by Maya Daniels
His lips twitch slightly at the corners, sending a sharp ping in my stomach. My entire body clenches from that barely perceivable gesture. His smirk grows the longer I look at him.
“Come now, Francesca. I might start thinking you are afraid. You don’t trust me, or you don’t trust yourself?” The asshole grins, the tips of his fangs poking from under his lip. The problem is there is no humor in that gaze. His too-blue eyes are smoldering with barely-restrained hunger that almost brings me to my knees. “I dare you to prove me wrong.”
“Fine!” My ego rears its head before I have a chance to stop myself from answering. “It shouldn’t be me that’s afraid, vamp.”
Fenrir snorts, coughing to cover it up when I turn to glare at him. Astara snickers from next to me, as if the two of them know some inside joke that the rest of us are not privy to. The shifters turn to each other, talking in hushed whispers, no doubt coming up with plans on how to make my life miserable in the next two days. Only Azgor still stands in the same spot, his head turning from me to Zoltan with a calculating look that I don’t like at all.
“I’ll help her move,” Astara says so cheerfully I almost think we are moving in together as roommates, not offering to drag my ass next to her brother, who really isn’t good for my health.
“You do that,” Zoltan tells his sister, not looking away from me.
“Okay!” Clapping her hands, she takes hold of my arm, bodily removing me from the room. “We’ll be going now. You boys be good.”
She keeps chuckling like some evil witch from one of the human shows I watch, pulling me with her through the door. Before she closes it, I turn to look over my shoulder. Zoltan’s gaze follows every move I make. The door hides him from my view, but I feel that look following me everywhere I go.
5
“This was the stupidest idea ever.” Throwing a handful of shirts with a lot more force than necessary inside one of the bags Astara has brought, I glare at them like it’s their fault I find myself in this situation.
“You’ll live.” She giggles, pulling them out and folding them neatly. “I have a solution to the problem, but you don’t listen to me.”
“There is nothing funny at the moment.” My words are muffled while half of my body disappears between the hanging garments. “I liked you better when you didn’t say a word.”
“I would think you’d appreciate being protected after that guard was killed a few feet from your door.” Her smile slips from her pretty face, and her solemn gaze locks on mine. “All joking aside, I’m planning on moving close to those two, as well.”
“Perfect! You can have my room.” My hand stills the pants hanging midair between the closet and the bag.
“Umm, no. I would like to stay alive. Zoltan will kill me.” Shaking her head, the traitor snatches the pants from my grasp.
“I still don’t get why anyone would want to kill me.” Astara opens her mouth, but I continue talking. “Hear me out. If they are a threat, it means they are Daywalkers. Because if they’re not, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I’ve done it my whole life.” The guilty look on her face stops my venting. “What’s that look for?”
“Franky, I wish I could tell you everything…”
“Yeah, yeah, the oath, I know.” Huffing a breath, I turn back to the closet, yanking stuff off the hangers. “I would also like to know why you manipulated me into Azgor’s class.”
“He gets lost in his thoughts when he is retelling history. I was hoping it’ll be a loophole where you hear the truth by accident. It almost got there, but we were interrupted. It’s only for two days. You’ll know everything soon.” She looks so hopeful when I glance at her over my shoulder that I feel like crap for taking my frustration out on her.
“I know.” Sighing, my shoulders slump in defeat. “I know you are right. It’s just after everything that happened, my patience is wearing thin. It’s not like you guys owe me anything, I got myself into this mess.”
“To be honest, I’m glad you did.” My head snaps in her direction, and Astara gives me a sad smile. “I don’t want to think what could’ve happened if they found out what you are without Soren around. The board might be useless nitwits, but they’ll never go against his word.”
“You think they have nothing to do with this?” Turning to fully face her, I can’t hide the shock inspired from her words. “I find it hard to believe they are not in on Roberti’s plans. For him to waltz in like he did, someone had to let him in through those gates, and it most definitely was not a guard.”
