By Nell Stark and Trinity Tam

SPREAD THE INFECTION...

This version of Chapter 19 was written before we were sure about where Valentine's POV would cut off, and where Alexa would pick up. Most of the plot points are identical, though we changed a few details while revising and updating the chapter to read from Alexa's POV.

I checked under the bed one last time, since it was entirely likely that pieces of clothing had been haphazardly shoved under there during our most recent moment of passion. I grinned when I found Alexa’s black lacy boyshorts hiding behind one of the enormous bed posts. She had put them on an hour ago with the intent to get fully dressed so that we could head for home. That...hadn’t exactly worked out for her.

Satisfied that we weren’t missing anything, I started for the front door. I was really going to miss this place. Even though I knew that what we had accomplished here was on account of us and not the geographical location, the Catskills were always going to feel like a safe haven. Maybe, years and years in the future when we had amassed up a good chunk of money simply by being alive for so long and reaping the benefits of interest, we could buy this piece of land.

The rental car’s horn blared as I opened the door. I looked up fast, momentarily alarmed, but it was only Alexa, leaning out the passenger-side window.

“What are you doing in there, Count Dracula?” she called. “Let’s get a move-on! Places to be!”

Her teasing elated me. Finally, it seemed like the darkest times might actually be behind us. We had plenty of challenges still on the horizon, of course, but now, we could face them as a strong, united front.

“I believe these are yours, Panthro,” I said, tossing the underwear through the window on my way to the driver’s side.

“Dude,” she scoffed as I started the car. “Panthro was a guy.”

I paused, palm hovering over the gear shift. “Did you just call me ‘dude’?”

“So what if I did? That wouldn’t be the first time someone’s called you a dude. Got a problem?” She leaned toward me, eyes flashing, and I automatically curled a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The color still surprised me, sometimes—black looked even more striking against her skin than crimson had.

“Dudes can’t kiss like this,” I said, just before closing the gap and devouring her. When, a solid minute later, I pulled back to catch my breath, Alexa’s fingers in my hair refused to let me move more than a few inches away from her.

“You’re so right,” she breathed. I watched her hone back in on my lips, but I slid one finger between us before she could pounce.

“If you want to leave, then hit the pause button.”

Her sigh was warm against my face. “All right, all right.” Begrudgingly, she untwisted her fingers and sat back in her seat, fastening the belt.

I revved the engine. “All set?”

She planted one hand high on my thigh, snapped down her sunglasses, and pointed toward the pine trees. “Thundercats, ho!”

“Who are you calling a ho?” I said as I began to guide the car down the spiraling drive.

“Oh please. You were very much a ho before I came along.”

Pretending to be offended, I grabbed her hand from my leg and dropped it in her own lap. “’Ho’ is slang for ‘whore,’ genius girl. I was not a whore. No one ever paid me for my services. I? Was a player.”

One coal-black eyebrow arched up over the rim of her shades. So hot. “And I suppose I’m the sweet Midwestern girl who reformed you?”

“Reformed? Hell no.” I glanced quickly to my right, to be certain I had her attention. “Neither of us was ever meant to be tamed. You’re my match, baby.”

From the corner of my eye, I caught her brilliant smile. She firmly put her hand right back where it belonged, and squeezed. Which made me have to shift restlessly against the leather seat. The sound of her low laughter only made me throb the harder.

“I’m instituting a rule,” she said. “No sex until next year.”

“What? After that little stunt, you’re not going to have mercy on me when we get home?”

She squeezed again. “We have a big party to go to in a matter of hours. A black tie event. The first thing I’m doing when we get home is taking a shower. And then I’m going out to get my hair done.”

“You could do me in the shower,” I pointed out.

“I could. But I won’t. Patience, grasshopper.”

I rolled my eyes and decided to change the subject. “So...you actually seem excited about this party. You do realize that my mother, and my father, and at least three of my asshat cousins will all be there, right?” I tried to remember the last time that my mother and her second husband, and my father and his second wife, had been in the same room together. It must have been my college graduation, and it hadn’t been a pretty sight. “Maybe we should make a contingency plan in case World War III breaks out.”

“They’ll be fine and you know it,” Alexa chided me. “No one gets into a confrontation at a charity gala.”

