A Game of Risk

by Bella Forrest

  Orlando

  It was torture watching Grace. On more than one occasion, I wondered if I could even stand to continue sitting by. It was like watching a flower rot, a rare and beautiful bird lose its feathers, one by one. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Like watching a train wreck, I committed myself to staying until the very end.

  I had all but lost hope that Ben would return before her transformation was completed.

  Her fate was, in many ways, even worse than mine. Whatever the IBSI had messed up in my body, it would not cause me to turn into a Bloodless. Instead, my organs would just slowly shut down and I would die. A straightforward and hopefully not too drawn-out death.

  I held Grace’s hands when I could—when there weren’t others holding them. And although she was in and out of consciousness, I could’ve sworn I felt her squeeze it at one point, reassuring me that she was aware of my presence.

  I wished that there was something I could do to stop her fading. I had already lost Maura. If I lost Grace too, it felt like I would be all alone in the world. Alone and waiting to die.

  When Ben arrived, everyone’s relief was tangible. We all waited with bated breath as he fed his daughter the formula. And then everything came crashing down quicker than I could have ever expected. We were forced to race out of the room, though the vision of Grace launching at her own mother would remain etched in my mind for a long time.

  What had happened? What had Ben fed her? Had he gotten it from Lawrence? I even wondered if perhaps that guy had deliberately sent along the wrong thing—maybe he wasn’t to be trusted, as Grace and everybody else seemed to trust him. He was the son of Atticus after all, wasn’t he?

  We waited outside the hospital door, listening to the sounds of Grace screeching and struggling as her father worked to pin her down. Lucas went in for a while, and then Ben called out to the witches. “We need a cage for her!”

  Corrine moved inside, and I caught sight of the room before he slammed the door shut behind him: Ben wrestling with Grace while she lashed out, trying to catch her father with her claws.

  After Corrine performed her magic, creating a cage with semi-transparent blue bars, she controlled Grace’s limbs and trapped her inside.

  We all dared enter again, circling the cage in horror.

  I gazed into her small, dark, almost black eyes—eyes that were completely devoid of the shining turquoise they had once been. Her skin was paper-thin, drained of all warmth, like a corpse’s. Her lips had shriveled, her nose receded completely.

  How could there be any coming back from this?

  Grace… are you still in there?

  Grace

  It was the strangest feeling. Even as my limbs erupted in agony, my thoughts remained. My brain had not turned to mush. I was conscious of my former self.

  But as I tried to communicate with my family, gathering around the magic cage Corrine had created around me, I almost wished that I had gone numb. That I had turned into a vegetable and forgotten everything about my previous life. I wished I didn’t even recognize my family, that they were nothing but sacks of blood to my mind as well as my body. Their expressions as they stared at me were those of utter horror and gut-wrenching despair. My mother had broken down, while my father—my poor father… he’d had to wrestle me away from her. I had tried to attack her. All of my family. If he hadn’t stopped me, my mother might not even be alive right now, at least not in her current state. She could be a Bloodless like me.

  My thoughts and actions had become entirely disjointed, so much so that it felt like my body was no longer my own. It was dictated by impulses beyond my control. There was nothing I could do to stop the all-consuming thirst for blood.

  As I caught sight of my fully transformed body in the mirror, I let out a scream, but I ejected merely a low grunt. My noseless face didn’t even have a place in my worst nightmares. I looked and felt like a corpse, nothing but skin and bone, and so, so cold. But worse than anything was the craving. Like I had been starved yet somehow kept alive to suffer for a hundred years. The expression on my skeletal face was manic, haunted, demented. My body was crying out for blood. Anyone’s blood. Even the vampires’ blood so close to me smelt like the most delicious thing in the world right now. I barely even scented its bitterness. My limbs launched themselves at the sides of the cage, only to bounce back immediately. A piercing screech erupted from my throat, chilling the very core of me.

  I had heard of the horrors of turning into a normal vampire from my father, who’d had it particularly bad. He had described what the craving for blood felt like, how for him, there had been simply nothing he could do to keep himself from attacking and slaughtering humans for their vital force. But he’d had an excuse for that. He’d been possessed by an Elder. Bloodless weren’t possessed by spirits; it was their mere biology which forced them to attack—the urge was unfightable, compared to what it was for a normal vampire. Biology which overpowered any and all efforts of the mind.

  I wondered if all Bloodless retained their thinking after turning. Whether they all went through this torture. Or maybe my being a half-fae made a difference in my turning compared to others.

  It didn’t matter. I couldn’t articulate my thoughts anyway. My mind and soul were locked inside this monstrous being.

  Whatever my dad had fed me had sped the entire turning process up. He had looked so confident that it would cure me. What had happened? Why hadn’t it worked? What formula had he fed me, if it wasn’t the one? Where was Lawrence? Was he okay? Dammit. I wished I could ask my father these questions now, as he stood so close to my cage. I would’ve given anything in this moment to just be able to say a few simple words to my family and everyone around me—to assure them that I wasn’t fully gone. At least, not yet. To tell them that my mind was still present. That I could still remember. I could think the way I always used to think.