The memories of that night hit me like a battering ram to the chest, and I plop down on the floor next to Astara. The crippling betrayal I felt looking at Roberti’s face while he laughed at my naivete to blindly trust him. Zoltan’s unconscious body being dragged by the demon guards, his blood pooling on the floor and spreading like an ominous shadow devouring my soul. Cassius looking down his nose, not an ounce of regret for stabbing his friends in the back. The feeling of my own blood being pulled back up my veins to stop me from bleeding on Soren’s outstretched palm. It all presses on me until I can’t breathe, and it feels like my ribcage is being crushed, preventing me from taking a breath.
“Franky?” Astara’s voice sounds far away, like she is calling my name from miles away.
Looking up, my heart skips a beat when I can almost see the pores on her otherwise flawless skin. Thin blue veins fork out under it, pulsing slightly with each pump of her heart. Her pupils dilate when we lock gazes, spreading into the sun-shaped form I’ve seen in Zoltan’s eyes. Her hand shoots out and grabs mine, crushing my fingers into a punishing grip.
“Franky, please. I can’t control myself. Stop!” Her panicked voice snaps me out of the oppressive thoughts, and I suck in a deep breath like I’ve been underwater for too long.
“What the fuck was that?” Gasping for air, I hold onto her hand to stop myself from falling apart.
“Your eyes changed.” Astara sounds as freaked out as I am. “You were pushing me to give myself to my instincts. All I could think about was how much I wanted blood.” Her words are frantic, the hand holding mine trembling. “I’ve never felt bloodlust like that in my long life.”
“Great. I’m going to turn all of you into feral animals just by breathing.” Panting to slow down my racing heart, rivulets of sweat sliding down my hairline and my spine. “Maybe it’ll be best for all of us if they just kill me.”
“Don’t say that!” Astara snaps at me, jerking me upright from the slumped mess I am on the floor. “It’s not just your life on the line anymore. You can’t be that selfish.”
“I never asked to be responsible for everyone.” Her words are like knives to my chest, and I sound defensive. “I didn’t ask for any of this. All I wanted was to keep the people in Sienna safe.”
“Well, now you have the chance to keep all of us safe.” Her punishing grip loosens, and she squeezes my fingers reassuringly. Her emotions flood into me, and I know she’s being sincere. “You can do this, Franky. I know you can. Just let my brother and Fenrir protect you until you are ready to fight whatever it is on your own.”
“I’m tired of fighting.” The words escape me before I can stop them.
My eyes flick to hers, and the confusion I feel is mirrored on her face. Until this very moment, I didn’t realize just how real those words are. Ever since I can remember, I’ve been fighting. Fighting to survive, struggling to move up the ranks, fighting to protect…
“I don’t know how to do anything else but fight.” At my softly spoken statement, the look in Astara’s gaze softens, and she shocks me more by pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.
“You’ll be okay, Franky. You’ll see.” Her body is shivering, and she tightens her arms. “All of us will be okay.”
“I hope you are right.” My words are muffled in her hair, and I reluctantly hug her back. “But something tells me it’ll get a hell of a lot more worse before it gets better.”
We both startle when so
meone knocks and pushes the door open without waiting for an answer or an invitation. Fenrir pokes his head in, his platinum hair falling like a curtain over his shoulder. The frown on his face is fast replaced with a teasing grin as he pushes the door all the way open and walks inside like he owns the place.
“I think I deserve one of those, too.” Spreading his arms wide, he makes grabby hands at us.
“A kick in the nuts is what you deserve.” Grumbling under my breath, I detangle myself from Astara’s arms. “I didn’t invite you to my room.”
“Since you’ll be moving within the hour, technically this is not your room anymore.” Looking down his nose, he flicks his fingers in an invitation, still expecting a hug. “My shoulders are starting to cramp, hurry up.”
“He must be on drugs.” Lifting off the floor, I look down at Astara.
Her face is turning red from holding her laughter in, and I forget what else I am about to say when an awareness starts creeping up my body. It starts at my toes, and like a heatwave, it crawls up so fast it's as exciting as it is unnerving. With it, an idea to see the Fae suffer for a bit comes to me, and I turn towards Fenrir, grinning from ear to ear.
