I returned to the cabin early the next morning, the guilt from the previous night a cold, heavy knot in my gut. I imagined Krista's tears, her thoughts that I no longer cared, that I was tired of rescuing her. The idea chafed. I pushed it down, focusing instead on Amelia.
I found Krista first. She was asleep, her face tear-stained, the anguish from the night before etched onto her features. "Krista! Wake up! Wake up." My voice was urgent, my fear for Amelia overriding any pretense of coldness. I leaned close, too close, drawn to her despite myself. She stirred, blinking, then shoved me away with a sleepy grumble.
"What is wrong with you? I'm still sleepy," she muttered, trying to sound annoyed.
"Where is Amelia?" The question was sharp, raw.
"She was sleeping beside me last night. Maybe she's playing around somewhere nearby." Her voice was still thick with sleep, tinged with a child's innocence.
"I looked around. She's not here."
Her eyes snapped open, terror seizing her. "What?!" She scrambled out of bed, running outside, shouting Amelia's name, her voice cracking, already drained. "When did you come? How long has she been gone?" she demanded, turning back to me.
"I arrived less than an hour ago. When I saw she wasn't in the cabin, I tried searching for her in the perimeter. I couldn't find her, so I went to wake you up. Regarding your other question, I should be the one asking you that." My voice was sharp, betraying the fear and frustration twisting inside me. I knew I looked intimidating, perhaps even scary, but the urgency of the situation consumed me.
"I don't know. When I went to sleep, she was beside me. I didn't notice her getting out." She sighed, defeated, rubbing her face. "I'll go get changed and we'll look for her."
The search that followed was frantic, desperate. We scoured the massive property, using the map Krista had brought, but it was a futile exercise. The thought of Amelia, alone and vulnerable out there, gnawed at us both, tightening my chest with a sensation I abhorred. We searched for hours, pushing through the dense undergrowth, calling her name until our voices grew hoarse.
Then, the sky turned a menacing dark, rapidly consumed by bruised, purple clouds. The wind whipped through the ancient trees, howling like a banshee. A storm was coming, fierce and unforgiving. We were too far from the main cabin to make it back in time. My senses, attuned to the shift in the atmosphere, quickly located another smaller cabin nearby, a rough shelter against the impending deluge. We barely made it inside before the first heavy drops began to fall, turning into a torrential downpour.
I immediately set about starting a fire in the old furnace, coaxing warmth from the cold stone. Krista found a few dusty blankets in a back room, wrapping one around herself, a small cough escaping her as the dust tickled her throat. The storm outside raged, a deafening roar of wind and rain, shaking the small cabin, but the cold inside, the chilling realization that Amelia was still out there, felt far worse.
"What do we do now? What if something bad happened to her?" Krista asked, her voice raw, laced with growing panic.
"There's nothing else we can do," I replied, forcing myself to be pragmatic, despite the turmoil within. "We can't keep looking for her in this storm. Why don't you stay here and I'll go look for her by myself." I rose from my seat, ready to brave the elements, knowing my abilities offered a chance she didn't have.
"No! Don't leave me!" she protested, her hand shooting out to grab my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Just listen to this storm. The wind is blowing so loudly and the rain is pouring too hard. Even for you, it'll be difficult. Plus, what if something bad happens to you too? What will I do then?" She reasoned, her voice cracking. Her fear of being alone was palpable, a desperate plea that resonated deep within me. And in that moment, despite everything, I couldn't leave her.
I sat down, closing my eyes, battling the internal storm that mirrored the one outside. The illogical, suffocating jealousy, the self-imposed coldness, the pain I had inflicted—it all crashed down on me. Why had I acted so foolishly? Why had I pushed her away? I sat there like a statue, frozen by internal conflict, until my eyes flew open and met hers. She was staring at me, her gaze open, vulnerable, reflecting a mixture of hurt, confusion, and desperate need. I felt her heart pound, saw her avert her eyes, humming a nervous, dismissive tune. She thinks I don't care. She thinks I'm abandoning her.
She risked another glance, and I was still staring. Her breath hitched. The facade of indifference she tried to maintain shattered, as did mine.
"You've been staring at me for a long time," I finally said, my voice low, cutting through the roaring wind outside. "What do you want to say?"
She stood up, walking to the dining table, her back to me, clearly embarrassed. She poured coffee from the thermos into a mug, her movements stiff and unnatural. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, fighting to keep it steady.
"What do you mean?" I feigned confusion, pushing her to articulate the pain I had caused.
"You've been acting strange lately." I heard the effort in her voice, the struggle to hold back tears.
"Strange? How?" I pressed, needing her to voice her hurt, needing to hear it to break my own self-imposed silence.
"You've been so distant." She paused, a long, agonizing moment. "It's just that I feel like you've been so cold to me these past days. It's like we were back to how we were before we became friends. Sometimes it felt like you're even colder than before."
She waited, her shoulders hunched. I said nothing, allowing the silence to draw out her next words, knowing they were coming. "Did I do something wrong?" she went on, a desperate edge creeping into her voice. "Are you tired of being friends with me?"
Still, I remained silent, letting her fully expose her vulnerability. Finally, she broke, the dam giving way. Tears streamed down her face, her sobs almost lost beneath the storm's fury. "I'm not being clingy or anything; I just want you to tell me if you don't want me around anymore. I mean, we're past all the lying, right? I just hope you'd be honest with me." Her voice was a broken plea, a raw demand for the honesty I had sworn to uphold.
I couldn't bear it any longer. I thought she might collapse. In one swift motion, I was behind her, wrapping my arms around her. She stiffened, surprised, then struggled to break free, but I held her tighter, pulling her against me, burying my face in her shoulder. Her trembling body against mine, her tears soaking my shirt – it shattered the last fragments of my composure.
"What are you doing?" she choked out, her voice muffled against my chest.
"I'm sorry," I murmured, my breath warm against her skin, "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"Then, why? What happened?" she demanded, needing the truth, needing answers.
"I was… jealous." The word, so foreign to my pureblood tongue, felt liberating. It was the truth, unvarnished.
"Jealous? Of what? Of my boring life?" she asked, her voice still tinged with disbelief, a hint of sarcasm returning.
"No. I mean, your life is hardly boring, what with all those near-death experiences." A light, genuine laugh escaped me, the first in what felt like an eternity. "I just hated how you were so close with him."
"Who? Philip? He's my childhood friend. Just because I've been spending time with him doesn't mean we're not friends anymore. It's okay to be friends with more than one person, right?" She sounded genuinely confused, unable to grasp the true depth of my admission.
I released her, turning her gently to face me. Her eyes, still glistening with tears, met mine, searching for understanding. The moment stretched, heavy with unspoken desires. Then, I spoke the words that would irrevocably change everything, that tore down the last of my carefully constructed walls.
"I wasn't jealous as a friend. I was jealous as a man."
The next thing I knew, my lips were on hers. My kiss was soft, gentle, tentative at first, then deepening as her lips responded, caressing mine in return. It was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the tumultuous weather outside, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a long, dark night. The storm raged, a tempest of wind and rain, but within the small cabin, within the space between us, my mind and my feelings were calm, serene. I knew it was wrong. I knew we shouldn't be doing what we were doing, defying both human societal norms and pureblood strictures. But my heart, my very being, compelled me forward. Our feelings for each other were clear, undeniable. There was no stopping them.
That night, amidst the fury of the storm, we crossed the bridge.