Reluctance (3 page)

For the first time
ever
, Aster was speechless. Dahlia took one last uncomfortable look in the mirror. She couldn't tame her hair, so she'd finally just twisted it into one long, heavy braid. She'd put on jeans—which she rarely wore because she felt they looked ridiculous on her—and a beige shirt somewhere between a blouse and a tee. As Dahlia slipped one of her feet into a sneaker, Aster suddenly found her voice.

"No, Dahlia, that's terrible." She bent down and, to Dahlia's annoyance, pulled the shoe off her foot.

"Wait here," Aster commanded. She ran to her room and back within a few seconds, carrying a pair of low, black boots. Without asking, she dropped to her knees and shoved Dahlia's feet into the boots.

"There. Much better."

Dahlia looked in the mirror again and had to admit the boots did look good with the jeans. But she didn't think they looked good on
her
. She looked like she was trying to be something she wasn't.

"I don't know, Aster. I think—"

"He's waiting," Aster interrupted, pushing Dahlia out the door toward the stairs.

She might have gone back and changed them anyway, but she heard her mother's voice coming from the drawing room where she knew Cam was waiting. She rushed down the stairs, only slipping once.

". . . and after I'd raised the money for the JDRF—the most they'd ever raised in such a short time, I might add—I turned my efforts to—"

"Hey!" Dahlia called, cutting off her mother's rambling as she stumbled in the boots and practically skidded into the room. Her mother had Cam trapped on the very expensive mohair sofa where no one was ever allowed to sit and was standing in front of him in what Dahlia called her "model" pose—hand on her hip, turned slightly to the side with her feet in a loose interpretation of the ballet fourth position, chest out, free hand flowing expressively with her words. She was dressed in a tight skirt and a shirt cut too low, and Cam looked a little terrified. When Dahlia came in, he stood quickly, sliding past her mother.

"Hey," he said, smiling with relief.

"Ready to go?"

"Yes," he said, hurrying to Dahlia's side.

"Wait," Rose purred, with a bit of growl beneath the purr. "Let me get a photo of the two of you."

Dahlia groaned, but knew it was useless to argue. Her mother pulled out the big, expensive camera, hoping to impress Cam. The two of them smiled warily for the photograph, and then Dahlia practically dragged Cam from the house.

"I'm so sorry about that," she said, once they were both ensconced in his car.

"No, it's fine, she's really . . . um, nice."

She laughed at his hesitation.

"You don't have to try to be kind, Cam. She's overbearing and pretentious . . .

kind of like my house."

"You don't like your house?"

"Are you kidding? It's like a mausoleum or something."

Cam laughed. "You know what a mausoleum is, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Okay, well, a mausoleum that size would house the cadavers of . . . a whole city."

"Cadavers? Really?" Dahlia raised one eyebrow.

"You have a better word?"

She grinned at him. "Carcasses?"

"That's terrible, Dahlia." Cam laughed.

They arrived at the Mexican restaurant, Cam running around to open her door—

a first for her. Before closing her door, Cam reached into the backseat, pulling out a single flower to hand her—a dahlia, of course. A pink one.

"Thank you," she said. It was the first time anyone—any
boy
—had given her a flower. Her heart jumped a little at the gesture.

"You know what the dahlia means?"

"Yes. Everything I'm not."

"Wrong," he said. "It means dignity and elegance."

"Exactly," Dahlia said. "If Rose was going to insist on going with flower names all around for her daughters, she should have gone with 'Geranium' for me. It means stupidity."

"Dahlia," he said, taking her hand in his. Her heart beat picked up . . . and so did his, loud and clear to her. She felt the edge of the hunger begin and pushed it down with effort. "You are the furthest person from stupid I know."

"I'm not talking about book smart," Dahlia argued.

"Neither am I."

"I have no dignity."

"Not true," he refuted. "I've watched how you deal with those who look down at you. You don't cower. You don't get angry."

"I don't know if that's dignity or pride. And elegance is nowhere near being one of my virtues." She pictured herself—dressing like a grandma, stumbling through life . .

