Ambrosia (Nectar 2)

“It would have been ready, Tristan, if you hadn’t repeatedly injured me, putting me at very limited capacity. It should be ready tomorrow.”

“Give me yours then.”

“I will not.” Adrian’s voice got louder. “Just one more day. I’ll do my best to have it finished.”

Kyla took a sip of her coffee and walked by them toward the kitchen, feeling them both watch her go.

She drank her coffee staring out the back door. Sam was standing there smoking a cigarette and sipping from a coffee mug. He gave her a little smile.

She opened the door half way but didn’t step out.

“Are you safe for me to talk to?” she asked.

He nodded, “Adrian developed a slow-release patch.” He patted the back of his shoulder, “Seems to be working so far. Though I’d feel better you talking to me if you had one of those daggers in your hand.”

She gave him a half-hearted smile, “It’s nice that you seem to really not want to hurt me.”

He returned the smile, “I really don’t.”

“Thanks for the help yesterday,” she said.

He gave her a nod.

“That was Jackson? In that doorway?”

Sam blew out a slow breath, “You should talk to Tris about that.”

“He knows about that?”

He nodded, “He does now.”

“Okay, um… he hasn’t been exactly approachable for conversation, so what if you tell me?”

“Yeah, not exactly approachable,” Sam scoffed, “Understatement.”

“But you don’t wanna tell me about Jackson.”

“It’s not my place.” Sam glanced over her shoulder and his eyes changed. She could feel Tristan’s presence behind her.

“Okay. See ya later.”

He saluted her.

She turned around. Tristan was standing there, arms folded, looking past her to Sam.

She froze.

His eyes darted down and met hers. His jaw was twitching, teeth clenched, “Don’t approach a vamp for conversation. Ever. Any vamp,” he said.

She gave a little nod, eyes darting away, and put her coffee mug on the counter and then moved to get by him so she could go back upstairs. He caught her wrist. She stared at her feet.

They stood still, quiet, for a long time. She flinched, wanting him to let go but not quite struggling, just sort of tense. He kept hold of her.

“Why won’t you look at me?” he finally asked.

“Because right now it hurts too much,” she whispered, not looking up.

Suddenly he pulled her tight into his arms. She resisted about half a second but then melted into his chest and put her arms around his waist, her cheek against his peck.

Sensation crested again, and she could feel him as if he were feeding from her. She could feel immense frustration and anger coming from inside of him. She could feel something else, too, but she didn’t know quite what it was. Grieving, maybe?

“I can feel you and you’re not feeding…” she sobbed into his shirt and his grip on her tightened almost to the point of pain.

There was a knock at the door. He looked her in the eye for a second before moving away to answer the door and for a millisecond she could also see everything she felt inside of him. Pain, anger, grief, fear.

He came back to the counter removing a lid from a tray and examining the two meals of pancakes, bacon, and fruit. He smelled and then tasted them and then moved them to the table, seeming satisfied. “You should eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“I need to feed. Please eat.”

She let out a huff and nabbed her half empty coffee mug and rinsed topped it up from the coffee maker.

“Coffee?” she mumbled.

“No thanks.” He started to eat.

She prepped her coffee and stirred it and then reached to grab her plate and made to leave with it when his hand hooked around her and caught her hip. “Sit with me?”

She shook her head, “No, I…” she shook it again and didn’t finish. She went back upstairs. Feeling his emotions on top of her own? It was just too too much.

She sat on the edge of the bed and wheeled over the hospital style cart that Nurse Ingrid had used with her and Kyla started eating the food. She got through only about half. She finished her coffee and pushed the wheeled cart back with her feet and then laid down in the bed staring at the ceiling, still feeling things so intensely and now not knowing if the feelings were her own, his, or both.

The door opened. It was him. He approached her cautiously.

He sat on the side of the bed and reached out and brushed her hair away, tucking it behind her ear with his fingertips,

“Hey,” he said.

“If you need to feed, you can go ahead.” She turned her head sideways so that her neck was exposed and stared off in the opposite direction.

He took her cheek and moved her face back so that her gaze was back on him.

“Please don’t,” he said.

Pain burned in her chest, radiating to her shoulders.