by Maya Daniels
“I’m fine!” I have no idea why I yell like he can’t hear me, and I squeeze my eyes in frustration, rubbing a hand over my face. “I mean, I’m fine,” repeating it at a reasonable level, I shake my head at my stupidity. “And I’m very funny. They killed funny in you guys at that damn Academy. Trust me on this.” Stepping under the warm spray, I sigh, feeling the muscles of my body unclenching one by one, and I continue talking to myself mostly.
“Just being in that place for a short time, I can feel it strangling my funny. It’s struggling right now, and I think it’ll die a gruesome death if I stay much longer.”
Blinking water off my eyes, I grab a bottle and pour shampoo in my cupped hand, breathing in the scent of orange flowers and almonds that overtakes the closed-in space. The glass is all fogged up, giving me a sense like I’m cut off from the world I am in. It’s as freeing as it is frightening to look at it that way.
“The Academy is not a bad place, Francesca.” Zoltan’s voice sounds like it’s right in my ear, and my heart stops. I can see the dark outline of his body on the other side of the fogged-up glass. “It has been a home, a sanctuary for many of us for many long centuries. Someone is trying to destroy our home. I will not let them.”
Lifting my trembling arms, I lather up my hair while keeping a wary eye on the vampire. “It’s not my home.” The lump in my throat calls me a liar.
“That’s where you are wrong,” he says softly, and the sadness in his deep voice makes tears prickle my eyes. If he sees it, I’ll just blame it on the shampoo. “It’s as much your home as you are its home. Soren made sure of that.”
“You should be more worried that your sister is missing.” He stays quiet for a long moment at my abrupt change of subject.
“She is as old as I am. If anyone can take care of themselves, it’s Astara.”
We both stay quiet while I rinse off the suds of the shampoo and wash my body. Zoltan doesn’t move away, but neither does he enter the shower to join me. He just stands there like a silent sentinel guarding me in my imaginary bubble where I feel falsely safe. I stand under the spray until the water starts running cold, and my fingers and toes prune. At some point, my mind wanders back, going through everything that has led us to this point in time. Shaking off the thoughts, I turn the water off.
“I need a towel.” Pulling my hair over my shoulder, I twist it with a vengeance to wring the water out.
“I’m sure this will surprise you, but I’ve seen a naked female.” I laugh at how pride hurt he sounds.
“I’m sure you have seen plenty with that face, but you haven’t seen me.” Still chuckling, I open the screen door slightly, sticking my hand out, grabbing at the empty air. “And it won’t happen today. Towel, please.”
He grunts something, but a second later, a piece of thick fabric is pressed into my palm. I pull it inside the shower and open the long, plush towel, wrapping it tightly around me. The tiles are cold on my bare feet when I step out of it, a cloud of steam exiting the shower along with me. I almost run back inside when I see Zoltan looking me up and down with a look of naked hunger on his face. He takes a step towards me.
The door opens with a crash, and Zoltan shoves me behind his back, bracing for an attack.
Fenrir fills up the doorway, a wild look in his gaze.
“It’s Astara.”
15
Zoltan bolts out of the bathroom following Fenrir, and I jump around, shoving my still-wet legs into the pants. The fabric bunches up, sticking to the water, but I pull and twist until I shimmy into them. Yanking the shirt on, stabbing my feet in the boots, I waddle out to follow them and see what’s going on. The pants are gaping open, and my unbuckled boots are flapping around as I rush into a sufficiently-spacious living room.
All the furniture is made of dark wood or black stone, contrasting starkly against the white walls. Black and white marble tiles cover the floor, reminding me of a chessboard. It looks modern and sleek, yet everywhere I turn, everything is made of natural material, including the walls. The rough white stone has a sparkle to it that I catch depending on how my head turns. My gaze lands on Fenrir. No one needs to tell me that this place belongs to him. His Fae nature pushes him to natural materials to feel at home, regardless if he is a light or a dark Fae.
Or a freak like me.