. tearing into a victim like an animal. She saw nothing elegant in even the smallest corner of her being.

Cam lifted her hand to his lips, and, for one second, she was reminded of the Old Ones, how they always maintained proper manners even when they committed their harshest acts. Then he turned her hand and laid it alongside his cheek.

"The first day you walked into GCC, I knew there was something different about you."

You have no idea
, she thought.

"Beneath every stumble was grace, in the line of your face there was poise, the way you held your head reminded me of the most refined ladies who live in town."

"Did you read this somewhere, Cam?" she asked cynically, pulling her hand from his.

He laughed. "It's mine . . . but I practiced—a
lot
." He paused, then added, "And I used a thesaurus."

She shook her head, crestfallen her first real compliment was just good use of a thesaurus.

"But"—he interrupted her pity party, punctuating the word with a raised finger before placing both hands on her waist—"that doesn't mean that the words are any less true."

He stepped closer, and she heard both their pulses ratchet up. His breath came heavier, igniting her hunger with fierceness as she scented the blood that pulsed through him.

"I'm going to kiss you, Dahlia," Cam informed her. She fought the voracious blaze that flamed in her belly and raced up her throat. Her eyes dropped to the base of his throat, where his pulse beat like a siren's song—inescapable, irresistible. She felt her fangs begin to elongate. She could take him without any effort; all she had to do was—

He pressed his lips to hers. A sensation she'd never experienced before flooded her body, washing away the hunger, the burning replaced with a sense of wonder. Her fangs retracted completely as his mouth moved on hers, and the only pounding she could hear as her arms slid up around his shoulders was her own pulse. When he pulled back, she could only stare at him in amazement. He looked a little stunned himself.

"Dinner?" he finally said.

"Huh?" She couldn't comprehend the word.

Cam laughed. "Are you ready for dinner?"

"Oh, um, yeah. Okay."

* * * * *

Dahlia found herself watching Cam more than usual in the weeks after their date. She got him to kiss her as often as possible, loving the feeling of calm, happiness, and fulfillment that overcame her each time—able to forget for those few moments just what she was. She never got tired of being with him. They seemed to find endless subjects to discuss, and had a similar sense of humor. Dahlia laughed more with Cam than she had at any other time in her life.

It was never far from her mind, however, that he wasn't for her. Jace was her quarry, the one who would gain her acceptance among her people—because he was corrupt enough to want that life. Cam was not. Cam was too good, too pure for her to drag down into her reality. She could totally see Jace hunting—and enjoying the hunt.

But Cam . . . every time she tried to imagine it, picture him as the hunter, taking down some hapless human . . . the image wasn't right.
I may be a selfish person
, she thought,
but
not enough to condemn Cam to such a life.

She figured she could indulge herself for another few weeks. For once in her life, she would allow something fun and pleasurable to be a part of her life . . . but then she'd have to move on with her original plan. She was running out of time. It was only six months until her twenty-first birthday. She had put her decision off as long as she could, and now she was almost out of time. She looked across the lunch room at Jace, who stood surrounded by his fan club as she thought of them. As if he could sense her gaze, Jace looked up. She could see his lip curl in distaste when he noticed her observation.

Cam slid onto the bench next to her, his tray loaded with food for the both of them. She smiled at him, and he kissed her quickly on the lips. Her eyes flicked back to Jace, and she couldn't help but notice his distaste had turned to interest.

* * * * *

"Hey there."

Dahlia turned at the unfamiliar voice—and saw Jace, smiling in what she assumed was supposed to be a seductive manner. Her pulse leapt, but more from dread than from excitement or nervousness. She knew she'd have to begin her pursuit of him soon, but she never would have guessed he'd approach her first. She wasn't prepared.

"Um . . . hi," she said.

"I'm Jace."

"Yeah, I know."

He smirked, as if it were obvious she would know him. "And you are?"

Dahlia felt a chill climb up her spine. He didn't even know her name.

"Dahlia," she said reluctantly.

"Beautiful name, for a beautiful flower."

Dahlia nearly laughed aloud. "Did you read that somewhere?" she asked, repeating the words she'd used with Cam.

