The Evolution of Mara Dyer md-2 Read online

  “Hmm,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps you’re right.”

  My smile widened. “I am right.”

  “Well,” he said, his voice even as he glanced back at the dock. “I suppose if you’d rather go back to your house . . .”

  I shook my head vehemently.

  “This will do, then?”

  Would it ever. I nodded.

  “Excellent. Oliver will be pleased.”

  “Oliver?”

  “The tailor I rarely have the occasion to use. He was thrilled when I called, even though he had to drop everything to make it in two weeks.”

  “Sounds expensive.”

  “Five grand, but for that look on your face, I’d have paid ten. Shall we?”

  I followed the line of Noah’s gesture down the length of the beach. There was a blanket anchored farther down the expanse of white sand, surrounded by torches. A piece of bright fabric was swathed between two trees.

  He walked toward the ocean and stood at the edge where the waves licked the sand. I followed him almost all the way, careful to avoid the water. The sunlight was all gone and gray clouds chased one another across an inky, perforated sky.

  “This is what I should’ve given you for your birthday,” he said, his voice velvet, but shot through with something I couldn’t name. Then he turned to me and his eyes dropped to my throat. He took a step closer, nearly aligning my body with his. His elegant fingers moved to my neck. They wandered over the jewel. “And this.”

  They traced my skin, dipping below the necklace, then up. “And this,” he said, as they came to rest below my jaw, tipping my face up to his. His thumb followed the curve of my mouth, and his beautiful, perfect face angled down toward mine.

  “And this,” he said, his lips just inches from mine.

  He was going to kiss me.

  He was going to trust me.

  Somewhere between the boat and the dress and the beach and the sky I had forgotten what I’d done. But now it roared back loudly in my ears; if I didn’t tell him now, I never could. Lies make us look like someone else, but with Noah, I had to be myself.

  The words burned in my throat. “I—”

  Noah drew back slightly at the sound of my voice. His eyes translated my expression. “Don’t,” he said, and pressed one finger to my lips. “Whatever it is. Don’t say it.”

  But I did. “I read it.” The words took my breath with them. Noah’s hand left my skin.

  They lie, you know. It’s not easier to ask forgiveness. Not even a little.

  45

  I’M SORRY,” I STARTED TO SAY. “ I DIDN’T—”

  “Yes, you did,” Noah said, his voice cold. He looked at the ocean. Not at me.

  “I just thought—”

  “Must we? Must we do this?”

  “Do what?” I asked softly.

  “This.” The word was a splash of acid. “This—whatever.” His voice had slid back into flatness. “You told me to write what I see. I did. Then you read it without asking. Fine.” He dropped a viciously indifferent shrug. “I suppose part of me wouldn’t have left it there if I hadn’t wanted you to. So, done. It’s over.” He stared ahead into the darkness. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  He turned to me with predatory grace. “All right, Mara.” His voice lacerated my name. “You want to hear how I first learned about my ability? About being told that we were moving into yet another miserable home two days before we left by my father’s secretary, because he couldn’t be bothered to tell me himself? About feeling so numb to it and everything that I was sure I couldn’t actually exist? That I must be made of nothing to feel so much nothing, that the pain the blade drew from my skin was the only thing that made me feel real?”

  His voice grew savagely blank. “You want to hear that I liked it? Wanted more? Or do you want to hear that when I woke up the next day to find no trace of any cut, no hint of a forming scar, all I could feel was crushing disappointment?”

  There was nothing but the sound of deceptively tranquil waves and my breath in the stillness before he shattered it again.

  “It became a kind of game, then, to see if there was any damage I could actually do. I’ve chased every high and low you can imagine,” he said, underscoring the word every with a narrow look to make sure I understood what he meant. “Completely without consequence. I wanted to lose myself and I couldn’t. I’m chasing an oblivion I will never find.” And then he smiled; a dark, broken, empty thing. “Have you heard enough?”

