Hadeon stands, his fists clenching at his sides. “Do not ask me questions I cannot give you answers for.”
“You can’t give them to me, or you won’t give them to me?”
“Both,” he says.
She stands too and takes his wrist in her hand. “Answer me this then, please. The night the Hound chased me, I heard it howling as though it was being slaughtered. I’ve not seen it again. Did you do that?”
His gaze drops to her fingers, which are wrapped tight around his wrist, and back to her face. “Did I what?”
“Did you kill it?”
He looks out at the view extending from the window into the moonlit night. “Yes,” he says, clipped.
She releases her grip and nods. “Thank you.”
Hadeon reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bracelet. “Hold out your hand.”
She does as he bids and he clasps the thick gold chain with a single round charm around her wrist.
He turns the charm over. A barcode is on the underside. “This will get you into the apartment whenever you need. You scan it at the front door, and again when you’re in the elevator.”
She nods.
“There are cameras everywhere. Security-alarmed locks on all the windows. No one can get in without the barcode. And even if they were to steal this charm from you, they still won’t get in because it also relies on facial recognition.”
Again she nods.
“You will also not be permitted into the apartment if you’re with any person other than me.”
“So no visitors?”
“Too risky,” he says. “At this stage, we don’t know who to trust. Matt…” She cringes upon hearing his name spoken so nonchalantly. “…was proof as to the lengths being taken. He even had me fooled. So no more casual sex.”
A blush creeps up her collarbones and imbues her cheeks with warmth. “Do you have to be so crude?” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at her feet.
“A safe is in your walk-in closet. This charm will work with that as well. You’re to secure the spell book in there at all times you’re not using it.”
Ariana peers back up at his face. “Why is it so important? The book?”
His forehead wrinkles. “You’ve seen what it can do, Ariana, and the information it holds. If that were to fall into the wrong hands…” He cuts his sentence short.
Ariana doesn’t want to hear more anyway, not while her nerves are tender and exposed. “I just have one more question,” she says as she flops back down onto the couch.
He mimics her body language and sits across from her. “Enough with the questions.”
“Or what? Seriously. We’re in this together.” She lowers her voice. “We are, aren’t we?”
He focuses solely on her, his attention never breaking. “Yes.”
She nods. “Just how much do you know?”
He takes a deep breath and she counts the long seconds until he says, “Enough.”
She lifts her palms in the air. “Not really an answer, but what more can I expect from you?”
He continues to stare at her, his forehead furrowed.
“I get the point. That’s the last of my questions.”
He arches an eyebrow.
“I promise. Now please tell me you have a stocked fridge and pantry, because I’m so hungry I could eat…” Her gaze lingers over the length of his body and that ever-present bounty of lust stirs deep inside. Ariana clears her throat as she stands. “Um. I could eat just about anything.”
The corner of his mouth curls for the slightest of moments. “I’ll see what I’ve got.”
* * * *
Ariana crawls under her sheets and pulls the covers high. She looks at her unfamiliar surroundings through the dark shadows. A sense of futility unravels for being displaced again. Nothing new there, another house in the long list of homes she’s had to exist in. The life of a child trapped in the system of foster care. Seems it follows one into adulthood too. And just when she felt like she was standing on her own two feet, not at the mercy of any other authority than her own.
Her chest aches as fine, clinging dust settles over her. She doesn’t want to breathe it in, but it invades her. The black gloom slides down her throat and leaches into her bloodstream. A tear rolls from the corner of her eye, down her cheek, wetting the pillow. Ariana’s scalp tingles as her two old enemies, purposelessness and meaninglessness, greet her. She hasn’t seen them for a while.
She turns her back on them, rolls over, and squeezes her eyes closed, but they sit on her chest and legs, weighing her down. Hadeon’s words sound in her mind. We’re all victims until we start to believe we are in control of our own destinies and then we become creators. Her enemies flicker and falter for a fleeting moment, but remain present.
I try, Hadeon. Truly I do.
* * * *
Ariana is surprised to see Hadeon in the kitchen on Saturday morning. For the past week, he has been away every night, arriving home around mid-morning to check to see that she is home and safe, then heading to bed for the day. And during that time, especially as she has been spending long moments in this apartment by herself with nothing to do but think, Ariana has grown more and more anxious to find answers. But every time she asks questions, Hadeon shuts down. She still doesn’t know why her best friend tried to kill her, or why she can suddenly perform magic. Nor does she know who or what Hadeon is or why he is helping her.
Hadeon is standing at the fridge, door open as he gathers eggs, bread, and milk from the shelves. He is wearing black sweatpants, his torso bare. He is broad and lean, such muscle definition. Powerful. But what thieves her attention are his tattoos. His back is covered in them—a prowling panther-like creature that is violently beautiful, words written in a different language, and bizarre symbols.
He faces Ariana, his dark brown eyes finding hers. His chest and stomach ripple with lean muscle and are covered with many more tattoos. Again, that menacing big cat is dominant on his abdomen. However, just above his hip, on his left side, he has a square of blood-soaked wadding taped to his flesh. His left eye is bruised, and his eyebrow is gashed. It looks like he’s hooked up with a wild animal.
