Page 116 of Death's Daughter
He sighs, starting to scrub a hand over his face before remembering the remains of the pepper spray. “I didn’t say I was successful. I needed to stay close enough that he wouldn’t send someone else, endangering you. But not so close that I…” He swallows hard. “That I gave in. I’m not… I couldn’t let myself…”
“Why?” I ask, hugging myself with my arms tight across my chest. “Why not just barrel right in there, balls deep, write down everything I mumble in my sleep?”
Carter closes his eyes in a pained expression. “It wasn’t like that. I…” He opens his eyes, meeting mine with a fierceness that gives me a stab of hope, in spite of everything. “Everything I told you today is true. I am in love with you. It would be so much easier if I weren’t. It scares the shit out of me, being that vulnerable.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Is that what this is about?”
“No! Of course not. I’m just trying to…” He stops, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m not explaining this well.”
“Then don’t. I don’t think there’s any explanation that’s going to change this.” I turn and start to walk away.
“Jocasta, I know you’re not going to believe me, and I don’t blame you for that. But this had nothing to do with you.”
I keep walking. “Sure, it was only lying and manipulating me, that has nothing to do withme.”
“My father died when I was eleven,” Carter says. “He was in prison.”
That’s enough of a non sequitur to stop me in my tracks. “Your father. He was…” I prompt.
Carter sighs. “Yes, he was… like I am.”
“Spawn,” I supply, turning slowly back toward him.
Carter makes a face at the word but nods. “He couldn’t control his appetite. Didn’t want to, I think was probably more the issue. He was drunk all the time and starting fights, including one at the only baseball game he ever came to.”
I can picture an elementary-age Carter, blond with sunburned cheeks under a baseball hat and that stoic blankness on his face as his father raged in the bleachers. And in spite of everything, my heart aches for that little boy.
“There was a riot. In prison.” Carter clears his throat, though his voice is even and bland, reciting the facts. “He survived being shanked over a dozen times.”
Well, yeah, because we’re not immortal but we’re tougher than the average human. Unfortunately, in this case.
“But then suddenly he died the next day. ‘Internal bleeding’ was the official cause. But it never made sense because the infirmary said he was improving.”
“War sent someone to take him out,” I guess.
“I didn’t find that out until years later, but yes.” He stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. “When I turned sixteen, I started struggling with the same… symptoms. Fighting, drinking, looking for the thrill that only violence can bring. I hated myself. But then War came for me.”
The naked gratitude on his face is hard to see.
“War is my sire but he also took me in. Taught me who I was and how to control myself. I owe him. I wanted to prove to him that I wasn’t like the others.”
Like his father, he means.
“So you volunteered to spy on me for War?” I demand. “In repayment?”
To his credit, he doesn’t argue. “I was already in school, so I was a good choice. And when he asked, I said yes. The chance to help him against one of our enemies—”
“Yep, War and Death, big archrivals. Always trying to one-up each other. In one pointless competition after another.” Destroying the world in one place or another in the process. “So, what, are you one of those Children of Ares people?”
His lip curls in disdain. “They are fanatics. War has no connection to their organization beyond the obvious.”
“Oh yeah, because that makes everything okay,” I mutter.
“I was just doing my job, trying to prove myself worthy,” Carter argues. “And in the beginning, it was easy. Reporting in, trying to stay away from you, remembering my loyalties.” He watches me for a second too long before looking away.
I force a snort. “But, oh, let me guess, I’m so special. You just couldn’t stay away.”
“You’re mocking me,” he says harshly, closing the distancebetween us. I hold my ground; I’m not afraid of him. “But it’s true. I never realized I could choose. That I could be spawn”—again, his mouth turns down at the word—“andstill me.” His voice softens. “Until I met you.”
