by Tanith Frost
A snarl, a shout. Sounds of fighting.
“We have to go,” I tell Violet. “She can only hold them off for so long even if they want her alive.”
Violet groans as if she’s in pain, then turns and races ahead of us down the path.
We’re well away before another gunshot rings out. I hope for a second that Violet didn’t hear it with her human ears, but she lets out a sob. Then her pace picks up, and she pulls away from us.
Not running from her duty now but toward the pack that will look to her for guidance and strength.
I brush my own tears away and follow.
23
Violet doesn’t say a word to us as we follow the path. Even when Edwin appears beside us—much to my relief—and points us in the right direction to find the others, she doesn’t stop.
“She looks pissed,” Edwin observes.
“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”
The three of us slow our pace slightly. Daniel’s limping, and I’m beaten up enough that I can’t tell anymore where or how I’m injured. Everything just hurts, and rushing makes it worse.
“You okay?” I ask Edwin.
“Nothing I won’t get over,” he says. His eyes are bright, his steps energetic. I’d call those good signs if I didn’t know they meant he must be in agony right now. But he’s here. He’s mobile. That’s more than some can say.
“Where the hell did they come from?” he asks.
Daniel stares grimly ahead. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
The remaining council members are waiting in the dark behind one of the many rough stone hills that cover what was once Taggryn’s territory. Most of them have tactical gear and warm coats, but I’m still standing here in Genevieve’s sweater and Ryder’s thin shirt. Clark managed to commandeer one of Ryder’s coats before he left the house, so he’s fine. He’s close to Miranda, talking on the phone.
The other vampires are standing huddled together save for Eoin, who’s lying on the ground. We head over to join them.
“… Absolutely ridiculous,” Crawley says. “Useless!”
“No,” Edwin says. “Not useless. When I had a werewolf beside me, the fight was far easier. Not easy—not with numbers like those on their side. But it worked.” He shrugs. “It just wasn’t enough.”
Eoin groans quietly. The source of her pain is clear. What’s left of her shirt is soaked in blood, and what’s missing reveals a gaping wound on her abdomen that Imogen is trying to bandage with a black shirt that someone has donated to the cause. There’s an ugly wound on her head, too, that I can’t look directly at without nausea socking me in the gut. Imogen looks completely overwhelmed.
“If I could just use magic,” she says. “I’ve never tried to curse an injury like this away like I would sickness, but maybe if you had less pain to deal with, or—”
“No.” Eoin tries to roll away but sucks in a sharp breath and rests on her back again. “No magic.”
She says it as if Imogen has offered to poison her.
Chester’s gone. We’re missing the Agonite I saw fall, and Ivan is nowhere to be seen. But most of the vampires got the hell out of there as soon as they could, leaving the rest of us to hold the enemy back and cover their escape. Most of us are fine.
They were following orders, and it’s good that they survived. So why am I so pissed at them?
Another of the Agonites approaches Miranda. “Was it worth it, then?”
Miranda gives him a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
He wipes away the blood that’s dripped down his forehead. “I mean, when Aviva was telling us all of this about powers and werewolves and everything, she mentioned that Lachlan had someone like her who could sniff out other powers.”
She narrows her eyes. “What’s your point, Sean?”
He swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. “What if that’s how they found us? What if having them around”—he jerks his thumb over his shoulder at Violet and the pair of werewolves standing with her—“led him right to us?”
“No,” I say though I sound more certain than I feel. “I doubt Bethany’s in any condition to be working if she’s still around at all.”
“Yeah?” Sean says. “You were sure about Lachlan, too, and from what Miranda has told us, it sounds like he’s doing just fine.”
I grit my teeth. “I never said I was sure about anything, especially Lachlan. You weren’t there. If you’d—”
“Enough,” Miranda says.
He’s wrong. I know he is. But most of the others, including Jia and Edwin, are watching me uncertainly as though maybe I did bring this upon us.
I pace a few steps away to calm myself and stop to take a quick head count. The werewolves may have been Irene’s priority, but she must have spread the word quickly among vampires as well. As for the werewolves, only Violet, Sasha, and one of the males remain out of the eleven who came. Sasha’s in tears, and Violet’s holding her. The male stands a few paces out, cradling one blood-soaked arm in his other hand.
The werewolves didn’t run. Either it’s not in their nature, or they couldn’t back down from a chance to take out some vampires.
Daniel looks up and follows my gaze. “Go help them,” he tells Imogen. “I can handle Eoin.”
I don’t see Odette, but she has to be here somewhere.
“So, what now?” Jia asks.
“Retreat,” Miranda says. “Regroup.”
Jia takes a step forward. The leader of the Agonites is usually hard to read, but now her fists are clenched at her sides, trembling. “We can’t abandon everyone who’s trapped in the city. We’re their only hope. We’ve lost Penelope, but Xavier is still there, and Yorick, and—”
“And if we go running in there without a plan,” Clark tells her, “Lachlan will finish us off before we’ve made it to the club floor.” He turns to Miranda as he slips his phone back into his pocket. “It’s arranged. He’ll meet us at the highway with transportation in twenty minutes. Furniture transport truck. We’ll fit everyone in the back and will be able to sleep on the drive. Wants to know where we’re going, though.”