She rushes toward him. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just a little flesh wound.”
“It’s bleeding though. A lot,” she says.
“It’ll be fine.”
“Have you been to the hospital?”
He shakes his head. “I told you, it’s fine.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying.” She looks at the blood-soaked bandage again, grabs his arm, ignoring how great his muscles feel under her fingers, and spins his massive frame. Dribbles of blood slide down his torso, from under the wadding, and wash his tattoos red. “Let me take a look.”
Ariana drags him up to her bedroom, lays a fresh towel on her bed, and directs him to lie upon it. She draws the wadding away and gasps. A chunk of meat has been torn from his side, like a set of sharp fangs has bitten away his flesh.
“What the hell did this?” she says, forehead furrowing as she studies the bite mark.
“Doesn’t matter now. It’s dead.”
“Right, good thing, because it sure looks like it wanted to eat you.”
He shrugs. “It tried.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” She touches a finger to the taut skin that circles the deep wound. She sucks air through her teeth and looks at his face. “Oh no, it wasn’t a…vampire, was it?”
Hadeon’s lips twitch and his dark brown eyes lighten in color. A grin creeps onto his face.
“What?” she asks, frowning.
“Vampire? Seriously?” He laughs then, loud and strong, direct from his belly. But his laugh is punctuated by winces, and when pain wracks his body, he quiets and groans.
“That’s what you get for laughing at me.”
“Well, don’t ask me ridiculous questions,” he says, voice straining. “Vampires.”
“What was it then?”
“A Sou
l Seeker.”
That means nothing to her.
“Look it up when you get a…” Hadeon moans, his face twisting with pain. The wound sizzles, sending a vapor into the air that smells like a dog bone left to rot in the sun.
“Arrgghh, fuck,” he says, gripping his side. “It must have been a female one.”
“What does that mean?”
“Quick,” he says, neck flexing, his hands gripping the towel beneath his body. “There’s a greenhouse on the roof. I need you to find a black-stemmed plant with a red, hand-sized flower that looks like a…” He trails off and roars like a hungry panther. His skin is turning white, and lines of sweat mist over his body. The wound hisses and steams. “A red four-leaf clover,” he manages.
Ariana nods. “Okay. You just…you just…”
“Go!” he yells.
She jumps to her feet, sprints to the door, and down the hall to the elevator. Using her charm, she activates the elevator and presses the level above. The doors open on the rooftop. The greenhouse is off to her left. She runs to it, yanks open the door, and stares, gaping at the amazing array of plant life. Not plants like she would expect to find in a greenhouse, but alien varieties in deep, rich colors, much different from customary flowers.
She runs along the rows, her gaze darting over each varietal, noting those that are red. In the third row, Ariana finds the one she’s looking for: knee-sized with thick, slimy black stems that twist in piglet tail rings. Gorgeous berry-red flowers with four large petals of silken texture rise from the stems. She breaks off one flower and starts back to the greenhouse door, but stops. How many will she need? She turns and scoops the entire pot into her arms and runs back out.
Ariana’s room reeks of fetid flesh and it makes her want to gag. Hadeon is panting hard on the bed. “I’ve got it,” she says, jogging to his side.
He opens his eyes. The pupils are so large that his eyes are almost black.
“Wet the petals. Stuff. Into. Wound,” he croaks, barely audible.
Her breath hitches as she looks at the bite. “Stuff them in there?”
“Just do it!”
“Okay. Okay.” She breaks off five flowers, races to the bathroom, and runs them under the tap.
Returning to Hadeon’s side, she sits on the bed and crushes the petals in her palm. With a trembling hand, she pushes the first one into the wound and snaps her finger away. The sizzling sound intensifies and Hadeon bows backward, his jaw clenching, his hands ripping at the towel until it shreds between his fingers like thin paper.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Ariana takes the next flower and pushes it into the wound. Then the next and the next until the hole is filled. With the final flower, she places it over the wound to act as gauze.
Hadeon twists and turns on the bed, his body dripping with sweat, each muscle tensing. His tattoos writhe along his skin. Ariana backs away toward the wall furthest from the bed. As she watches this strong, powerful man thrashing, her heart hammers hard and her knees tremble.
Hadeon soon stops straining. His body slows and calms. Muscles relax and his color returns. His jaw unclenches, and his lips and features soften. Eventually, he opens his eyes and finds her. He holds out his arm and beckons her to him with a wave of the hand. She pads to him and he takes her hand, entwining their fingers.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice grainy and weak.
She attempts a smile, but her bottom lip is trembling too much.
“We just need to leave the flowers for a while longer and let them draw all the venom out,” he says.
She nods, takes a seat on the bed next to him, and curls her legs underneath her.
He smiles again, and she can’t help but stare at his stunning face. His facial structure changes when he smiles, shifting from angry, primal features to ethereal in the passing of a second.
“You should smile more often,” she says, running a finger over his eyebrow where the open gash was earlier. Of its own accord, the cut has knitted together, leaving a puckered silvery-pink scar.
“I’ll try. Later. But right now, I’m just going to rest for a while.”
