Covet (Clann)

big bear of a man. I looked up and discovered tears in his eyes, which were lined copies of Tristan’s, giving me a glimpse of the man Tristan would someday become. A future I would no longer be a part of.
    Hands covered my own, easing my fingers loose. Confused, I looked down to see Dr. Faulkner trying to release my hold on Nanna.
    On Nanna’s body. Because she wasn’t here anymore.
    I let him take her weight and lower her body to the ground. I couldn’t move, couldn’t feel my legs or arms anymore, couldn’t even feel the clothes that were plastered to me along with strings of my hair along my face and neck.
    What should I do now? What did normal people do when their loved ones died in their arms in the woods? There must be a procedure, certain steps of some kind that should be taken by someone. But my mind didn’t seem to want to work to figure it out. Wiggling my hands, I discovered my fingers had somehow become buried in the earth. When I lifted them, clods of moss and mud clung to me. The same mud that would be all over Nanna’s back now.
    Nanna wouldn’t want this. She wouldn’t want me to sit in the mud sobbing over her body, especially not in front of the descendants who had cast her out and turned their backs on her. She would have demanded that I get up, put on a strong front, hide my pain. Show them just how strong the Evans women could be. Focus on what needed to be done, and break down later in private.
    For her sake, I took a deep breath and tried to wipe my hands clean on my pants, only to discover my shirt and slacks were covered in streaks of mud. I would have to wait until I was home to clean my hands of the mess.
    Home. Where Mom would be waiting soon for an explanation. Oh God. She didn’t know yet....
    “We’ll help you with the arrangements,” Mr. Coleman murmured, and Dr. Faulkner dipped his head in agreement.
    What would Nanna have expected of me now?
    “I think…she would have wanted to die at home in her sleep,” I said to Dr. Faulkner. “She wouldn’t want everyone to know…” Unable to say the rest of it, I gestured at the mess of it all, the slop of the mud and rain and grass stains all over Nanna’s once-pristine nightgown, which she’d always been so careful to bleach a blinding white.
    “I’ll make that the official report,” Dr. Faulkner replied as he, Dad and Mr. Coleman stood up, too.
    I looked around the clearing, for the first time seeing again the horrified audience watching my every move. They stared at me, many of them whispering amongst themselves, as if this were a play they were watching but weren’t really a part of. Didn’t they feel any guilt for Nanna’s death? Or was I the only true murderer here today?
    Mr. Coleman turned in a slow circle, drawing everyone’s attention and silence. “Today’s events will never be spoken of. Is that clear?”
    Slowly the descendants nodded, though my vamp abilities allowed me to pick up the general reluctance rolling off many of them as the crowd broke up and walked away in small groups through the woods.
    “Savannah…” Sounding as if he were choking on my name, Tristan tried to cross the distance between us, but Dylan and another boy held him back. Cursing, Tristan fought against their hold.
    Needles stabbed at my skin, a sign of his growing power level. Tristan was getting ready to use magic against them.
    “Tristan, stop,” I called out. I looked at his father. “Can I…?”
    Mr. Coleman’s gaze flicked down at Nanna’s body, then he nodded.
    More pain bloomed inside my chest, trying its best to rob me of air. Part of me screamed that I’d already lost enough, that I needed to hold on to what happiness I could. That I wouldn’t survive losing anything else in my life right now.
    But I had to. I’d made two promises now. And it was for his own safety.
    I forced my numb feet to carry me over to Tristan. Moss squished beneath my shoes with every step I took, the sound loud enough to be heard now that the storm was nearly gone. It took far too few steps to bring me to the end of the only true love I’d known.
    I tried again to memorize Tristan’s face…to see every line across his forehead, the full curves of his lips, now flattened and thinned by anger and guilt and panic, the raindrops dripping from those curls, darkened like antique gold, around his face and clinging to the back of his neck. At the edges of my vision, all around us were reminders of the moments we’d experienced in our