I feel more drawn to it as well, which gives me a sense of calm right now that I shouldn’t feel. My feet move me closer to where the Fae, Zoltan, and Leo stand around a wide chair. The closer I get, the faster my heart beats. It’s her bloodied pants I notice first.
Stopping between Fenrir and Zoltan, my breath catches in my throat at how Astara looks. She’s covered in blood from head to toe, her face healing the bruises as I watch. I’m not sure how she managed to get here. The swelling on her eyes is just starting to reside. Remembering my own predicament from earlier that night, I drop on my knees in front of her.
“Call the mage.” I sound frantic, but I can’t find the strength to hide it. “She must be hurt.” Moving my face closer to her, I sniff deeply, looking for that disgusting odor of the potion.
It hits me so hard I gag loudly and turn to the side so I don’t puke all over her. My eyes water and saliva fills my mouth while I hack, hoping to remove any trace of it from my nostrils. Fenrir tries to pull me up, but I shove his hands away.
“Call the mage.” Snapping at him, I turn to look at all three of them. Gloomy but resolved faces meet my gaze. “I said ‘call the mage,’ or I’ll make it my mission to kill each and every one of you if she turns feral.”
“There is nothing a mage can do now.” Astara’s soft words lack her self-assured attitude, and she sags deeper into the chair with a tired sigh.
“Yes, there is.” Stubbornly, I glare at Zoltan in particular. “She’s still breathing, which means there is something that can be done. Call the mage for fucks sake. She’s your sister. Don’t just stand there.”
He stares at me so intently that at first I think he will argue as usual. It takes a second to see the fear for his sister hiding behind the stony mask. His jaw is set as hard as the marble biting at my knees, and for the first time since I’ve known him, I can’t feel even the smallest trace of his power. Like he is shutting down, lifting the walls around him while expecting the worst. It hits me then that he is also preparing to be the one to end her life. I can literally hear my heart breaking into million pieces for him. It only solidifies my determination. If those fuckers succeed in this, everything Zoltan is will die right beside his sister.
I will not let that happen.
“Fenrir,” I say very calmly, turning my eyes to the Fae, “I need the mage to be here yesterday.” He stares at me with a pale face but nods sharply and bolts out of the room, leaving a breeze behind.
“Right.” I have two heartbeats, one in my chest hammering away, trying to break my ribs, and another in my throat choking me. “Fenrir said he was bleeding me to get the potion out of my blood.” An idea blossoms out of nowhere, and my head snaps in Zoltan’s direction. “You tried to reverse my blood flow when Soren cut my hand. It was working, I felt that it was. Can you do it to her, too? Push the potion out instead of letting it spread”
He blinks twice as if waking up from a trance, and I see the life returning, replacing the dull look in his eyes that scares the shit out of me. Leo, on the other hand, stands as still as a statue, his head moving left and right from me to Zoltan. I ignore him for now.
“I can try.” It sounds like it hurts him to even say that much. “If she lets me. Her mind is too well trained to allow me to manipulate it.”
“She’ll let you.” Turning to Astara, I grab both her hands, squeezing so hard I feel the bones of her fingers bending. “Did you hear me? You’ll let him.”
A strained smile lifts her split lip, but she nods at me with tears in her eyes. I fight my own that prickle and make her face blurry in front of me. Tightening my hold on her, I take a deep breath and allow my fangs to drop. It’s either the pan
ic or adrenaline, but whatever it is that causes the magic in my chest to stir, I don’t care. I can feel it picking up strength the closer my face gets to Astara’s neck. A large hand grabs my shoulder, yanking me back. I hiss at it.
“Are you insane?” Leo snarls in my face, which makes Zoltan growl at him. “You can both go crazy for all I care, but I’m not going to sit here and watch all of you go feral on me. Fuck no.” The angrier he gets, the more fur sprouts on his arms and face. “I’ll cut her to make her bleed. Don’t you dare get those choppers near her. I’ll rip your throat before he can kill me.” He stabs a finger at Zoltan.
“I liked you better when you kept your mouth shut.” My comment at least makes Astara chuckle weakly, although the wolf just glares at me. “Less talking, more doing.” He has a good point, so waving a hand at him, I move aside, letting him take my place. I still keep hold of one of Astara’s hands.
