hike up steep mountains to prove he was prepared to break a sweat for me. After Jude left, I'd needed something to tether me to the Sanctuary: I thought Daniel was it. But everything about our relations.h.i.+p was a reminder of what I'd lost. A reminder that I'd turned my back on my brother. I thought I could live with that decision, but it's always eaten at me, knowing how much it would hurt Jude that I was with Daniel.

And then there's the other thing: Daniel was always so controlled in bed. He was considerate, he was skilled. It should have been enough. It would have been. Before Rafa.

I loathe Rafa for that.

'Please, don't let your brother get in your head,' Daniel says, misreading my distraction.

I step back from him. 'I can handle him.'

The warmth leaves his eyes. 'You're seeing him again?'

c.r.a.p. 'Yes.'

'When?'

'I don't know.'

The last thing I want is Daniel watching my every move. I need to meet this girl, Dani, find out what she wants to tell Jude and me and then work out what to do about it. And I need to deal with the confusion still churning inside me after seeing my brother.

None of that requires help from Daniel.

'So this is some sort of reconciliation?' he asks.

'I don't know what it is yet.'

Daniel picks a piece of lint from his s.h.i.+rtsleeve, so tiny I can't see it. 'When you didn't follow the Outcasts into exile, it carried enormous weight with everyone here. Taya particularly.'

'I know-'

'So while I understand a bond still exists with your brother, you need to bear in mind what message you send if you reconcile with him. How it may confuse the way the Outcasts are viewed.'

Ah, Daniel. Always the politician. 'That's not my problem.'

And there it is, that expression he saves just for me: a perfect mix of resignation and disappointment. 'Have you thought about how Nathaniel might feel about you reconnecting with Jude? Have you discussed it with him?'

'It's none of his business.'

'It is if you appear to be endorsing the choices of the Outcasts.'

Frustration stirs, grating and familiar. The kind of frustration that would've seen me walk out the door a decade ago if things had unfolded differently. I push it down, like I've been doing for a decade.

'Nathaniel wants them back in the fold, you know that as well as I do. Did it occur to you that Jude reaching out might be the start of that? Or is your disdain for him and Rafa so strong you don't want them under this roof again?'

His eyes sharpen. 'It would take a significant show of contrition and humility for the Outcasts to return. I'm not convinced your brother is capable of either, let alone Rafa and Mya. But'-he holds up a hand-'if they prove otherwise and Nathaniel accepts them, I'll welcome them back with open arms.'

Bulls.h.i.+t, it would be his worst nightmare. But I don't bother arguing because it's not an issue: Jude's not coming back to the Sanctuary. He might have hinted at missing me, but the only reason he made contact today was because of Jason.

'You need to tell Nathaniel about this,' Daniel says.

'There's nothing to tell.' Plus, he might ask to read me-something he hasn't done in years. I move away from the fire. 'Daniel, do you trust me?'

'You know I do.'

I feel a twinge of conscience. Ignore it.

'Then trust me.'

THE SWEETEST THING.

The cottage on Patmos is postcard-perfect. Whitewashed under a cloudless blue sky, built into a hill overlooking a harbour packed with fis.h.i.+ng boats and luxury cruisers. I'm standing in the middle of the narrow road staring out at the Mediterranean Sea when I hear a door open behind me.

'Well?'

I answer honestly. 'I'm insanely jealous.' I turn to find Jude in the doorway wearing a white t-s.h.i.+rt and jeans. Barefoot. He's freshly shaven and his hair is damp as if he's just out of the shower. He's made an effort. I left the Sanctuary in old jeans, combat boots and a fleecy hoodie, my hair tied back. There's a sea breeze but it's still warmer here in October than in northern Italy. I unzip the hoodie and push up my sleeves. Wish I'd worn something a little nicer-and more climate appropriate.

Jude's smile is cautious. 'The first time I saw this place I thought of you.' I don't know how to respond so I just stand there looking out of place. He gestures behind him. 'Come in.'

I follow him down a bright hallway, through a sitting room-white stucco walls, copper artwork, rustic furniture (obviously Jude decorated the place, not Rafa, or there'd be motorcycle parts on a shelf somewhere)-and into a breezy kitchen. The window over the sink is open, framed by sky-blue shutters. It smells of oranges and freshly ground coffee. Jude grabs the container under the grinder, brings it to me. 'Smell this.'

I lean forward, breathe in. 'Oh my G.o.d, what is that?'

'Special Yemeni blend. I buy it under the counter from a cafe on the harbour. Wait till you taste it.'

He takes a copper coffee pot from a hook over the stove, measures two cups of water into it, adds coffee and sugar and lights the gas while I sit at the counter. I run my fingers over the terracotta tiles. The familiarity of the ritual is disarming. I've seen Jude make Greek coffee a thousand times. It's even the same pot he used to sneak into the kitchen at the Sanctuary to make coffee for Rafa, Micah and me. Brother Pietro was always so offended that our taste for coffee extended beyond his espresso.