  If I could’ve somehow communicated that, I was sure that it would have lessened their plight.

  And what was going to happen now? If what my father had fed me hadn’t been the cure, what was? How much longer was I going to have to remain like this? Would I ever escape?

  As I gazed around each of the familiar faces surrounding me, my eyes rested on Orlando. His large brown eyes were gazing soulfully back at me. I could practically see the questions swirling behind them. Was I really gone? Was there nothing more left of me?

  My heart ached for him. There had barely been a minute when he hadn’t been by my side in the past twenty-four hours. He hadn’t wanted to leave my bedside, even though I knew how painful it was to watch me continue to spiral downhill with each passing hour. He had remained alongside me with my mother and the rest of my family, and there had even been a few minutes here and there when he’d been alone with me. Although I’d been lost in pain, I had not been too far gone to notice his hand holding mine, the occasional reach of his palm to my forehead to check that I was still all right… or as all right as I could possibly be in my state.

  He couldn’t have known how much his, and all of my family’s, support meant to me. And now, it felt like I was repaying them in the most horrific way possible.

  “Grace?” Orlando mouthed.

  I breathed in the young man, even his sick blood calling to me. If there weren’t invisible bars between us, I would be on top of him already, digging into his throat, sucking the life force out of him.

  Stay away from me, Orlando. Stay away. You’ve suffered enough hurt already. He had come so close. I feared I might lash out through the bars and catch his eye.

  I caught sight of my father speaking frantically with my grandfather and Ibrahim. He was holding a phone in his hand—a phone that I did not recognize and was sure did not belong to him.

  “We need to track her down,” my father was saying. “I have her number.”

  His words meant nothing to me. Track who down? What number? What’s happening? I screamed again in my head.

  Then, slipping the phone into his pocket, my fat
her turned to me and approached the cage. He bent down to my level and I was once again filled with the urge to yell at him to stay back as my extended razor-sharp claws thrashed at the cage. They were all gathering too close for comfort. My father was a fae, but I felt the all-consuming urge to attack him all the same. To taste him, even if his blood would bring me no satisfaction.

  I had coughed out so much blood in the past twenty-four hours that there was barely a drop left running through my veins. During my next coughing fit, which I suspected would occur soon, I would likely cough out the rest. That would leave my body even more desperate to take a drink.

  How long can I last, with my body and mind so in discord with each other? How long would it be before I went insane? I was sure that it was only a matter of time. There was no way a person could survive this kind of psychological trauma with their mental faculties intact. It terrified me how clear a picture I could already paint for myself about what would happen. The more I gave into my body’s urges, the more I would become aligned with them mentally. I would start believing—and feeling—that they were my own urges. Emanating from me, not my body. I would lose awareness of my former self. My thoughts would blur. And gradually I would sink into the animalistic state every other part of me had already adopted… Maybe that was what happened to everyone who turned into a Bloodless. They started off their heinous second lives with their former minds still attached, and losing them was the final, metaphysical transformation.

  “Grace.” My father spoke, his voice breaking through my thoughts. “Can you hear me?”

  Yes, Dad. I can hear you. I wish that you could hear me.

  “If you can understand me, Grace…” he managed. His voice sounded weak, and to my horror, I realized that the corners of his eyes were moistening as he gazed at me. I had never seen my dad cry. And in this moment, I didn’t think my heart could take it. He sucked in a breath, reeling in his emotions. “You’re going to stay here, safe in The Shade, and we’re not going to stop until we get you back.”

  “You haven’t lost me yet,” I was desperate to cry out. And I can understand you. I can understand you! Please, just get me out of here. Before I cross the final line.

  Derek

  I retreated from Grace’s room with Ben and Ibrahim, while the others stayed inside. Many of them mourned as though we had already lost the girl.

  I could see that it was taking my son all that he had to not break down himself. He knew that he had to remain strong, and I tried to assist him in that by keeping my own demeanor calm.

  Ben had raised the doubt already that maybe Lawrence had deliberately given the wrong formula. But my son could not quite bring himself to believe it. Although I barely knew the lad, I couldn’t either. It was more likely that Atticus had somehow figured out Lawrence’s plan and slyly intervened, causing his son to deliver a concoction to us that would not only not save Grace, but speed up her deterioration.

  Ben was holding Lawrence’s phone in his hands, browsing through the contacts. Thank God he had forgotten to give it back to the boy. Scrolling to the most recent calls, he brought up Dr. Finnegan’s number. She was a scientist whom Ben believed held answers.

  “I need to make a call,” he said, bringing the number to the screen. “And it’s best that I make it from Lawrence’s phone. Ibrahim, can you take us outside the boundary?”

