From the Stars, to the Stars

From the Stars, to the Stars: Chapter Fifteen

Someone's hands are beneath me, probing my shoulders and spine. Before I even open my eyes, I jerk upright, and start fighting against the arms holding me up, but Sebastien hisses at me to lie down, and forces me back into my pillows.

"I'm not finished looking for injuries, Jocelyn," he says.

His voice is rough, and his expression pained, but I don't even care, I'm so glad he's here. I consider telling him I don't feel like anything is wrong except some bruising and the scratch to my face, but decide against it. If I tell him, he might stop babying me, and I don't want that. His gloved hands running over my back and limbs feel so good, and I need that right now.

"It doesn't look like there's any damage more than skin deep," he says, then underscores the point by gently touching my cheek just below the scrape. "But I'm not sure what you're going to do about this."

I know what I wasn't going to do: tell my mom and dad what had happened. I'd never get to leave the house by myself again, and I wouldn't have that. I'd have to come up with a cover story.

Sebastien tucks one leg under himself so he can sit on the edge of the bed.

I raise myself onto my elbows, my hair half catching under them. It tugs on my scalp, reminding me of the new tenderness there. "Nope, nothing worse than a serious blow to my ego. I should have been able to take him, what with all the training Jules has given me over the years," I joke weakly.

"A criminal with every intention of violating you corners you in a dark alleyway, and it's the blow to your ego—not the one to your face—that bothers you? Are you serious, Jocelyn?

"Well, there's make-up for my face. My ego, though . . . ? Nobody makes a concealer for that."

Apparently, Sebastien is not in the mood for comedy. He stares at me furiously.

"What the hell were you doing," he growls. "It's bad enough you were cutting through the park by yourself, but using a back alley? Do you not watch the news? People are attacked every damn day.

"In Staunton," I snort. "Not even. Besides, I've used that shortcut hundreds of times, and nothing bad has ever happened before. I just didn't want to put anybody to any trouble. It's only a few minutes' walk."

"And scaring the three of us half to death isn't putting us to trouble? It isn't trouble for Tristan to blaming himself over and over for not coming with you to the mechanic? It isn't extra trouble for Bryn to be holding onto her temper by a thread?

I gape at Sebastien's intensity. "I'm sorry, I really didn't think,"—

"It's clear you didn't! One minute I'm having a conversation with Bryn and the next she goes pale, and whispers your name, then yells for Tristan, just saying, "Park." Then we're streaming, and we find you, with that disgusting thing mauling you.

"I attacked a human, Jocelyn. I attacked a human because of you, and I don't even know why my sister knew you needed us." He runs one of his hands through his silvery blond hair, mussing it. It slides back into perfect form a moment later.

"Maybe I clicked my heels together three times and thought, 'There's nobody like Seb. There's nobody like Tristan. There's nobody like Bryn!'" I suggest.

Sebastien glares at me, incredulous. He beautiful lips are practically white, he's pursing them so tightly.

'Okay, okay," I relent, then in a tiny voice, I say, "I think Bryn heard me. Like, you know, in her head."

Then everything comes spilling out, about the testing, about the filtering lessons, about Bryn's theory that everything was because of all the time I'd been exposed to Dionadair energy; all of it.

I expect him to be surprised, but to except it fairly quickly. Instead he places his arms on either side of me, and gets in my face, his nose barely and inch from mine. "Oh, really," he sort of sneers, passion, and anger, and fear all mingled together. "So now you're all immune to our touch, are you?

I don't like his tone. It's . . . insulting.

But then, before I catch on, his lips are on mine, and streams of tingles are cascading all over me. I gasped into his mouth.

I fall backwards onto my pillow, then curl my hands around the nape of his neck to pull him down with me. His body half covers mine, the fringe of his hair tickling me where it brushes my collarbone. His weight dips us a bit further into the bed, sinking us.

His lips are gentling, moving over mine with a carefully insistent pressure. My nerve endings are on all the right kinds of fire, every cell aware of where he touches me, his warmth, and his power pouring into me, washing away the stains on my skin Murphy has left behind. This with only Sebastien's lips.

I kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him, our heads turning first this angle, then that.

I realize my kisses are a confession I hadn't known I had—confessions I shouldn't make.

With as much force as I can muster at this awkward angle, I shove at Sebastien's chest, pushing him away, my eyes alarmed. Thoughts of Drew and this mystery girl Sebastien loves flood my brain, making everything suddenly feel icy cold where once there had been the burn.

What have we done? What have we done to them? I think.

"Get out," I demand without thinking. "Get out, get out, get out."

Sebastien pulls back, his face going from blazing with passion to horror-struck. He stares at me, lost and torn. "I'm sorry", he begins to stutter as he stands." I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean . . . I shouldn't have . . ." He swallows, then his gaze jerks to the ceiling like it has answers, and in a second the room flames with light and he's gone.

He's gone, and I amin love with him.