I let her believe what she wanted to. If things got really ugly, we could always skip out and ring in the New Year at Luna. Perhaps Sebastian would open the pool if I batted my eyelashes.

“Maybe I’m eager to see them all again because they used to intimidate me,” Alexa continued. “You know—wealthier than I could ever hope to be, politically connected at the highest level, parents of my lover...”

Lover. I could never get enough of her calling me that. I loved the way the word rolled out of her mouth, affirming yet casual. “What’s changed, then?”

“Now I can transform into a gigantic cat.”

I laughed. “You definitely win. I am such the Robin to your Batman.”

Her look was speculative. “You should wear tights.”

“Oh, no. No, I really shouldn’t.

“But you have fantastic legs—”

“What I have, lover, are terrifying memories of my mother stuffing me into tights and a dress every day during my elementary school years.”

Alexa’s shoulders shook with constrained mirth. “Clearly, we need to get on a better footing with her, so that I can see those pictures.”

“Well,” I said, reaching over to turn on the iPod, “if you can convince hell to freeze over, then you have a right to them.” 

Alexa didn’t reply; she just squeezed my leg again, leaned her head back, and started humming along to the U2 song that was playing. For the hundredth time, I wished that I could offer her a stable, loving family—like hers was—instead of a sprawling clan that actually prided itself on its cutthroat internal politicking. Then again, maybe we could make that kind of family ourselves. Someday.

Six hours later, we were on Park Avenue. “Up at the corner is fine,” I called to the cabbie, who obligingly pulled the taxi over to the curb.

Alexa frowned at me as I paid. “The hotel isn’t on this block.”

I waited to answer until I had helped her from the car. She was wearing my Christmas present: a strapless red dress, flowing from a knee-length height in the front to calf-length in the back. She had always lamented “naturally clashing” with red, but that wasn’t a problem anymore.

“I didn’t want us to roll up to the Waldorf-Astoria in a yellow cab,” I explained, taking her elbow. Those heels had to be ridiculously hard to walk in—I would have been flat on my face already. “You deserve to make an impressive entrance, not to be jeered at.”

She looked at me like I was from Mars. “Baby. I’m sure cabs frequent the Waldorf just as much as any other hotel in this city. The bellman wouldn’t blink an eye.”

“Pritchard would do a lot more than blink.”

“Hmm.” Sensing my discomfort, she pressed even closer to me. “Maybe I should rid Pritchard of his right hand.”

“Down, kitty,” I murmured, smiling. Once we reached the entrance, I guided her into the lobby and toward the bank of elevators. When we emerged on the third floor, a low, persistent hum greeted us.

“Listen to all those socialites,” I said, leading Alexa toward the Grand Ballroom. We collected our nameplates, and as we headed toward our table, I prayed that Fate—or whoever had done the seating arrangement—would be kind. The first family member I saw was my father, who was having a tête-a-tête with the Secretary of State. “Let’s not interrupt them,” I said.

“Yes, let’s definitely not,” Alexa replied. “Oh—table fourteen. Two o’clock.”

When I turned in the right direction, I let out a sigh of relief. Already seated at our table was my cousin Holly, who worked as a healthcare lobbyist in D.C. Back a few years ago when I had first come out, the prevailing attitude of my family had been disappointment and disapproval, with the sole exception of Holly. At my father’s annual Christmas Eve dinner, she had handed me a drink, patted me on the shoulder, and said, “It’ll blow over.” Among us Darrows, that was the equivalent of a long hug and sympathetic chat.

“Hey, Holly,” I said, putting Alexa’s nameplate down next to hers, and mine on the other side.

“Valentine.” She stood to kiss both my cheeks. “And...Alexa, correct?”

“That’s right.” When Alexa leaned over me to shake Holly’s hand, I couldn’t help inhaling her rich, earthy scent. As always, she grounded me and excited me at the same time.

“You’re looking well, Val. Feeling okay?”

“Almost back to a hundred percent,” I said, knowing that Holly was referring to the so-called “accident.” “Thanks again for the flowers. Where’s Martin?”

She gestured in the direction of one of the bars, where a knot of men in their mid-thirties appeared to be collectively flirting with the bartender. Lovely. I would be staying the hell away from that particular corner, but fortunately there were three others to choose from.