  He was terrifyingly cold, but I wasn’t afraid. Not of him. I took a step toward him. My voice was quiet, but strong. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What doesn’t matter?” he asked tonelessly.

  “What you did before.”

  “I haven’t changed, Mara.”

  I stared at him, at his expression. I still want to lose myself, it said. And I began to understand. Noah craved danger because he was never in it; he was careless because he didn’t believe he could actually break. But he wanted to. He wasn’t afraid of me—not just because he believed I couldn’t hurt him, but because even if I did, he’d welcome the pain.

  Noah was still chasing oblivion. And in me, he found it.

  “You want me to hurt you.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  He took a step toward me. “You can’t.”

  “I could kill you.” The words were edged in steel.

  Another step. His eyes challenged mine. “Try.”

  As he stood there in his exquisite clothes, his flawless features staring me down, he still looked like an arrogant prince. But only now could I see that his crown was broken.

  The air around us was charged as we stood opposite each other. Healer and destroyer, noon and midnight. We were silently deadlocked. Neither of us moved.

  I realized then that Noah would never move. He would never back down because he didn’t want to win.

  And I wouldn’t lose him. So all I could do was refuse to play.

  “I won’t be what you want,” I said then, my voice low.

  “And what do you think that is?”

  “Your weapon of self-destruction.”

  He went still. “You think I want to use you?”

  Didn’t he? “Don’t you?”

  Noah inhaled slowly. “No, Mara.” My name was soft now, in his mouth. “No. I never wanted that.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want—” He stopped. Tore his fingers through his hair. “Never mind what I want.” His voice was quieter, now. “What do you want?”

  “You.” Always you.

  “You have me,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “You inhabit me.” His face was stone but the words issued from his lips in a plea. “You want to know what I want? I want you to be the one wanting me first. Pushing me first. Kissing me first. Don’t be careful with me,” he said. “Because I won’t be careful with you.”

  My heart began to race.

  You can’t hurt me the way you think you can. But even if you could? I would rather die with the taste of you on my tongue than live and never touch you again. I’m in love with you, Mara. I love you. No matter what you do.”

  My breath caught in my throat. No matter what. The words were a promise, a promise I didn’t know if anyone could keep.

  “We’re only seventeen,” I said quietly.

  “Fuck seventeen.” His eyes and voice were defiant. “If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If we were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.”

  Noah knew what I was and what I’d done and he wanted me anyway. He saw me. All of me. With my skin peeled back, my heart bare. I was inside out for him, and trembling.

  “All I want is you,” he said. “You don’t have to choose me now or ever, but when you choose, I want you free.”

  Something inside me stirred.

  “You’re stronger than you believe. Don’t let your fear own you. Own yourself.”<
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  I turned the words over in my mind. Own myself. As if it were that easy. As if I could walk away from grief and guilt and leave fear and everything behind.

  I wanted to. I wanted to.

  “Kiss me,” I whispered.

  Noah’s fingers traced the column of my spine, exposed in the dress. Heat bloomed beneath my skin.

  “I can’t. Not like this.”

  Noah started this chase and I stood before him, waiting to be caught. He could have me, but he refused to move.

  Only now did I realize why.

  He wanted to be caught. He was waiting for me to chase him.

  I lunged for his shirt and pulled him to me. Against me. My hands became fists in the cloth but his were stone on either side of my rib cage; they rose and fell with each hard breath I took but didn’t move. Mine did. My fingers wandered beneath his dress shirt; his breath quickened when they met his pale gold skin. They traveled over ridges of muscle and sinew, hard and hot beneath my palms. I tried to reach his mouth with mine, but he was too tall and he wouldn’t bend.

  So I backed down onto the sand. And I pulled him down with me.