Jude doesn't speak as he waits for the sugar to dissolve. He stirs the brew with his back to me, his hair falling forward. The sight of him so focused on that tiny pot brings a sharp pang. I think of all the moments he's had without me and it's like the emptiness in my chest was just freshly gouged. He glances over his shoulder, sees me sitting at the bench-his bench. Or maybe he sees everything I'm feeling written on my face. Whatever it is, it makes his mouth tug down. He swallows but doesn't look away.

'It's boiling,' I say quietly and he turns in time to lift the pot from the flame before it bubbles over.

When it's ready, he pours it out into two small cups. Then he goes to the fridge and pulls out a plate. 'My friend at the harbour made it fresh this morning.'

I can't help it: I smile. Galaktoboureko.

My favourite dessert, or at least a close second to Turkish delight. He smiles back at me, less cautious now. I take the coffees and follow him to a patio off the kitchen. We're surrounded by colour: lemon trees in pots and bougainvillea along the low concrete wall, the ocean filling the horizon beyond the flat rooftops of the town. We sit on sun-blasted folding chairs at a small table decorated with a mosaic of a crescent moon, almost the exact shape of the Rephaite mark on our necks. We're side by side, facing the ocean. I sip my coffee. Thick and sweet.

'This is really good, Jude.'

His eyes flit to me as if he's pleased to hear me say his name. 'Thanks.' He hands me the plate of galaktoboureko and a fork, the silver warm from his touch. I dig into the puff pastry and custard, lift it to my lips and close my eyes. Feel suns.h.i.+ne on my face, savour the sweetness.

Jude waits until I open my eyes. 'So. How are you?'

I wipe syrup from the corner of my mouth. 'I'm okay. You?'

'Yeah, I'm okay too.'

A pause.

'Have you heard from Jason?' I ask.

'No. You?'

I shake my head and Jude loads up his fork. He chews and swallows, eyes straying out to sea. The silence starts to feel awkward again. He licks his fork clean. 'Okay, clearly neither of us has got any better at small talk.'

I laugh and immediately breathe easier.

'How about we say what we're thinking?' Jude says.

'Okay. You first.'

'Are you still with Daniel?'

Not what I was expecting. 'No.'

He nods, settles back in his chair.

'But you already knew that if Jones reports his conversations with Daisy to you.'

'I wanted to hear it from you.' He takes another forkful of custard pie. 'Your turn.'

'Why didn't you call after you left?' The question is out before I know that's what I wanted to ask. 'Was it that easy to walk away from me?'

He blinks, his fork dripping syrup onto the golden moon. 'No, Gabe. It was not that easy. The way you stayed, it made it tough for me to...' He puts the fork down. 'And then we ran into your squad in India and you and Rafa attacked each other, which made it hard for me to convince the others you hadn't turned against us.'

I can't keep eye contact with him. That moment set the tone for the Sanctuary's relations.h.i.+p with the Outcasts. It's the reason Sanctuary squads and Outcast crews come to blows anytime our paths cross. That's on me. And Rafa.

'I'm not throwing stones, I'm answering your question.' Jude's voice is gentler now. 'My turn?'

I blow out my breath and nod, eyes fixed on the ocean.

'Why didn't you come with me? I still don't understand.'

I rub my eyes. 'It's complicated.'

'No s.h.i.+t.'

'Can we work our way up to that one?' I hope he can't see how much my hand is shaking. 'How did your job go yesterday?'

Jude measures me. He knows me well enough to understand it's more than stalling. 'n.o.body got hurt and there's half a dozen less Immundi infesting the world.'

'Is it just me or are there more of those ugly little t.u.r.ds setting up shop these days?'

'Definitely more, and Zarael and his horde usually aren't far away.'

It's a relief to talk to Jude about this stuff. 'Think Zarael's trying to organise the Immundi into a secondary force?'

'Maybe.' Jude takes another mouthful of dessert, keeps talking as he chews. 'But that would mean there's something coming that needs an army.'

'Like us finding the Fallen.'

'Or something bigger.'

A cold finger brushes the back of my neck. He means the prophesied war between heaven and h.e.l.l. Nathaniel's always told us we need to find the Fallen before that happens. 'Do you think we've run out of time?'

'I don't know. And I still have no idea what it would mean for us if we have.'

'Maybe this Dani has some answers.'

'G.o.d, I hope so.'

We sit with the possibility of that thought for a long moment, the weight of it. Finally, Jude leans back in his chair, stretches out his legs on my side of the table.

'How's Micah?'

I relax a little; this I can answer. 'He still misses Adeline but he's stayed clean. And he's hooked up at least half a dozen times that I know of in the last two years, although I don't know if that's helping or-'

'Trust me, it's helping. He still playing guitar?'

'Yeah, and making playlists of musicians you should be listening to instead of banging your head.'

He smiles. 'Of course he is.'

I smile back-and that's when Rafa materialises behind Jude in the kitchen doorway. Maybe it's the sight of Jude and me sitting together, relaxed, that throws him, but Rafa breaks into a grin. For a split second it's like he's forgotten the past ten years.

And then he remembers.

The smile evaporates. 'You brought her here? What the f.u.c.k, Jude.'

Jude and I are on our feet, chairs sc.r.a.ping over concrete. I vaguely register that Rafa knows Jude and I are speaking again. Which means the rest of the Outcasts probably do too.