"What? No. Why would you ask?"

Dahlia bit the inside of her cheek. She suddenly, overwhelmingly, did not want to have anything to do with Jace McMahon.

"Just kidding," she told him.

"Oh." He gave an unconvincing laugh. "So, uh, you and Cam Taylor, huh?"

"Me and Cam, what?" She couldn't keep the annoyance from her voice.

"I saw the two of you at lunch, and it seemed like you were . . . you know."

She just stared at him, not giving an inch.

"
Together
," he said in exasperation.

"Yeah." She was beginning to enjoy vexing him. "We usually eat lunch together."

She watched as his estimation of her intelligence lowered.

"I saw him kiss you."

"Um," she said, not giving him an answer.

"Are you . . . his girlfriend?"

His words caused her to stop. She hadn't really considered it. They were together all the time, and she knew he didn't go out with anyone else . . . but his
girlfriend
?

"No," she said, more out of reflex than out of any real knowledge.

"Good," Jace said, giving her a grin and walking away.

Dahlia stared after him, a little sick at the thought of having to eventually try to seduce him into her life.

Two days later, Jace asked her out on a date, and Dahlia had no choice but to accept.

* * * * *

"You're going out with
Jace
?"

Dahlia cringed at the pain and betrayal she heard in Cam's voice.

"You don't think I should?" she asked.

He threw his hands out in frustration with a grunt that reflected his annoyance.

"What about us?"

"Us?"

"Us!" Cam exploded. "I thought we were . . . ." Unable to complete his sentence, he turned to her with tortured eyes.

"I'm sorry, Cam." And she genuinely was. Given the choice, she wouldn't have considered Jace for one second. But she
had
no choice. As soon as her birthday came and she turned twenty-one, she either had to have chosen . . . or have the choice made for her. As much as she would give to be able to choose Cam, to keep him by her side forever, she knew she couldn't do it to him. Not even to spare him the hurt he was feeling now. Not even for her own happiness.

"You're
sorry
?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I didn't know there was anything . . . you know, exclusive between us. I mean, we've never talked about it."

Cam stared at her like she had grown two heads. She could imagine he would have the same look, only mixed with disgust, horror, and hatred, were he to ever discover the monster she really was.

"Well, I kind of figured it was obvious, that we didn't really need to make any kind of formal declaration. Neither of us dates anyone else."

She took a deep breath. This was much harder than she'd thought it would be.

"It's just one date, Cam."

"Yup," he said, pain causing his words to come out abruptly. "And he only asked you out to get back at me."

Dahlia's mouth dropped open. She'd known Jace must have had a reason for approaching her. She even suspected the reason had to do with Cam. But Cam telling her—insinuating that Jace would never have asked her out otherwise—cut her. Cam's eyes reflected his regret over his harsh words, but he didn't retract them. He simply turned and walked away from her.

* * * * *

"You're going out with
Jace McMahon
?"

Dahlia had heard these words before—laced with pain and betrayal when Cam spoke them., Aster squealed them out with a mixture of joy and disbelief.

"Yes," Dahlia answered blandly.

"Well, wha—" Aster could not continue.

Dahlia stood stunned. It was only the second time she'd ever seen Aster stumped for words. On both occasions, a guy Dahlia was dating was the cause.

"Okay, then," Aster finally announced. "We need to get you ready."

Dahlia looked down at her beige skirt and brown sweater, which she'd always considered one of her best outfits. She'd even put her favorite barrette in her hair.

"I am ready," she told Aster.

Aster's looked Dahlia up and down, shaking her head. "No."

"No?"

"No," Aster said even more firmly. "You do
not
go out with Jace McMahon dressed like Nanny McPhee."

"I'm not—"

"Come on." Aster grabbed Dahlia's arm, spinning her toward Aster's room.

Two hours later, Dahlia emerged from Aster's room looking like any one of the grasping girls who hovered around Jace each day. Aster had straightened her hair—no easy task that—and put makeup on her like a professional. She'd dressed her sister in tight, black leather pants, a red, lace blouse with flared sleeves, and a black leather vest.