  Next thing we knew, the three of us were standing on an islet beyond the borders of The Shade. Lawrence’s phone was not charmed like mine and some other council members’ were, and thus could not make contact with the outside world while within the island. Ben pressed dial and held the phone to his ear.

  Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

  No answer after twelve rings.

  He tried again.

  Still nothing.

  We waited for five minutes and tried again. Then ten minutes. No luck. She wasn’t picking up. We even tried from my phone, with no difference.

  “We can try again in an hour,” I suggested. “In the meantime, let’s head back to the island.”

  Ibrahim transported us back to the hospital, arriving outside Grace’s room. As we were about to return inside, to my surprise, my phone sprang to life. I reached for it, and on the screen flashed an unfamiliar number. Someone calling from the outside world. Dr. Finnegan calling back? There were only a very few number of people who had my number—Fowler having been one of them. But after he had fired us, I’d had no contact from him since.

  “Hello?” I said, pressing the phone to my ear.

  “Hello?” a female voice responded. She had an Australian accent.

  “Who is this?” I asked, freezing.

  “J-Jennifer Thornton. Is that Derek Novak?”

  My heart sank at her reply. Jennifer Thornton… Thornton. That surname sure rang a bell.

  “Yes,” I said. “That’s me.”

  “You knew my husband… He was the IBSI official in charge of Australia and the Philippines.”

  Of course I knew that man. I’d killed him, back in The Trunchlands. The way he had behaved in those last few seconds of his life—laughed in my face as he had been letting out his last breath—still haunted me even now. The words he had spoken…

  “You think you know what you’re doing, don’t you? You think this is how you will solve Earth’s problems, right? Bring peace? You’re clueless, Novak. So bloody clueless.”

  Why was his widow calling me?

  “Yes,” I replied. “How did you get my number?”

  “I… would rather not say too much on the phone. But I want to talk to you. You and TSL’s co-founder.” That meant Ben.

  I frowned down at the phone, wondering if this call was actually genuine.

  “It’s important,” she went on. “I assure you. I’m in New Zealand, Auckland. I know that you have the means to travel much faster to me than I could travel to you. Could I request a meeting? Please.”

  Ben was standing close enough to me to hear what she was saying even though the phone wasn’t on loudspeaker. He stared at me, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes. He shrugged. “Why not?” he whispered.

  I nodded. If she was Thornton’s wife, then she might’ve been involved with the IBSI herself. We would take Ibrahim with us for protection in case this was some kind of trap. I didn’t see the harm in going.

  “What is your address?” I asked her.

  I put the phone on loudspeaker so that we could all hear it clearly, Ben punching it in on Lawrence’s smartphone as she recited it.

  “Is that your home address?” I asked.

  “No. But I’ll be there all day tomorrow. Could you see me by then?”

  Catching Ibrahim and Ben’s eye, I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “We’ll be on our way now.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Then the line went dead.

  I wondered if she knew that I had been the one who murdered her husband. If she did, she had a lot of courage to be requesting a meeting with me.

  “Maybe she has information that could help us,” Ben said. “Maybe she even knows Finnegan… In Thornton’s final moments, he didn’t exactly seem besotted with the organization he was supposed to have dedicated his life to, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t,” I said, recalling the memory. He had seemed quite jaded. Bitter, almost.

  All I knew was that we had to pray that this unexpected call was a silver lining.

  Ben, Ibrahim and I ran to our wives. Sofia had been holding River as they gazed into the cage at Grace, who was still thrashing angrily at the bars, frustrated that we were so close and yet out of reach for her to take a bite. I informed Sofia where we were going. She, River and Corrine opted to stay, but urged us to hurry back as soon as we could. We still had Hawks hanging around by the Port, waiting for my next instruction, but I couldn’t think of them now.

  As Ibrahim vanished us from the hospital, my mind returned to Atticus. Mr. Atticus Conway. Words could not express the loathing I felt for that man. He made Thornton seem lik
e a kitten. My fists balled just thinking about what I would do to him if he ever crossed paths with me again…

  That man had better hope he never does.

  Ready for the PENULTIMATE book of “Season 4” of the Novak clan’s story?

  Twisting fates and colliding hearts...

  Dearest Shaddict,

  The next book, A Shade of Vampire 31: A Twist of Fates is the penultimate book in what has been “Season 4” of the A Shade of Vampire series, as we move toward the thrilling finale in Book 32!

  A Twist of Fates releases August 3rd, 2016.

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  Thank you for reading.

  I will see you again very soon, back in The Shade!

  Love,

  Bella xxx

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  Read More by Bella Forrest!

  A SHADE OF VAMPIRE SERIES

  Series 1: Derek & Sofia’s story

  A Shade of Vampire (Book 1)

  A Shade of Blood (Book 2)

  A Castle of Sand (Book 3)

  A Shadow of Light (Book 4)

  A Blaze of Sun (Book 5)