  The hem of my dress touched the water but I didn’t care, not then. The earth gave way beneath my body as Noah moved over me and slid his knee between mine, stoking my flame. His arm slipped beneath my back and his mouth moved over my neck, his lips brushing my collarbone and the hollow beneath my ear. My arms twined around his neck, my fists curled in his hair. My heartbeat was wild. His was still calm.

  And then I slid over him. Above him. His ribs moved under my hands, now. His waist was between my legs. I was breathing hard and feeling reckless. Noah watched me, and if I didn’t know him as well as I did, I wouldn’t have known that there was anything unusual about this. But I did know him, and still though he was, there was something different about the way he looked at me now.

  I placed my hands on his chest. His heart beat faster. His control was slipping.

  Chase.

  I leaned closer, my hands moving lower down his stomach, my back arched above him. I kissed his throat. I heard a sharp intake of breath.

  I smiled against his skin, moved my lips along his jaw, his throat, marveling at the point where the rough became smooth. My hands wandered slowly to his waist and he slid my dress up, his fingers hot on my bare skin, making me breathless. Making me ache. I pressed into him harder, my body bent, bowstring-tight over his. His mouth was just millimeters from mine.

  “Fuck,” he murmured against my lips. The feel, the word, sent a hot little shock through my spine. It skittered through my veins, danced through every nerve.

  And then I brushed his lips with mine.

  I knew Noah worshipped Charlie Parker and that his toothbrush was green. That he wouldn’t bother to button his shirts correctly but always made his bed. That when he slept he curled into himself and that his eyes were the color of the clouds before it rained, and I knew he had no problem eating meat but would subtly leave the room if animals started to kill one another on the Discovery Channel. I knew one hundred little things about Noah Shaw but when he kissed me I couldn’t remember my own name.

  I was starved for him, for this. I was a creature of need—soaked in feeling and breathless. There was a pull, furious and fierce, and part of me was frightened by it but another part, low and deep and dark, breathed yes.

  Noah whispered my name like a prayer, and I was free.

  I moved his jacket off of his shoulders. Gone. Unfastened the buttons on his shirt in seconds, loosened the tie at his neck. His skin was on fire under hands that traveled the slender muscle and bone beneath them of their own volition. Over his abdomen, his chest. Over two slim lines of silver that rested against his throat—

  Colors burst in my mind. Green and red and blue. Trees and blood and sky. The sand and ocean vanished; they were replaced by jungle and clouds. There was a voice, warm and familiar but it was far away.

  Mara.

  The word filled my lungs with a rush of air and I breathed in sandalwood and salt. Then there was strong pressure on my hips, shifting me away. Down. Gray eyes pinned me to the earth and the sky changed again above them; the blue chased by black, the clouds chased by stars. Noah was above me, his breathing quick, his pupils blown. He looked down at me.

  Differently.

  My thoughts were hazy, and it was difficult to speak. “What?” I managed to say.

  Noah’s eyes were lidded, and there was a storm beneath them. “You—” he began, then stopped. “I felt—”

  “What?” I asked again, louder this time.

  “I believe you,” he finally said.

  Heat rose beneath my skin as I understood what he meant. “Did I hurt you?” I asked in a rush. “Are you okay?”

  A slight smile turned up his mouth. “I’m still here.”

  “What happened?”

  He considered his words. “You sounded different,” Noah said slowly. “I was listening for a change and I heard it but didn’t know what it meant; I’ve never heard you like that before. I said your name but you didn’t respond. So we stopped.”

  I didn’t know what it meant either and I didn’t care. “Did I hurt you?” I asked again; that was what I cared about. That was what I needed to know.

  Noah helped me up and we rose from the sand together. His words and eyes were soft. “I’m still here.” He laced his fingers through mine. “Let’s go home.”

  Noah led me along the water, looking forward, not at me. I studied him closely, still unsure if he was all right.

  When I arrived on the beach, Noah was flawless. Now his tie was loose, his cuffs were undone, sand and sea had ruined his five-thousand-dollar suit, and his hair had been ravaged by my hands. His gray sapphire eyes were blazing and his velvet lips were swollen from mine.