“I will discuss that with him personally when he arrives,” Miranda says. “First I must speak to the enchantress.”
She disappears into the darkness. I’m about to follow when I sense Violet standing behind me.
“Wherever you’re going,” she says, “it’ll be without us.”
I steel myself for another argument and turn to her, but when I do, it’s clear that there will be no changing her mind. “What about Jerome and Derek?”
Violet presses her lips together. Anger flashes in her eyes. “If they’re not dead already, they will be soon. I’m not going to sacrifice Sasha and Remus for this, and I’ll be fucked if I’m going to have everyone else drive across the island so they can die for your cause. This isn’t what we came here for.”
“And what about Irene’s legacy?”
She bares her teeth at me. “This pack is my responsibility now, and this is my decision. Miranda can make all the promises she wants, but what good are they going to do us when Maelstrom falls? Or when your clan sacrifices every werewolf on the island to save yourselves? Two birds with one stone. Great deal for vampires.” She takes a long, slow breath. “We’re going home. We’re going to warn Alvin’s pack, and then we’re all going to get the hell off this island.”
“So you’re giving up. You’re just going to what, live on the run? There’s no safe place for you if Maelstrom falls.”
Violet shakes her head. “A life on the run is better than no life at all.” She looks toward the vampires. Clark, Edwin, and Daniel are all within earshot, and I have no doubt they’re listening. Crawley’s openly watching us. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this is a partnership, that they care as much about keeping my pack members safe as they do about saving vampires. That any one of them would give a damn if your enemies did the work your clan didn’t finish a hundred years ago.”
“I can’t.” I can�
��t meet her eyes again, so I look up at the cloudy sky. “You’re right. They hate you as much as you hate them. But we need your help to win this fight—and I do still think we can win. If that happens, everything changes for you, and all for the better.”
Violet snorts. “You really think Miranda would keep her word even if a few of us did survive?”
“I do.” I smile as I turn back to Violet, who gives me a confused look. “I wouldn’t say it about every vampire, but yes. If she’s given her word, she won’t go back on it if you uphold your end of the bargain. You’ll have your freedom, at least in her territory. And her protection. Irene thought it was worth the risk.”
“And now she’s dead because of it.” Violet’s voice has turned rough. She’s holding back tears. “Irene did what she thought was right. Now I’m doing the same. I’ll let you tell Miranda.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She looks away. “Take care of yourself, Aviva.”
I want to grab her and shake her, make her see that we need them—that I can’t take care of myself on my own, that Lachlan will hunt them down after he’s rid of us, that she has to stay. But she’s not wrong. It isn’t her job to give a damn about vampires when her pack is at stake.
“You, too.” I tell her. “I hope you find some place safe.”
She returns to what’s left of her group. Imogen has finished whatever work she was doing for Remus, and she watches, confused, as Violet puts an arm over Sasha’s shoulders and the three werewolves head toward the highway.
As for me, I have no choice but to return to my own kind. Hot rage pools in my stomach as I spot Crawley, who never hid his desire to see werewolves extinct and would have helped Viktor do just that if I hadn’t disrupted his plans. It’s not just him, though. It’s all of us who are too fucking stubborn to admit we might need help, too selfish to care about anyone outside of our species unless it benefits us directly, too arrogant to believe that maybe we still have a lot to learn about the supernatural world we feel so entitled to control.
… And too fucking stupid and proud to take the risks needed if we want to win our territory back.
It’s our fault we’re in this position. It’s not too late to change things, but that’s not my decision to make.
I need to talk to Miranda.
“The werewolves are gone.”
Odette and Miranda, who were speaking quietly and intently, both turn to me. I’m interrupting. I don’t care.
“You’ll be comfortable travelling with us?” Miranda asks Odette as though I haven’t spoken.
Odette laughs. “Comfortable? Hardly. But I suppose you’ll be taking a risk having us there when you’re asleep. We’ll all have to trust each other.” She gives me a sharp nod as she passes.
Miranda turns her back to me, hands clasped behind her, looking out over the ocean.
“Did you hear me, Miranda?”
“I did. I doubt there’s anything I can do to convince the werewolves to stay if you were unable to do so.”
I step closer. “And you’re okay with this?”
Miranda rubs the tips of her fingers together. It would be insignificant if she were a creature more prone to fidgeting and unnecessary movement. In her, it reads as agitation. Or maybe irritation.
“I am okay with nothing at the moment,” she says, allowing the darkness of the void to enter her voice as it rarely does, giving the words weight and power in spite of her outward calm. “We’ve lost our key weapon and can’t be sure that our backup will work. The enemy holds the city, as well as half our clan’s members, and has locked himself inside the virtually impenetrable fortress we created to use against threats like him.”
The word virtually seems to stick in her throat.
I step forward again to stand beside her. Even with no moon or stars to highlight the waves, the ocean is beautiful. Vast, overwhelming. It’s sort of comforting to know that it will continue to exist regardless of whether we do or not.
