The Becoming (Anna Strong Chronicles #1)

The Becoming (Anna Strong Chronicles #1) Page 30

I'm downstairs in the living room when I hear Avery's car pull up. He drives around to the back, the same way I did, so I meet him at the kitchen door.

He smiles when he sees me, but the smile quickly fades. "What's wrong? Things didn't go well with Williams?"

Williams. I'd forgotten about him. So much happened after.

It's easier to let him pick the story out of my brain than to try to recount it. I "tell" him everything, right up until the time Lawson's story about a vamp doctor kidnapping David sends my world into a tailspin.

He senses there's more. What aren't you telling me?

I take him by the hand and lead him into the living room. I know I need to sit down for the rest of it. I imagine he will, too, after I've told him what I've done.

We take seats on the couch. I purposely leave distance between us. "I thought you were the one."

Confusion draws his brows together, pulls at the corners of his mouth. "The one?"

It takes him only a minute to understand. Then a dark, implacable expression settles on his face. "You thought I kidnapped David?

Why on earth would you think that?"

"Lawson. He told me a vamp doctor had David. That he was taken to punish a newbie-for what, he didn't know. But suddenly all I could think of was you and I. You're a doctor, I've just become a vampire. It all fit. I just couldn't figure out why you'd want to do it."

Avery is very quiet. His thoughts shut off from me. But it takes no effort to interpret the emotions playing across his face. There's disbelief and the beginning of anger.

"How could you think I'd do something like that to you?"

I hold up a hand. Avery, there's more.

He grows very still, his eyes boring into mine as I let him learn the rest. I hope by doing it this way, he'll feel the shame and regret as well as hear the words.

But there's no way I can predict the depth of his rage as he learns how I violated his most inner sanctum. A wave of furious energy propels me against the arm of the couch as he leaps to his feet. He moves so fast, it's like watching a wisp of smoke blown out of the room by a turbulent gust of air. I hear thunderous footsteps on the back stairs and the grinding of broken wood as he wrenches open of the attic door. Then there's silence, profound and terrible.

And I'm left alone and afraid.