“You are right, Fae.” Taking a step closer, I spread my own arms. “You deserve a hug, too.”
All humor leaves his face, his eyes widening comically in panic, but it’s too late. I latch onto him like Velcro, not releasing my hold even when he tries his hardest to push me away. The air stirs when the door is forced open again. My grin widens so much that my cheeks hurt from it. One second, I’m squeezing Fenrir like a boa constrictor, and the next, the Fae is yanked from me, slamming against the wall.
Zoltan jerks me next to him, his shoulders bunched up and fists clenched at his sides. There is a menacing growl rumbling deep in his chest as he stares daggers at the dazed Fenrir, who only shakes his head as if to clear it. So I don’t laugh out loud, I bite my lips so hard I can taste the coppery flavor of blood on my tongue. Checking on Astara, I see her turning almost purple from holding it in as well.
“Fucking females. Evil creatures.” Fenrir snarls, glaring back at Zoltan, and that’s as much as I can handle.
I burst out laughing so hard, my throat hurts a second later, and tears stream down my face. Astara joins me, both of us curling up on the floor with arms folded across our middle. When I can finally open my eyes, the confused look on Zoltan’s face brings another fit of laughter, and it keeps going until I feel so tired I can’t even lift my head off the ground. Rolling it to the side, I see Astara is in the same predicament, and we both laugh weakly at the mess in front of us.
“You want me to give you a hug, too?” Astara chirps, lifting her arms towards Fenrir like a child expecting to be picked up.
“I feel like I’ve been played,” Zoltan grumbles, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“We invited the Devil to our table by putting these two together.” Pushing off the floor, Fenrir runs his fingers through his tangled-up strands. “This is what I get for coming to offer help.”
“The two of you are too predictable. That’s not on us.” Astara helps me up while I wipe at my eyes. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed this much.”
“Very funny.” The smile lifting Fenrir’s lips contradicts his frown. It’s like his face can’t decide which emotion to display, doing facial gymnastics in the process.
“Are you ready to move?” Always the man of few words, Zoltan looks around at the already packed bags. I’ve never had this much stuff in my life.
“Not really, but it seems like I don’t have much of choice.” Twirling around, I check to see if I’ve forgotten to pack something.
“You can always move to my room,” he says so casually that the rest of us turn to gape at him. Even Fenrir. “What?”
“You can grab the bags on the bed, Fenrir.” Astara changes the subject, allowing me to take a breath. The damn vampire will be the death of me one of these days.
“Right…” Pulling an elastic band from around his wrist, the Fae ties his hair in a low ponytail and snatches three bags like they weigh nothing.
“I’m right behind you.” Astara does the same, leaving only one bag behind when she follows Fenrir.
Panic makes me trip over my own feet as I snatch the remaining duffle and rush out of the room after them. I don’t make it two feet when thick fingers wrap around mine, buckling my knees. Zoltan wraps a hand around my waist, holding me up, and I can feel his breath tickling the short hairs that have escaped my braid.
“Careful, Miss Drake.” My skin prickles with goosebumps when his lips graze the shell of my ear. “You’ll trip if you don’t watch where you’re going.”
“I’ll trip.” My brain short-circuits from his nearness, and I repeat his words like an idiot. I want to slap myself when I hear his chuckle. Or better yet, slap him to stop him from chuckling.
“What am I going to do with you, Francesca?” He nuzzles my hair, the scruff on his jaw catching strands of it on his face.
“Nothing.” I sound panicked as if this right here is a make or break deal. Summoning as much self-control as I can, I push him away, square my shoulders, and start walking again with my head held high.
My heart jumps in my throat when he reaches for the bag again, his fingers lingering longer than necessary on my hand. He pulls it out of my grasp and moves a couple of steps ahead of me, his long legs eating the distance much faster than mine.