“It should have been impenetrable, shouldn’t it?” I ask. “There was the other entrance, but—”
“Exit,” she corrects. “Impossible to open from the outside even if someone knew where to look, which few do. And guarded from within though most guards didn’t know why they were sent to keep watch there.”
“So someone had to have let Tempest in.”
“Just as someone had to have told Lachlan where to find us tonight.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “Unless you think they may have followed the werewolf power?”
“No.” I’ve already been over it in my head several times since Sean brought it up. “I certainly couldn’t track them that way. Bethany’s older than me. She’s had more time to work out her gifts, but… No. Not at that distance. Not in the condition she’s probably in now if she made it out at all.”
“Then we’re left with the likelihood that we have a traitor in our midst—no one imprisoned in the city would have known where to find me. So tell me, whom do I trust now? Whom do I listen to when they offer counsel?”
“I couldn’t have told anyone about the door,” I say though I’m unsure of what she wants to hear. “I didn’t know where it was.”
“Yet you seem to have ways of learning secrets you have no business knowing. And you don’t work alone, do you? Tell me, where was Daniel when the invaders entered?”
I turn and gape at her. “You’re not seriously suggesting he would have let them in. He’s proved—we’ve proved—our loyalty. If we hadn’t come back from Tempest and warned you…”
“Then we’d have been caught unprepared for the zombie threat but would have had our defences concentrated underground, preparing for an invasion. Your warning helped us contain the secrecy breach, but it played right into Lachlan’s hands later.” She steps closer, and I back away. “You spent time in Tempest. Got close to him, didn’t you?”
I swallow hard. “I did, but—”
“Against all odds, you escaped. And now this.” Though I know I’m innocent, it’s hard not to tremble under the chill of her eyes, which look entirely black on this dark night. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Aviva. Nor am I accusing Daniel, though he was underground at the time of the invasion and knew exactly where the exit door was.”
I open my mouth to answer, but no words come out. I trust Daniel. I know he wants to save this clan. But would Miranda feel the same if she’d heard him speak truthfully not so long ago about how he hated Maelstrom?
“He’s told me all of that,” she says quietly as she rubs her finger across the smooth skin of her brow. “The question is how genuine his recovery has been and whether he has grown powerful enough to shield deeply buried truths from me. So I ask you again—who among us can I trust?”
I shift my weight to one leg—it hurts more there but eases the strain on the other for the moment. And I shrug. “Fuck if I know. I could tell you to trust me because you made me. Your experiment shaped me into what I am.”
“And what is that, exactly?” She sounds genuinely curious.
“A vampire who sees things differently because I didn’t have time to get sucked into all of the vampires first bullshit that apparently permeates every level of every clan on Earth. One who, I think, wants the same things you do—freedom to explore, to do things differently, to understand threats and anomalies before we follow through on our species’ knee-jerk instinct to destroy them… And one who likes existing in a world where weakness can be tolerated until it has a chance to become strength, where value doesn’t lie only in natural power but in what we choose to do with what we have. And more importantly, thanks to your little experiment, I have my own reasons for wanting those things.”
She raises an eyebrow, but remains silent.
“You made me an outsider, Miranda. I want what you want because I decided for myself what’s important, not because I think saying or believing the right thing is going to earn me points with you or anyone else.”
“But the freedom I’ve offered allows you
to choose to turn against me,” she says, reasonably enough.
“Sure. So don’t trust me. Don’t trust Daniel even though he went through hell and came back to keep fighting so other members of this clan wouldn’t face the same.” The bitterness and spite I heard in his voice when he made his accusations against Miranda back in Tempest threaten to surface in my mind, and I push them aside. “Don’t trust Clark, who puts your wishes above everything else and has served you faithfully for decades.” I want to add because he’s an ass, but there’s no place for personal grudges here. “Don’t trust Raymond, whose last words before Lachlan took his tongue were to tell me not to betray you.”
I step between her and the ocean and stand facing her, forcing myself to look into those fathomless eyes. “Trust yourself. If your experiment taught me anything, it’s that. Rely on others if you need to. Seek counsel and guidance, but then trust your gut and know when to pull the trigger.” I don’t try to hide the anger in my voice. She could feel it in me if she wanted to, and above all, I want her to know I’m being honest right now—not holding back to please her or keep myself safe.
“You disapprove of my actions, Aviva?”
I ignore the threat in her voice. “Of your inaction, yes. Goddamn it, Miranda. I admire you. You scare the shit out of me, but I respect you. I’ve seen the outcome of Lachlan’s absolute rule and lack of limits or accountability, and I vastly prefer your methods. But you’re so intent on being fair that you’re letting ignorant shitheads hold you back.” I gesture toward the path and the rift beyond it. “You’ve personally felt the benefits of magic. You knew it could help us. If you’d listened to everyone’s opinions and then told them ‘thanks, but shove it up your ass’ and told Odette and Imogen to get to work opening the rift, we could have had protections before our enemies showed up. We could have had magic, and that could have weakened them when they came. Maybe more of us would have survived. Maybe we’d still have Irene and the werewolves on our side.”
Miranda’s upper lip curls, showing a hint of one fang. She’s not used to being talked to like this—not by someone so far beneath her, anyway. I assume she’s heard a thing or two from Trent since his return.