Keeping his glower in place, the shifter kneels, pulling a dagger out of his boot. I stiffen when he rips the sleeve from Astara’s shirt, exposing her pale, toned arm. When I flick my gaze to her face, I see her watching him with some keen interest that shouldn’t be on her face right now. I clear my throat pointedly, and she offers me a sheepish smile as she lifts one shoulder. It would’ve made me laugh if I wasn’t still trying not to freak out.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Leo growls over his shoulder at Zoltan.
With a nod, the blue color of Zoltan’s eyes starts changing, glowing brighter by the second. That same unfamiliar flavor of power I felt the day my life turned upside down saturates the air around us, and a shiver dances over my spine like ghostly fingers. This is not something a vampire—even a pure blood—should have. The knowing comes from somewhere deep inside me, and with it is a feeling that it should tell me something. Something fundamental. It’s like trying to grasp water that keeps slipping through your fingers.
Astara hisses when Leo splits the skin of her forearm with the tip of his blade. Red, thick blood mixes with a black, oily substance as it gushes out, soaking Astara’s leg. My arm that’s pressed to her dig into her skin to speed up the process, and so do the wolf’s fingers. Zoltan’s power hits me in waves, making it hard to draw a full breath in. I can also hear Astara and Leo taking short breaths as we all stare at the life fluid draining from my friend.
I will tell her that she is my friend after this is over, I decide. I know I should do it now, but I’m selfish and scared. If I voice it out loud and we can’t help her, it’ll mean I will lose the only real friend I’ve ever had, and it makes it worse that I never realize this fact before now. Not wanting to go down that road just yet, I turn my thoughts again to the strange feeling inside me. Having my mind occupied makes it easier to handle Zoltan at the moment. The concentration on his face tells me the building can collapse on top of him right now and he won’t notice.
Leo makes another cut, Astara’s fast healing making it harder on the shifter to keep her bleeding. The grip we have on our hands is firm from both sides, but her fingers are getting slack the longer this goes on. My arm trembles where I squeeze, as if I can physically hold her to this world if I just hold tight enough.
Staring at the red blood dripping on the white tile under the chair brings the face of that hunter to the front of my mind. I welcome it, let my hatred spurn at the sight of him because anything is better than drowning in fear for Astara’s life. No matter what they tell me, that hunter is not human—not even a human making a deal with the devil himself. He is something else. Something other. The same knowing from earlier returns, crystalizing his features behind my eyelids. Why do I feel like I should know him? Or know of him at any rate.
Going back further in my memories, I try to see if I’ve ever come across someone like him while working at the agency. Roberti is neck deep in this clusterfuck, so maybe the hunter has been to Sienna? A tremor shakes me at that thought. Have hunters been coming and going through our city? And if that’s the case, do they have something to do with the shadows that still give me nightmares?
The door bangs loudly, snapping my eyes open. Fenrir rushes the same male from my room earlier into the room by the scruff of his shirt. When the mage sees me covered in blood again, he backpedals fast, flailing to get away from the Fae.
“Stop it, or I’ll kill you now,” Fenrir snarls, freezing the poor escape attempt of the male. At my questioning look, his mouth twists unhappily. “I didn’t make him forget permanently earlier, just calmed him down a little.”
“Kill me,” the mage screams, and his hand starts making those weird signs in the air at me again.
I sigh.
“Dude.” Using the slang that humans do on their TV, I implore him with my gaze. “My friend needs you. If you do everything you can to help her, you’ll never see me again in your life.”
I have no idea if what I’m telling him is the truth, but at least the hand movement slows down, and he gapes at me. Remembering my mother and her advice that I should smile more so people don’t find me threatening, I make an attempt for Astara’s sake.
“You shouldn’t exist.” The fear is loud and clear in his breathless words.
“Yeah, yeah. I hear that at least once a day. But here I am. And you are still alive with your soul intact.” I smile again, letting it slip away when Fenrir shakes his head at me like I’m a naughty child.