“Sure,” she says, and his eyes flutter closed.
Ariana pushes to her feet. She has too many questions about everything that is going on and not enough answers. Inside her walk-in closet on a far back recess is the safe. She uses her charm to unlock it and retrieves Spells and Such. Her fingers buzz as they wrap around it.
She sits on the bed next to Hadeon’s sleeping body and opens it to the beautiful picture of the palace and the cotton candy clouds.
Soul Seekers. As she thinks the words, the pages of the book flap upward, back and forth, until they land open and settle. Staring at her is the empty gaze of a Soul Seeker. A shudder slithers up her spine as though the spindly finger of the Grim Reaper has drawn a path along her skin. That is what this creature reminds her of, the Grim Reaper, though instead of a skeleton, the Soul Seeker has blackened, gaunt flesh. When she looks closer, she notices that its eyes are an endless nothing—a cavernous window to a blackened soul. The creature has two nostrils, but no nose, and a mouth with blackened lips and brown-stained, shark-like teeth. It wears long black robes, yet its frail fingers, with inch long browned nails, are visible.
“This is what bit you,” she whispers, peering at Hadeon’s peaceful face. She shudders again and reads the details the book offers on Soul Seekers.
Out from the putrid bog and choking mist
They rush with flapping coats that wrap
Around their fetid flesh all gaunt and rank;
The stench of rot—it clings like death to life.
Forlorn, the shrieks, so shrill, that hiss from mouths;
Lipless, with thorny teeth that gnash and clack.
These cravens seek the souls of those like you
By taking flight at dark to feed and bite
At flesh and spirit until life departs
And you are lost inside their hollow eyes
No more alive than long decaying bones.
He who is strong and brave, take glowing flame
And catch their floaty coats alight and watch
Them whirl and dance and soar until they explode
Engulfed in crackling, orange heat that singes
And flakes their flesh to chalky-pale cinders.
Or, she conversed in spells can cast the words,
Which trap their worldly frames forever more.
You must be bold and swift to kill the queen.
This Seeker—toxic venom oozing from
Her fangs. A bite that drops the strongest dead.
To leave her free is certain death for you.
A side note down the bottom of the page says they are demons, not natural born inhabitants of Fiore, and must be destroyed.
Fiore. It must be a place. Ariana recalls the reference from the Hound narrations. So what are native and non-native creatures of Fiore doing here?
Ariana rolls off the bed and strides to the window. She peers down at the streets, cars and people rushing back and forth—insignificant dolls in a dollhouse from up here. But among all that ordered chaos are obvious dangers lurking that are finding their way to her and Hadeon.
Ariana turns to look at him. He’s lying with his arms beside his body, the shredded towel under his back. According to the spell book, he should have died from that venomous bite—it was almost guaranteed. And what’s with the gash on his eyebrow, now almost healed? She creeps closer, crawls across the bed, and studies his face.
His eyelids snap open. With a whirl, she’s on her back with Hadeon crouched over her, his chest heaving, face twisted.
“Ariana?” he says, looking down at her. He springs off her and lands both feet on the floor. “You shouldn’t creep up on someone like that. I could’ve hurt you. Or worse.”
She sits up, crawls backward toward the head of the bed, and hugs her knees to her chest. Her heart is thumping. “Yeah, well you shouldn’t go all freakin’ psycho like that befo
re my brain can even register I’ve moved. How the hell did you do that? You move crazy quick.”
Ariana’s gaze wanders up the length of his hard body and over the concaves of his tattooed torso. His stomach muscles are rigid, pecs stacked, biceps bulging, and shoulders broad and defined. She rests her head back against the headboard, suddenly woozy.
“What are you? That bite…” She points to the red flowers which have turned into a gelatinous black paste across his side. “…should have killed you.”
“I’m what you need right now. That’s all you need to know.” He strides toward the door. “I need to wash these flowers off before they reinfect me.”
Ariana huffs as she watches him leave the room.
Well, if you won’t tell me what the hell is going on, I will find out for myself.
She creeps to her bedroom door, closes it quietly, and locks it. Back on her bed, she pulls the spell book onto her lap.
History of the spell book.
She stares at the page. The Soul Seeker still looks up at her, but nothing happens, no flapping pages this time.
Maybe it’s like a search engine and you have to use the best words to generate the right search.
Why do I have the spell book?
Nothing.
What is Fiore?
Again nothing.
She growls and slams the book shut. “I just want someone who can give me answers.”
The book flings open and its pages whirl through the air. Ariana gasps and pulls the book off her lap onto the bed. It lands on an open page, drenched in dark red-tinged clouds.
The only thing written upon the page is The Oracle. If you want her, you will find her.
Ariana jumps off the bed and stuffs the spell book back into the safe. She dresses in a pair of jeans and a black tank top, ties her hair up in a ponytail, and sneaks out of the apartment.
Chapter 6
Iron-gray tinged clouds smother the sun’s light, shadowing the neighborhood. But the chance of rain isn’t going to stop Ariana’s quest for answers. She jumps on the bus in front of the apartment and heads into the city. Why? She doesn’t know; she’s relying on intuition.
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