“No,” I say. “We’re fate.”
There’s something in his eyes swimming deep down. Something that agrees with me.
“You did what you had to do,” I tell him. “St Andrew’s is yours now. He’ll never hurt anyone again.”
The darkness in his face curls deeper. Stronger.
“You’re the king now,” I say.
He says, “And you’re the queen.”
I nod. “Partners in greatness.”
I turn back to the mirror. I slip my shirt over my head and drop it in the sink. I unhook my skirt and let it fall around my feet. Under the black lace my skin is shadowed in purple-blue bruises, but in the dark they’re almost invisible. Mack won’t see the dead boys’ handprints. He’ll see what I want him to see.
He’ll see the girl he loves more than he’s ever loved anyone.
Tonight, I decide.
I turn my back to the mirror and pull Mack close to me, swift and sure. Bring my lips to his. I taste Duncan’s blood between us and I know it—
He’s worthy.
I whisper, “I love you.”
We stumble back together from darkness to darkness. The water rushes loud.
His lips are on mine and his hands are on my skin. We fall onto his bed and my long silver knife winks and gleams from across the room. Outside thunder shakes Inverness to its foundation and in the next room Duncan sleeps forever.
Mack says, “Are you sure?”
I say, “Yes.”
He is mine.
Morning
Mack sleeps, but I don’t.
We lie wrapped together, skin against skin under dark silk sheets. I watch him spent and dreamless in my arms as the night burns through into cool still dawn. The sky fades brighter so slow it takes hours more than it should. So slow I wonder if day will come at all.
Mack doesn’t stir when the little birds outside sing broken morning-songs. Doesn’t stir when I steal away to unlock the door and stop the water and throw our clothes, scrubbed clean, out onto the balcony by the shining puddles from last night’s storm. Forgotten and accidental.
I wash the last of the blood off my lips and I curl back into our nest.
Mack sighs in his sleep.
Dawn casts the whole room in rose-gold. All the lights in the hills drown in daybreak. A shadow sings across the window and circles once over the balcony—
huge dark wings, dipping down in reverence—
—and then the bird glides away from Inverness and disappears into the valley.
The night is over.
The house creaks awake. Someone is on the stairs. Climbing hangover-slow and heavy with last night’s shame. A shiver traces fast and thrilled down my spine.
The new world is about to start. The world I made.
“Hey,” says Duffy, thick-tongued, on the other side of the door. The weakest of all of them. The one Porter texted last night before his guilt took him over and he buried his knife in Duncan’s side.
“Hey,” says Duffy again. “Porter. Get up. We have to talk.”
There are no windows in the hall and I pulled Duncan’s door almost-shut, so just the slimmest trace of truth could ease through. The only light in Duffy’s sleep-blurred eyes is from far down the hall, slanting through the windows on the landing.
He can’t see the blood on Porter’s shirt or the knife in his hand.
“Porter,” says Duffy, loud and rude. “God, that vodka laid you out.” His foot scuffs against the floor and Porter groans. “How late were you up?”
“Hell if I know.” Porter is still half-dead. “Fuck, my head hurts.”
Next to me, Mack stirs awake. He starts to sit up, but I pull him back into my arms. He smiles before he remembers.
Then it comes back and I see it all in his eyes—
guilt and fear and pride—
—and I whisper into his ear, “Don’t go until they call you.”
He nods. He swallows hard.
“You only did what you had to do,” I say.
He nods again.
“I love you,” I say, and his arms circle me closer to him.
I let my eyes flutter closed.
“We have to talk,” says Duffy outside the door. Urgent and nervous. “Before Dunc’s up. Is he up?”
Porter groans again. “Don’t know.”
“You texted me.”
“Don’t remember.” Porter huffs out a laugh. “Don’t remember much.”
“You have to rein it in, man. Dunc’s going to be pissed. He won’t let it go like he did when he was drinking and crawling all over the new girl.”
Porter shifts and his head thumps against the wall. “Twisted bitch. She scares me.”
“Everything scares you.” Duffy scoffs like he isn’t every bit as worrying and wondering as Porter is. Like it isn’t just the way he’s more afraid of Duncan than anything that makes him do the things Porter is afraid to do. “But Dunc likes her. She’s our shot, okay? We get her on our side, we get her to play nice with Dunc, and things will be fine.”
“Things are never going to be fine.”
“Fuck,” says Duffy. “That’s exactly what I mean. Don’t try that shit with Duncan. Play by the rules or—”
“Or I’m next?”
“Fuck, man. I give up.”
Then there’s a knock at the door. Three quick raps.
Mack shifts next to me, but I hold him back.
Duffy knocks again. “Mack. We need you.”
The door swings open. A creeping bold bolt of last night’s adrenaline slices up my veins but I keep my eyes almost-shut. I watch Duffy through eyelash-webbed slivers. His hair is tossed with sleep and his face is tired. When he sees us a smirk plays over his lips.
My hand loosens on Mack’s arm. He sits up as slow as he should. “What is it?”
“Damn. You got her before Duncan did,” says Duffy, and my hate wakes me with a welcome little blade-twist. I want him to be next. Right on the heels of his precious king, just the way he does everything.
“What do you want?” Mack asks. The way he says it makes Duffy take a step back.
“Dunc wanted me to wake him up early,” says Duffy. Eager and shameless. “We need to get on the same page first.”
Mack pulls the sheets around me to keep Duffy’s eyes off. “Why? I didn’t piss him off last night.”
“Exactly. You’ve been his favorite ever since Connor fucked things up.”
“It wasn’t just Connor.”
Duffy smiles, bitter. “Don’t. None of that was my fault. I do what Dunc says. You know that. You’re as guilty as me.”
That brings Mack up and out of bed. “Careful. You came in here for help, didn’t you?”
I’m proud enough that they’d see it on my face if they were looking.
“Fine,” says Duffy, both hands up. “I know you’ve got a thing with the new girl—”
“Jade.”
“—but Dunc wants her. You’re not going to stay his golden boy if you stay with her.”
“Jade,” Mack says again, half-turning toward me. “Her name is Jade.”
“Jade,” says Duffy. It catches in his throat: half in scorn and half in fear.