Wild Side (Dark Side Series: Book 2)

Eight

When my grandmother passed, looking Lisa in the eye was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. It wasn't something I expected to ever be so difficult. At that point in time no one knew my grandmother, or me, like Lisa. When I saw her face for the first time she didn't say a word, just walked straight across the kitchen and hugged me. Something about seeing her, one of the only friends I had in the world, one of the people I loved more than anything, brought out every emotion I'd tamped down while making funeral arrangements.

Her death, even though we'd been preparing for it, was a shock that hurt down to my core.Even knowing Grandma couldn't, and wouldn't live forever, I felt wretched afterward, even a little bit guilty. Had I been a good grandchild? Should I have spent more time with her, done anything different?

For the most part, I could dab my eyes and carry on doing what I had to, because I had to notify the few friends she kept and write the eulogy and call the rabbi.

Until I saw Lisa. It was as though the world stopped moving and gravity had collapsed onto me. When my best friend took me in her arms I didn't have to be anything but sad. If it weren't for Lisa's help rebuilding my world, to this day there still might be shattered fragments all around me.

But she had been there for me. I knew when I saw her that I was going to be alright and it was okay to be sad and that terribly awful wonderful mix of emotions was something I had never experienced before.

Grandma was the only loved one I'd lost since I became old enough for the full weight of death to hit me. Now, as I pulled into the driveway beside the glitzy Porsche serving as Calico's rental car, I wasn't sure what would happen to me when I got inside and looked into the brown eyes of my last connection to that world, Calico Finn. The werewolf who'd been more of a sister to me than my own flesh and blood just wasn't the same. When I looked at her, I knew exactly what I'd feel, that I didn't have time to mourn, that it wasn't going to be okay.

And the longer I thought about what I'd done and who I'd done it to, the more I just wanted someone to tell me it was going to be okay.

I hadn't known Luciano for a full year but somewhere deep down my weary heart loved him. He had an easy charm that won over even the grouchy barista at the coffee shop we'd frequented. At first I'd thought it was the result of him being a river siren; he's supposed to be charming, in  the way sports cars are supposed to be fast.

Every day I spent more time with Luc, I knew at some point those precious three words were going to come flying out of my mouth. I'd loved him like I never loved my high school and college flings. To know that he was dead because he had the audacity to try taking me somewhere he thought Zakar couldn't follow... To know that he was only trying to help. Help in the wrong way.

I told him it was safe. I let him into my life. I let him into my bed and my heart.

He didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve to be eaten. 

And the idea that I ate the man I could have loved terrified me.

On the long journey back Zakar had kept himself conspicuously absent, leaving me alone with my morbid thoughts. How many other people had I devoured? Was the village massacre my fault or could I go on thinking the serpentine eyes in the smoke had something to do with it? How many people had come close to making my dinner menu? And how many more were still to come? What if Caelan had got to me before I stabbed him? Had I been mere seconds away from eating him, too?

I'd been sitting so long in the driveway by now that the car had ranged from comfortable to sauna. Sweat beaded my face. Wiping my brow, I stepped out of the car into the humid morning and resolved to tell Cal that no, I wasn't red from crying: the air conditioning had gone kaput.