Mark of Betrayal

by A. M. Hudson

  The dog’s chest shook a little, his musty kibble breath making me cringe.

  I rolled over and looked into his pale blue eyes. “Did you just laugh, Petey?”

  He held eye contact, his tongue hanging out, but beyond that gaze was the kind of awareness I’d always seen there—like he was an old soul. “I wonder how you became his dog, Petey—Jason’s,” I said. “And I wish I could read your mind—wish you could talk to me about him.”

  Petey edged forward and licked my nose; I giggled, pushing him away by his collar.

  “I'm okay, boy. It’s just…well, I don't see him so much in my dreams now. It’s almost like I was left with a certain amount of memories, and now I've used them all up.” I thought about his sparkling green eyes, how I loved them in a different way to what I love David's—like they looked the same, but detained different truths. “It’s getting worse, you know—this…well, David just isn't who I thought he was, and I…” I couldn’t say it to Petey, because I wasn’t sure I’d figured it out in my own head yet. “Love means loving someone no matter what, right?”

  A low whine sounded in the back of Petey’s throat.

  “There are just so many things in David’s past that I still don't know, and I'm starting to wonder if I would love him if I knew them all. And him not speaking to me just leaves me alone with all this in my head, and I can't sort it out myself, Petey. I can't. I am the worst advice giver ever, and yet I'm the only one that can give myself advice about this.”

  The dog cocked his head; I looked down at his big, heavy paws, making impressions in my white quilt, then flopped onto my back and wound my hair around my fingertip.

  “If this was Emily I was speaking to, and she said, ‘hey, Ara, my husband was really cruel as a child and everyone who knew him as an adult cringes when they think of him,’ I’d tell her she should run, you know. That it’d only be a matter of time before that cruelty came out on her. But I love him.” I sighed, half waiting for Petey to tell me what to do. “I don't know. Maybe I just need to see him. Maybe when I look into his eyes and see the humanity I know is there, I’ll forget everything I've made him out to be in my mind while I’ve been here.” I sat up and jumped off the bed. “That’s it, Petey. I'm going to see him!”

  My iPod fell off the bed with the sudden movement; I grabbed it and pressed play on the David playlist, then opened Arietta’s dresser drawer, pulled out my hairbrush, lip-gloss and a few other travel essentials, stopping when a low growl sounded from behind me.

  I spun round to Petey’s bared teeth. “What? What’s wrong?”

  He didn't answer, so I turned back to continue gathering stuff, but the dog appeared beside me, snatching my hairbrush up in his teeth.

  “Hey! Give that back.”

  He leaped over my bed and ran across the room.

  “Get back here!” I climbed over the pillowy obstacle and darted after him. “I'm going, Petey. You can't stop me.”

  The white ball of fur dropped the brush between his paws and showed his teeth again, growling, probably attempting to look scary.

  “Argh. I'm not afraid of some overgrown marshmallow with a throat condition.” I stomped over and grabbed my hairbrush, all slimy and gooey, from the floor. “And what's it to you, anyway? You're a dog!”

  He sneezed at me, wiping his paw across the brow of his nose a few times.

  “Petey, I have no idea what that means.” I opened my bedroom door for him. “Now, get your fluffy tail out of my room and let me pack. And don’t think I won’t lock you outside if you show me those teeth one more time, Petey.”

  He trotted off, and I looked at Falcon, who leaned back, propping his foot on the wall as he folded his arms. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, and slammed the door. I can't believe I have to defend my plans to a canine. And what’s worse, Falcon definitely heard me say ‘pack.’ My shoulders dropped, my chest sinking with a sigh as I looked at the balcony; I’d have to jump if I was going to escape. And I’d have to move fast. Falcon was not born yesterday. I probably had about three minutes to get out of here.

  I took off on my right foot, the vamp speed knocking a small side table into the corner of an armchair as I passed, and appeared in my wardrobe, still in one piece, then scanned the shelves, top to bottom, for a suitcase or even a plastic shopping bag to stuff my clothes in. A handkerchief folded around a stick would even do. But, there was no need to go all Huckleberry Finn style, since my suitcase was on the top shelf.

  I took a leap toward it, with a little too much speed, and hit my head on the roof before falling back down on my butt in a pathetic heap. “Some vampire you are, Ara,” I said to myself. “Let’s hope you can land better when you jump off the third storey.”

  I clambered to my feet, dusting myself off, and looked up at the top shelf again.

  “I will get you,” I said to the troublesome suitcase; it scowled back down at me. “And when I do, I'm going to stuff you so full you won't be able to zip yourself up for a week without lubri—”

  “Need some help?” Mike asked, leaning on the doorframe; his brow arched, arms folded.

  Petey sat by his feet, his tongue hanging out over his smug dog-grin.

  “Dibber-dobber,” I snickered at the over-protective fluff-ball—the dog, not Mike.

  “What are you doing, Ara?” Mike asked. “Aside from holding one-sided conversations with inanimate objects.”

  “I'm going to see David.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Mike?” I slouched forward, skulking out of my wardrobe behind him. “Why?”

