The Rising (Darkness Rising 3)

"Like breaking into a run and letting him know it really is me?"

He cursed as he realized his mistake and slowed.

"Too late now," I muttered, grabbing his elbow. "Run!"

We raced into the parking lot as shouts and cries rang out behind us.

I didn't hear Brendan's voice again. I think they must have gotten to him, bustling h

im off before he was absolutely sure of what he'd seen. Who he'd seen. I hoped so. Really hoped so. I didn't want to think what they'd do if he insisted that he'd spotted me.

We should have thought of that--what would happen if someone saw us and we couldn't warn them to keep quiet? We were so desperate that I think Ash was right--we were being reckless, however hard we tried not to be.

We escaped the park. If you have enough of these encounters, eventually that's all it comes down to. Was anyone captured? Anyone hurt? No and no. Then it's not worthy of comment. We'd had a good enough lead on our pursuers, and by the time they got vehicles to come after us, we were gone.

We returned to Stanley Park. We'd left our bag of extra clothes and supplies hidden there. The guys would come back.

We returned around seven, after two hours on buses, transferring and retransferring just in case we were being followed. I expected the guys to be at our campsite when we returned. When they weren't, we settled in to wait.

We'd been there for about thirty minutes in silence, which only added to the hours of silence since we'd escaped at the park. I'd tried several times on the bus to strike up conversation with Ash. It was met either with suspicion--what does it matter where I've lived?--or sarcasm--hobbies? sports? yeah, did I mention the varsity baseball and country club? By this point, I began to suspect "what's your favorite color" would be seen as intrusive. So I stopped trying.

"What's it like?" Ash said finally as we sat on the logs around our nonexistent campfire.

"Hmm?"

"Shifting into a mountain lion. What's it feel like? Hurts like hell, I bet."

When I didn't answer in the next two seconds, his face darkened. "I was just curious. Skin-walkers are supposed to be extinct. Not a lot of people I can ask."

"I was trying to decide how to describe it. I know you're not happy to be here, Ash. I don't know what you expected. Not me, that's obvious. Maybe you're pissed because you came all this way and I don't seem grateful. I am. I really am. But I can't figure out a way to show that without pissing you off all the more. You've got your back up and there's no way I'm getting it down."

"Do I?" His eyes narrowed. "Huh. Let me ask you this, Maya. In all these years, when you were growing up in your perfect town, with your perfect friends and your perfect parents, did you even think about me? Wonder where I was? Worry about me? Or were you just happy you didn't need to share all that? Because I've been thinking about you for as long as I can remember. Asking our mother about you. Wondering what happened to you. So, yeah, I dropped everything to come up here. And you really don't seem to give a shit."

I took a deep breath and considered my words before speaking.

"I'm sorry," I said.

He tensed, waiting for more, waiting for the snap, the growl, the snarl. When I said he had his back up, I hadn't meant that as a skin-walker jab. But now, when I looked at him, it was an apt description. His back was up, at least metaphorically. Fur bristling. Eyes glittering. Lip curled. Ready to bite my head off. When I didn't respond in kind, he just sat there, tense and waiting.

"I didn't know about you." I spoke the words carefully, trying not to sound defensive. "I should have explained that better. I only found out a week ago that I had a brother. Rafe's the one who told me, when he told me about being a skin-walker."

Silence. Then, "Right." More silence. He shifted on the log. "Makes sense. It's not like she left a note with you."

"No. She didn't. But . . . after Rafe told me, I felt . . . guilty, I think. That I didn't know about you. Like I should have remembered you."

"We were only a few months old."

I shrugged. "It feels as if I should have known. Like in stories where someone grows up feeling like something's missing, then they discover they had a twin."

Silence.

"When I found out, I did think of you. Maybe not as much as I should have. When I thought of you, I felt . . ." I searched for the right words. "I won't say jealous, because I don't remember our mother and mine is great--I wouldn't trade her for anything. But it hurt, growing up knowing I'd been abandoned. Finding out there'd been two of us and I wasn't the one she'd chosen? That really hurt."

I sighed and stretched my legs. "I'm sorry. That was all I wanted to say. I didn't want to make excuses, which is what I'm doing." I looked over at him. "I am glad you came."

He mumbled something and got to his feet. He walked away, and I wanted to go after him, but I knew it wasn't that easy. One little discussion wasn't going to make everything better. It wasn't just about him feeling hurt and me feeling hurt. We were brother and sister--twins--and yet we were strangers. If it wasn't for that blood tie, we'd probably have chosen to remain strangers. That hurt, too, but again, it couldn't be fixed with a few words.

"You want dinner?" he said.