I frown at him.
I’m fucking trying here, damn it. I don’t see any of them stepping up, and Astara’s heart is barely beating anymore. Turning away from the frightened mage, I focus on my friend's face that’s as white as the walls around us. Ignoring everyone present, I summon my courage and swallow a lump the size of a fist in my throat.
“I’ve never had a friend in my life, you know.” My words stop the mage’s murmuring, and I feel the attention of everyone in the room—including Zoltan, who’s not even looking at me. “She pushed her way past the walls I built around myself. For days, she just sat next to me in silence while I ignored her, until I had no other choice but to talk.”
Finally looking up, I pin the mage with my tear-filled eyes. “I’m not really friend material, you see. Not many people want a freak like me around them.” Winking at him, I pretend I don’t feel the fat tear that rolls down my cheek. “But she sat there. Waiting for me to let her in. And I did.” My shaking hand moves the bloody strands of hair sticking to Astara’s face. “Don’t make me lose my friend if you can help … please.” My throat closes after that plea.
The silence is so thick in the room that I can cut it with a knife. When I look at everyone one at a time, they stare at me like they’ve never seen me in their life. Even Zoltan is making me fidget with a look I can’t decipher. Heat crawls up my neck, making my face burn. I didn’t mean to say all that, but something about the mage and his stupid air signs gets to me. Like I’m some sort of evil here to take his soul or something.
I might be a half blood and a freak. I know I have an attitude that pushes people away, but that’s on purpose. No matter what everyone thinks or sees, I know deep in my heart that I’m not evil. Being fast to anger or not putting up with shit doesn’t make one full of malice. Him making those weird signs hurt me more than any nasty words thrown my way. Stupid, I know, but it does. And he still hasn’t moved to help Astara.
“Let’s try it this way.” Pulling myself together, I lift my walls back in place. Turning to the mage with an empty stare, I let him see I mean every word of what I’m about to say. “If she dies or turns feral tonight, you will wish for death that will never come. My face will be the only thing you’ll see for eternity.”
I guess that is a better motivator. The mage springs into action, rushing in front of Astara but stepping on the other side of the shifter so he is away from me. Like that will save him if she doesn’t wake. I watch the blue and green tendrils of his magic swirl between his fingers before they shoot towards Astara, enveloping her in their glow. His hands are twitchy, but that’s good. He will try harder if he fears for
his life. We all do when the noose is hanging too close to our necks.
Fenrir steps next to me, his energy tentatively poking at mine, and I almost smile. Always the worrier, this one. No matter what I do, he is always there trying his best to make it better. The jerk of Astara’s hand pulls my focus on her. Her eyes are still closed, but her mouth opens, fangs growing longer while I watch. We bleed her dry in hopes of taking that damn potion out, and I know what she needs. Not giving anyone time to react, I hug her, yanking the collar of my shirt down and exposing my neck.
Her sharp fangs pierce my throat.
16
I’m ripped off Astara, the force almost tearing my throat out. Fenrir is shouting something in the background I can’t understand. My mind is a little foggy—okay a lot foggy—but I can’t find it in me to regret my decision. She needed blood, and I was willing to give it. Consequences be damned.
A large hand is shoved between my neck and Astara’s mouth, prying her jaw open, and whoever it is pulls me away, my limp arms flopping uselessly around my body. I feel like I’m floating, the room spinning around me. Someone cups my head that’s hanging listlessly, the back of it touching between my shoulder blades. They lift it up, holding it in place, and Zoltan’s face looms in my vision.
“Is she going to be okay?” The words are barely above a whisper, but I know he hears me. He always has a glower on his handsome face whenever I speak.
“I want to kill you myself for doing something so stupid.”
And then he kisses the life out of me.
His mouth slams over mine, our teeth clashing when his tongue pushes past my lips. All my senses come to life, and my arms latch around him, my fingers clawing at his shoulders so much you’d think he is trying to get away. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting it to the side so he can ravage my mouth to his liking. I moan deep in my throat, the taste of him sending heat in my belly and wetness between my thighs.