  “What's the point of us trying to protect our last hope if she's going to run off all by herself? What if Drake had a mole out there, just waiting for you to do something stupid?”

  “Well, I don't care. I'm still going to see David.”

  “Right. Come on.” He grabbed my arm.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To see Morgaine.”

  “Why?”

  “So she can talk some sense into you, since you seem to listen to her.”

  * * *

  “I say let her go.” Morgaine shrugged.

  “What?” Mike and I both said at the same time—undertones of a different sentiment, though.

  “Yeah. Mike, you heard what Arthur said yesterday. Drake’s not after her right now. He’s got other things going on.”

  “You talked to Arthur about Drake?” I said.

  “Yeah,” Morgaine said, as if this was old news.

  “So, what, he thinks we’re not in any danger?”

  “Not right now—apparently he’s not even in this country.”

  “See?” I folded my arms, grinning haughtily at Mike.

  “No!” Mike pushed my arms down from their fold. “It’s not safe.”

  “Well, I don't care what you say.” I folded them again. “You know I’ll go if I want to, and you can't stop me.”

  “Damn it, Ara.” He slammed his fist on the table, knocking Morgaine’s card tower over.

  “Oh. Mike?” she whined.

  “Sorry, Morg.” He looked back at me. “Ara, please, please just listen to me for once in your life, girl. Just once. I'm head of security for a reason. I don't believe it’s safe out there.”

  “Then come with me. It’s just for a few days, Mike. I just need to see him—tell him I love him.”

  Morgaine looked up at me then, her brow pulling at the centre.

  I glared at her, confusion moving the muscles in my face. “What, Morg? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Oh, um—” She slid her fingers across the table, collecting her cards in a bunch. “No reason.”

  I sunk back on my heels a little. The stress radiating off Mike’s body made even me feel tense. And I felt a little sorry for him, standing there, pinching the bridge of his nose, lacking comprehension for my convictions. If I could just put him inside my head, he’d see why this was so important. But I couldn't. And I couldn’t make
him want to understand either.

  I sighed, looking past him to the night sky, darkening the front of the manor. This was the first time I’d been in the Common Room, and I barely even noticed the cushy couches and the big open fireplace under the cloud of all my inner turmoil. The décor didn't match the Victorian style of the rest of the manor; this looked more like the lounge room at Vicki's house, but with a dining table in the middle of the room. “Mike, I'm sorry you disagree with me.”

  “I just don't see the point, Ara.” He shook his head, dropping both hands onto the table. “If I can’t make you listen to me, what’s the point?”

  “I do listen to you, Mike.” I touched his shoulder; he shrugged me off. “But I have to go see him. I can't rule a nation if my heart is broken.”

  He ran his hands through his hair, standing tall again.

  “Mike, please? I'm going. Please just support me.”

  “No. If you go, Ara, I—” He stopped, scrunching his fists in the air, then took a deep breath and disappeared.

  “Well,” Morgaine chimed, setting her pile of cards aside. “That went well.”

  “It’s too bad.” I spun on my heel and headed back to the corridor. “He can’t control me all the time. I'm not a little girl anymore.”

  “No, and you're not being truthful, either.”

  I looked away from her as she came up beside me. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Come on, Amara. Admit it. You want to see David again because you’re confused about how you feel.”

  “How I feel?”

  She blinked a few times, frowning as if concentrating. “I think you’re not sure if you love him anymore. What happened?”

  I stopped walking, dropping my arms by my sides. “I never said that.”

  Morgaine smiled. “You don’t have to.”

  “I just—” I see his face. When I think of him, I see his face—the boy in my dreams; he’s so angry, so bitter, and full of so much hate. I just—I can't…I can't find anything in my heart for him when I see him like that. And I… “I know I love him. I know I do.” I touched my chest. “But…”

  “Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Princess. You can't go see him.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I was stirring Mike.” She smirked. “He rises to the occasion every time.”

  I shook my head, smiling. “My God, you are a torturer, aren’t you?”

  She chuckled. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

  “So, why can't I go see him?”

  “Because he's not there.”

  “Well, where is he?”

  She pressed her lips together and leaned closer. “Right now, I don't know. But earlier today, he was here.”

  “Here? At the manor?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, my God.” I folded over slightly and looked around, as if I might spot him. “Is he crazy? Why would he do that?”

  “He was just checking in on you—he does that from time to time. I cover his scent for him.”

  “Cover it? With what?”

  “Garlic.” She grinned.

  “What does that do?”

  “You really don’t know much about vampires, do you?”

  “Morg,” I huffed, rolling my head to the side. “How does it work?”

  “Like a mask—it blocks the scent, leaving a rancid perfume. People will know someone’s been spraying it around, but won’t know why.”

  “So, how have I not noticed he’s been here? I’d have smelled him a mile off.”

  “Precisely why he only comes when you’re asleep.”

  “Asleep?” My jaw jutted forward. “He watches me while I sleep?”

  She laughed. “Trust me, he doesn't like being the creepy stalker, but he said he’d go mad if he didn't get to see you. So, if sleep-time is all he gets, he said that’s better than a padded cell.”

