The Legend of the Eight: The Hunted (Book 5)

18: How to Run From the Mess You've Made

EIGHTEEN: HOW TO RUN FROM THE MESS YOU'VE MADE
MARCH 1
WIL DIAMOND

Monday

SHE'D BEEN FIDGETING ALL DAY. Tapping her fingers and scratching the insides of her forearms like she was coming down from a high. Her veins were on fire, her cheeks was pink and blotchy, and her head felt... off. There was no headache, no lightheadedness, nothing she'd ever felt before. It was just... off.

They returned to the palace once they cleaned themselves up from another battle at the old boarding house and like the last time, they did so silently. The car pulled into the circular driveway at the palace and when the Eight exited, they walked up the front steps without a word. Wil hung behind, keeping a curious eye on Damon who was now free from his hex thanks to Dr. K's miracle cure.

Damon walked slowly from the car, like he couldn't decide if he should go inside with the rest or not. His eyes flicked to Dr. K, who entered the palace carrying Logan's body wrapped in a blanket. They would soon call the Rogers family and break the news.

Wil slowed her pace until she was walking with Damon and nudged him softly.

"Hey. How are you feeling?"

He shrugged stiffly. "I'm alright."

She gestured to his hands, tucked in the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah," she teased. "You look it."

He chuckled. "It's been a long couple of days."

Wil smiled at what was probably the understatement of the year. "Tell me about it."

Damon rubbed the back of his neck and made a face like he was uncomfortable and then he said,

"I, uh... I've actually been meaning to talk to you. Apologize. About that night in the Infirmary."

Suddenly, Wil was itchy again. She looked down at her feet which were stuffed into a pair of UGG moccasins and then back up at the castle in front of her. The others were inside and aside from a few straggling palace staff, she and Damon were alone. She rubbed her collarbone and cleared her throat.

"We don't have to talk about that," she said quietly because she'd spent the last three weeks pushing the memory of that night out of her mind—not that it worked. She could still feel his hands around her throat and see that dead look in his eyes. Like he didn't even recognize her. He was going to kill her and he didn't even know it.

"No, we do," insisted Damon. "Because I wasn't myself that night when I hurt you. And if I actually k—" His voice caught in his throat and he breathed in. On the exhale, he said, "I'd never forgive myself."

"But you didn't," she replied quickly, holding onto whatever she could to keep from crying. "I'm fine. And you're fine. We're all..." She took a deep breath. "We're all fucking fine."

"Are we?" he pressed, stopping at the steps. He turned and squinted two coffee brown eyes at her. "Because you don't seem fine. In fact, you seem like a wreck."

Wil scoffed and narrowed her eyes into a glare.

"Fuck you," she sneered. "Who do you think you are? You want to call me a wreck? Look at you! You spent the last three weeks hexed and now you have a whole lived-in-seclusion-in-the-mountains thing going on! You want to call me a wreck? Look in the damn mirror, Damon!"

He moved his mouth like he wanted to say something but he didn't know where to begin. She didn't know if he'd ever figure it out because before he could, another car pulled into the driveway. A shiny Mercedes pulled in behind Levi's gray Explorer (Levi arrived right before the Eight to help Dr. K and Luke) and Wil felt the air in her lungs leave upon seeing it. From the driver's seat, Oliver climbed out of the car and ran to her, only stopping once she was in his arms.