“That’s where you are wrong.” He throws me a look over his shoulder, the permanent smirk on his lips nearly making me trip again. “I have many somethings planned for you.”
No matter how much I want to tell him to dream on, both of us know I can’t resist him for much longer. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try with everything I have. My eyes stay glued on the movement of his body, the way his shoulders sync with his hips, and the way his thighs stretch out the fabric of his pants with each step. My focus so intent on the vampire, I nearly miss the silvery glint coming toward his head from around the corner.
6
Fear for Zoltan’s life gives me a lot more strength than necessary, so when I throw myself at his back, both of us end up crashed at the dead-end of the hallway in a tangle of limbs under the window. A dagger sinks deep into the wall where Zoltan’s head was supposed to be, the hilt vibrating like the string of a guitar around us. He stiffens at the sound, and the air thickens so much I’m finding it challenging to fill up my lungs.
A hand is pressed between my shoulder blades, keeping me plastered on the ground when he flips his body, bending over me like a shield. I’m well protected, but that leaves him open for pointy, sharp things to get stuck in him like a pincushion. That thought doesn’t sit well with me. When I feel my heart slowing down and the familiar calm blanketing me like a mother's embrace, I succumb to it willingly.
Thump.
Sliding from under Zoltan’s arm, I twist up into a crouch by his side. The orangey glow of the flames illuminating the hallway brightens, opening up the shadows and giving away their secrets. I can still hear the trembling of the dagger in the wall, as well as the slow, steady beats of Zoltan’s heart. Holding my breath, I place a hand on his upper arm, my fingers tightening so I can get a better grip. And then I wait.
Thump.
In slow motion, from the corner of my eye, he turns his head so he can look at me. At the same time, a shadow expands in the adjacent hallway, and the stirring in the air gives enough warning of the next attack. The coward throws another dagger, the silver blade glinting as it flips through the space headed for Zoltan’s chest. Shoving him away as hard as I can, I push off the balls of my feet, sailing through the air and catching the sharp blade between my fingers. Cocking my arm, I send it back to where it came from, the resounding thud telling me it hit the target before my feet touch the ground again.
Thump.
Making sure the vampire is out of sight—albeit with a glower on his handsome face—I plaster my back to the wall, as close to
the opening as I can. My arm tingles when Zoltan steps next to me, the heat from his body penetrating through my clothing. Holding my breath, I strain to catch any movement or a heartbeat, the monstrosity that lives inside me now eager to find a target so it can practice. After a long-stretched moment, a scrape on the floor—a misstep that will cost them their life—gives me the exact position of our second attacker. Waiting it out feels like an eternity, and I’m grateful Zoltan says nothing.
Thump.
Taking one running step into the connecting hallway, I bounce off the opposite wall with my foot, twisting my body in the air, and I come face to face with a very startled demon. His eyes widen when we lock gazes a second before my fangs drop from my throbbing gums and I sink them deep in his throat. The force from my body colliding with his flings us both on the ground, my legs wrapping around his torso as we go down, and I squeeze as hard as I can with my thighs. I can hear his ribs cracking under the pressure while he gurgles from his ripped throat. Another dagger is clutched in a large hand, now stretched lifelessly next to his head. The air stirs at my back.
Thump.
Unwilling to release my prey, I flip around and crouch over the dead demon, hissing at whoever is trying to sneak up on me. Coming face to face with a startled Zoltan jolts me out of the feral bloodlust that is driving me insane.
Blinking a couple of times to clear my head, dread numbs me when I feel the blood dripping down my chin and over my chest. Keeping my gaze on Zoltan is the only thing stopping me from losing my shit right now. He stays still, searching my eyes, one hand pressed firmly on the ground between his feet. To my shame, I realize he is poised to tackle me if I try to attack him. Not that I blame him. I can only imagine how I look, covered in blood, hissing, while bent over a dead demon.
“Francesca.” My name rolls off his tongue, and the slight accent that sometimes slips when he is not paying attention makes it sound a lot prettier than it has any right to be. “We need to move. I need to know you’re with me.”