  All the disgust blew out of me in a short huff. “Okay, that’s kind of sweet. But I'm still mad. Why didn't he wake me—tell me he was here?”

  “He’s trying to figure things out too, Ara.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how he feels.”

  “He’s not sure?”

  “It’s more that he’s not sure how you feel about him. I think he can sense it, you know—your confusion.”

  “I'm not really confused,” I said.

  “Right. Of course you’re not. You never are.” She leaned on the wall. “But, I think he’s wondering if maybe you’ve moved on—in your heart. Like maybe he’s not enough for you.”

  “Why would he think that? I never said or felt anything like that.”

  Morgaine cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know those dreams you’ve been having?”

  “Dreams?”

  “About Jason.”

  “What do you know about them? I never told you about them, did I?” I went through my conversations with her.

  “No, you didn’t,” she said. “But David saw a few.”

  “What?”

  Morgaine flicked her cherry red hair and smiled. “When you sleep, you're not as good at that mind-block thing as when you're awake.”

  I sunk back and leaned on the wall across from her. “What…what did he see?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I—his childhood?” I tried.

  She shrugged, her shoulders staying up for a second. “I don't really know. All I know is that he’s pretty convinced you don't love him so much now, and that if he doesn't do something soon, he’s going to lose you forever.”

  I breathed out, touching my collarbone. “But, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve just got a lot of issues to work through. But I still love him.”

  “Then tell him that.”

  “How? He won't speak to me. He…he comes here and doesn't tell me. How am I supposed to even apologise for the argument we had?”

  “You know, this not speaking to you thing is for a reason. And it’s not what you think.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “He…he dug up some info on your family, and it’s bad news. That’s all I know.” She raised her hands before I could jump in with an inquisition. “He’s worried that, with you catching his thoughts sometimes, especially when you get…” she cleared her throat, “—hot, that you might see something he's not ready to tell you.”

  “But shouldn’t I know? If he knows something about me, he should tell me—I have a right to know, too.”

  “No. Not until he's sure. He doesn’t want you to be upset for no reason if it turns out to be wrong.”

  “If what does? What does he know?”

  “I don't know, Amara. He wouldn’t tell me. Look—” she touched my shoulder, “—have faith in him, for once. Just once, don't go looking for trouble. He will come to you when he's ready—”

  “No, he won't, Morgaine. You know he won't tell me if it’s something that’ll upset me. Please?” My voice quivered with desperation. “Morg? Please?”

  She rolled her eyes, at herself, I think, and exhaled. “Okay, look, all I can tell you is that…he took a DNA sample from you while you were sleeping and—”

  “He did?”

  “Yes.” She touched her thumb to her cheek. “Just a swab. But…he had it matched against your great grandmother—you remember that really old woman I discovered?”

  “Yeah, my mum’s grandmother.”

  “It wasn't a match. So, he fed her blood while she was sleeping—did that a few times and…nothing. She’s not Lilithian. And she’s not related to you—in any way.”

  “So…my mum wasn't really my mum?” I said quietly, already knowing that deep down inside.

  Morgaine shook her head. “I'm sorry, Amara.”

  “Me too,” I muttered, more to myself than her. “So…what about my dad, then? Is he actually my dad?”

  “I don't know. David wouldn't tell me that much. He’s very guarded about all this, Princess.”

  “Okay.” I nodded,
a little breathless. “So—”

  “So, for now—” she patted my shoulder, “—just know that he's checking in on you from time to time, and maybe you can leave him a note or something.”

  “No. Checking in on me is not good enough. He should have come to me. He should have told me all that.”

  “He will in his own time.” She turned me so I faced her, and held both my shoulders firmly. “Don't you bring this up with him, Amara. I told you that stuff in confidence. If you want him to trust me, he can't know I told you anything, or he will keep things from me, too. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Fine. But I'm still allowed to be mad at him for sleep-stalking me and not telling me he’s been coming here.”

  “Yes, you have every right.” She smiled and shook her head. “But he has to stop coming here anyway. The vamp-rebellion arrives tomorrow and then it’ll be impossible for him to get past the guards.”

  “Why?”

  “We have some very skilled trackers. One of the guys was our top vampire Scout; he will smell David, and he will know he's alive. Had the Scout been Lilithian, we could’ve risked him knowing about David. But, if he's a mole, then we could lose this battle before it’s begun. So, David promised not to come after tomorrow.”

  “Then I need to get upstairs and write a note for him.”

  “Okay. I’ll go tell Mike you thought about what he said and decided to listen to him,” she said as I walked away.

  “He won’t believe you,” I called without turning back.

  Dear spineless. No, scratch that. Dear annoying, no, not that either. Dear David. That’s better. Wake me when you come to spy on me. I need to speak to you. If you don't, I will file for divorce! No, scratch that. If you don't, I will cry myself to sleep for the next ten years. Love, Ara.

  There. I left the note on my nightstand, folded in half so it stood up like a name card on a wedding table, and retraced the letters on the front so it said, in bold, READ ME, then changed into a soft cotton nightdress and crawled into bed.

  Outside, the horizon turned darker over the ocean closer to the west, with a pale hint of the day to come seeping in from the east.