  This was the boy I loved. A little bit messy. A little bit ruined. A beautiful disaster.

  Just like me.

  46

  IT FELT LIKE THE WEIGHT OF MY WORLD DISSOLVED with that kiss.

  It wasn’t feather-light, like the others. It was wild and dark. It was incredible.

  And Noah was still here.

  I wore the goofiest grin on the ride back to the marina; I couldn’t stop smiling and didn’t want to. After both of us had changed into our normal clothes and I returned his mother’s necklace so that it would stay safe, what we decided was this:

  I was right. Something changed in me when we kissed.

  But Noah was also right. I didn’t hurt him the way I was sure I would.

  I didn’t know if it was because he was listening for something this time, for that change, maybe, or if it was because I really couldn’t hurt him, just like he said. I was thrilled that he was okay, obviously. Deliriously so. But it shook my confidence in my memory a little—I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, after all this, I had dreamed or imagined or hallucinated that first kiss in his bed. I told Noah as much, but he took my hands and looked into my eyes and told me to trust myself, and to trust my instincts, too. I tried to coax more out of him but then he kissed me again.

  I could spend the rest of my life kissing him, I think.

  I was buoyant the rest of the weekend. We had answered one question out of a thousand, but it was a happy answer. I wanted to believe that after everything I’d been through, I deserved it.

  Noah seemed different, too. He told me he brokered a deal to buy the security tapes from the carnival people to resolve one way or another whether Roslyn Ferretti was bribed, and if so, by whom. He also wanted to fly to Providence and try to find out more than his investigator, to see if he could learn more about Jude himself. I was happy to let him go. Nothing had happened since John started watching the house, and I didn’t need to be attached to Noah every second. The fake fortune-teller’s words mattered less to me now that I knew I couldn’t hurt him, and so I in turn cared less about them. I didn’t feel afraid.

  I felt free.

  Noah’s hands lingered on my waist when he kissed
me good-bye on Sunday night, and I smiled at the two charms that now hung around his neck. I loved that he was wearing mine for me.

  My good mood was obvious to everyone, including my parents, apparently.

  “We’re really proud of you, Mara,” my father said on the drive to Horizons on Monday morning. “Your mom and I were talking about the retreat this week and we decided that if you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

  The Horizons retreat; part of the evaluation I was signed up for—to see if I would be better suited to the residential program than the outpatient one. I’d forgotten all about it, but I guess now it didn’t matter because I didn’t have to go.

  I was shocked but thrilled by this development. “What brought this on?”

  Dad shook his head. “We never wanted you to live somewhere else. We love having you home, kid. We just want you healthy and safe.”

  A worthy goal. I had no protest.

  The thing about happiness, though, is that it never lasts.

  When I walked into Horizons I was handed a worksheet, which turned out to be a test. A sociopath test, if the questions were any indication. It was obvious which answer you were supposed to provide when prompted to choose—those tests always are—so I answered benignly, growing slightly uncomfortable about the fact that most of my real answers were not particularly nice.

  Do you lie or manipulate others when it suits your needs or to get what you want?

  A) Sometimes

  B) Rarely

  C) Often

  D) Never

  Often. “Rarely,” I circled.

  Do you feel that the rules of society don’t apply to you, and will you violate them to accomplish your goals?

  Sometimes. “Never,” I chose.

  Do you easily talk your way out of trouble without guilt?

  Often. “Rarely.”

  Have you killed animals in the past?

  Sometimes, I was loath to admit. “Never,” I chose.

  And on it went, but I tried not to let it sour my mood. When I sat down for Group, I was able to maintain my golden bubble for a little while longer, even though everyone’s tiny miseries kept pressing up against it. I clenched my mouth against the snark and made sure my inner monologue stayed inner; I didn’t want anything to derail my Get Out of Inpatient Treatment Free pass.