“Can I get either of you a drink?” I asked.

Martin was apparently taking care of Holly’s beverage, and Alexa wanted a whiskey sour. I planted a light kiss on her cheek as I left, knowing that she’d be in decent hands. It wasn’t as if I needed to protect her, anyway. My family riled me up far more easily than they did Alexa.

I was waiting in line, watching some old, clearly Republican senator—or maybe Congressman—flirt with one of the waitstaff, when someone put a hand on my elbow. I turned quickly and felt surprise. Olivia.

“Hello, Val,” she said. If I hadn’t seen her a month and a half ago lying swaddled in a hospital bed, I never would have guessed that she had been the victim of a brutal beating. Her tan skin glowed against the black and gold fabric of her jacket and skirt. She looked far healthier than I did—than I ever would.

“Olivia. How are you feeling? You look great.” I found myself willing to be generous. She had gone through quite an ordeal, after all.

She shrugged. “Still working out the kinks. I convalesced in Bermuda.”

“Sweet.”

“It was, literally. Lots of rum.”

I laughed, but her smile quickly turned speculative. “So...are you going to have my head if I try to talk to your girlfriend tonight?”

“Of course not,” I said immediately, letting some of my outrage at the question seep into my answer. Which was compounded by my frustration that I wasn’t capable of having her head, even if I did want it. Not without my gun, anyway. Damn it, why couldn’t I transform into a gigantic cat?

“Okay. Good.” Olivia was still looking at me suspiciously, as though she expected me to recant. “There are some interesting developments at the DA’s office right now that I’d like to speak with her about.”

“I’m getting her a drink right now,” I said. “Come back with me, if you like.” I let her go first, and was surprised when she ordered only for herself. “You came stag?” I asked, as the man behind the counter poured my scotch.

“No.” She gestured across the room, where a petite blond was chatting animatedly with the Secretary of State’s son. “Roselle Gibson. Consummate social climber. I expect to be dumped a few minutes before midnight.”

At my look of horror, she rolled her eyes. “I knew what I was getting into when I asked her. Aston and I have a bet going about how long it’ll take her to get rid of me.” She flashed that wicked grin that had made so many women keel over at our boarding school. “I’m going to win.”

“You two should be honorary Darrows,” I said, turning back toward the center of the room. “Pritchard and Collin are probably suckering Martin into some asinine bet as we speak.”

As we approached the table, Olivia slowed, looking confused. “I thought you said—” And then Alexa turned away from Holly to smile at me. “Oh. You dyed your hair.” Olivia paused, cocking her head. “It looks good.”

“Mm,” Alexa said noncommittally, taking her glass as I hid a smile behind my own. “Hello, Olivia. How are you feeling?”

“Fine. The Caribbean was good for me. And hi, Holly.” She turned her focus back to Alexa, and I took another long sip of my scotch. The hairs on the back of my neck refused to lie flat whenever Olivia had her eyes locked on my lover. I had to struggle not to grind my teeth; I could do actual damage to my lower molars with the canines.  

Very deliberately, I sat in Martin’s seat, asking Holly about how his orthopedic practice was going and leaving the two of them to chat. Admittedly, I also took full advantage of my slightly sharper senses to half-listen in on Olivia’s conversation with Alexa. Which, to her credit, really was about some recent hiring trends at the DA’s office.

We conversed for a while until Holly stood up with the intention to drag Martin away from whatever trouble our cousins had gotten him into. Once it was just the three of us, Olivia rested her elbows on the table, gesturing for us to lean in. I took the opportunity to wrap my arm around Alexa as I shifted.

“Did Detective Foster tell you about the latest mugging?”

Alexa and I shared a brief, shocked glance. “There’s been another?” I asked.

“We’ve been up in the mountains for almost a week,” Alexa explained. “No cell signal.”

“Do either of you know Gregory Hanson?” 

I shook my head, but Alexa frowned. “I know an Alexander Hanson. The ethics professor who NYU stole from Yale last year.”

Olivia was nodding. “Greg is his son.”

“And Foster thinks that whoever got to us is behind this latest one too,” I said.

“It’s a hunch, of course, but yes. Hanson was beaten and stabbed to within an inch of his life.”

“Is he a lawyer like his father?” Alexa asked. Under the table, she reached for my hand and squeezed hard.

“Yes, but apparently he’s quit practicing to write screenplays. Lives out in L.A., but came to New York for the holidays. And now he’s in the hospital.”

Olivia had a lot of information. I couldn’t help but be suspicious. “Foster’s been forthcoming about the details,” I said pointedly.

“I am an Assistant District Attorney,” Olivia shot back.

That was a good point. Damn it. Why did she always make me feel like an idiot? Or more accurately: why did I always do or say idiotic things around her? Alexa squeezed my hand again, but this time it felt like pity.

“Oh. My mother is signaling me.” Olivia got to her feet. “Time to go make nice with the Vice President. Talk to you both later?”

“Sure,” I said bleakly. Alexa nodded. I was about to ask her what she thought of this latest development when Pritchard’s voice rang out behind me.

“Val-en-tine,” he said, drawing out the syllables of my name. I turned around to the sight of him, Martin, Collin, and an apologetic-looking Holly, drinks in hand. Pritchard’s face was already flushed; he was well on his way to getting drunk. “Jesus. Look at you. Could you have dressed any less like a woman?”

Beside me, Alexa stiffened. “Hello, Pritchard,” I said, keeping my voice even and baring my sharp teeth in a smile. If he thought he was going to rattle me by insulting my androgynous appearance, he was sadly fucking mistaken.  I could pass for a hotter guy than he’d ever be.

“The same cannot be said, however, about your companion here,” he continued, leering at Alexa. “How is it that we haven’t met before?”

“Oh, we have,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “A few months ago. I’m not surprised that you can’t remember; you were highly intoxicated then, as well.” She rose smoothly to her feet and held out her hand for me. “I think I see your mother, baby,” she said, leaning in to kiss my jaw. “Let’s go say hello. Please excuse us, everyone.”

And just like that, we were walking away. I managed to catch a glimpse of Holly’s impressed expression before our backs were to them. Alexa tucked her arm into mine and led us straight out the door. Only when we reached a deserted corridor on the far side of the elevators did she stop and face me. Her eyes were dark and furious, and her breaths were shallow. I recognized that look: she was fighting for calm. Fighting not to change.

I slid my arms around her waist and kissed her temple. No words were necessary. Gradually, I felt her relax into me. I began to stroke her back—very slowly, up and down. She pushed her face against my shoulder and sighed.

After a few more minutes, she finally pulled back just enough for our eyes to meet. “God, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You totally hung on to it.” I kissed her forehead. “Was it Pritchard that set you off?”

She nodded. “Apparently, my self-control goes out the window when someone...hurts you.”

I tightened my grip on her. “Oh, baby. I love you. But believe me—what he said didn’t hurt. He’s been delivering those kinds of potshots for years. They bounce right off. Why should I care what a jackass like him thinks, anyway?”

“I know—I know that in my head. But it makes me crazy to hear him talk like that.”

This time I kissed her lips, briefly but passionately. “You’re my knight in shining armor. Or should I say: sleek black fur.” She laughed softly, and I felt the last of the tension leave her. “So, about what Olivia said...”

Alexa threw back her shoulders. “Yeah. What’s Helen’s team doing, anyway—twiddling their thumbs?”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t think we should wait any longer. Foster’s completely handicapped and the Consortium doesn’t appear to have a clue. It’s time for me to hit the Red Circuit.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Us.”

“But—”

“Back when I was a wimpy human, you had a leg to stand on, Val,” she said sharply. “You sure as hell don’t anymore. We go together.”

“Kyle says it’s brutal,” I said, gently smoothing my thumbs across her cheeks. “Violent—gory, even. Remember? People die, sometimes.”

“You’re the one who can’t watch 28 Days Later without flipping your shit,” Alexa reminded me. “We’re partners, Val. In this and all things.”

The force of her declaration sent goose bumps down my arms. I searched her eyes, looking for even the slightest bit of hesitation. She was resolved. Determined. And she was right.

When I nodded, she slid out of my grasp and took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go back in there. I was serious about tracking down your mother.”

“Great,” I muttered, trailing in her wake. “Out of the frying pan and into the forest fire.”

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