“Lady Jydda, I--”
She cut off the younger, blond one, her hand held in the air between them. “I don't want to hear it. Open the door!”
The men obviously were undecided what to do, but the venomous look she shot at them produced results. She noted that the older one was muttering something into his microphone. It didn't matter. She didn't need much time.
Her gaze settled on the exceedingly plain girl in front of her. She gritted her teeth to keep from sighing in disgust. Jydda flowed sinuously across the floor and sank gracefully into one of the chairs, blowing past the girl as though she weren't even there. “Do you remember me?” She kept her voice purposely bland.
The girl walked slowly into her view, her fists clenching and relaxing. Good. “How could I forget you?”
Jydda allowed a small smirk to cross her face. The girl would have to learn to control her emotions. Sliding one of the expensive heels off her foot, Jydda extended it toward the girl. “My feet hurt. Massage them.”
Anger flushed the girl's face. She was microscopically attractive when she got riled. Jydda could see the muscles bunching in the girl's face, her jaw clenching to the point of pain. After struggling, the girl uttered, “No,” in a low voice.
Jydda was on her feet in a flash, the shoe quickly slipped back in place. She'd been expecting this. “Excuse me?” She kept her voice low, dangerous. “Would you like to try that again?”
Awkwardly, the girl stepped toe to toe with Jydda, forced to look up at her. “No!” Her voice was louder. That meant she was loosing control.
Jydda leaned in closer, never raising her voice above a low murmur. “You will not speak to me like that.” She slapped Integrity harshly with the back of her hand. Interesting, it didn't knock the girl to the ground. “You are nothing. I can destroy you like that.” She snapped her perfectly manicured fingers.
The girl's heart rate had increased, her pulse throbbing in her throat. “What is your problem?” Her control slipped enough that spittle flew from her mouth.
Jydda dragged one hand slowly across her jaw, wiping the girl's spit from her face. The girl shifted back from her, just a hair's breadth. “You have no manners, pig. Perhaps I should tutor you.”
“You couldn't teach me anything!” the girl spat back. “If you wanna do this, then bring it!” Her hands raised defensively in front of her.
A sharp, harsh bark of laughter blew from Jydda's lips. “Please. Big words. Do you really want to fight with a vampire?”
It was the girl's turn to scoff. “Vampire, huh? Do you get a pretty white coat and a padded room to go along with that fantasy?”
Jydda hissed and raised a hand to strike the girl once more. It took a moment for her to realize that she had not hit the girl. She looked and saw a large hand gripping her wrist tightly. Evan. She opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off.
“Leave, Lady Jydda. You have no right to be here.” His eyes never cut to the girl. She had his undivided attention. She dropped her eyes, playing up the long lashes. “Now, Lady.”
When she started to pull her hand free, his grip loosened. She slowly took her hand back, trailing her fingers lightly up his palm to the underside of his arm, before walking silently from the room, completely calm. She heard the pathetic girl thank Evan, actually thank him. A wide smile spread across her face at his sharp response.
“I didn't stop her for your sake. You mean less than nothing to me. You can die for all I care.”
Đ
Integrity had a hard time falling asleep that night. Her thoughts were consumed by Evan and his rudeness. She'd expected the woman, Jydda, to attack her again. She'd done it in front of an audience, so why not in privacy? But what about Evan? Where did he get off, telling her to die? What had she ever done to him? Stinking stuck-up clod, she thought bitterly.
Sleep must have overtaken her at some point, despite her tossing and turning, for she recalled waking up. The blankets and sheets were separated and twisted claustrophobically around her. She struggled with them for several moments before she was able to prop herself up on an elbow. She visibly jumped when her eyes locked on the man at the foot of the bed.
Uncharacteristically rude, she grunted, “What are you doing here?” Her hands automatically tried to smooth her bed head, but she forced herself to stop. I don't care what he thinks. I hope I look like Medusa!
Evan sat and stared at her, his expression completely unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was bored, intent, happy, sad, or crazy. He just sat there and didn't respond to her inquiry. Nervous, she started flattening her hair again, wondering if God answered prayers for beautifully tousled hair. Stop it! she chastised herself. She kept her gaze wandering, doing her best to appear unconcerned with his presence. Unable to keep that charade up for long, she stood and walked to the bathroom, purposely keeping her back straight and her chin high.
“Now what?” she muttered to herself, after closing the door behind her. She took as long as she could to brush her teeth and hair, hoping against hope that he would get bored and leave. As she flossed meticulously, it occurred to her that the longer she spent in the bathroom, the more likely he was to think she was using the bathroom. Horrified, she rinsed her mouth, grateful that the bathroom's fan didn't kick on automatically, and threw the floss toward the garbage can. She hesitated at the door. “Please let him be gone, please let it be a bad dream,” she whispered, closing her eyes in concentration.
She opened the door slowly, pressing her head against the door jamb to peer out of the crack. He was still there. She started to shut the door again, but, realizing it wouldn't help anything, forced herself to open it and stalk back out. Crossing her arms defensively across her ribcage, she asked, “Well?”
Evan had dragged one of the armchairs near the window, facing the foot of her bed. One ankle was casually resting on the opposite knee. He looked at her. She thought she saw his eye tic, but shrugged it off. He uncrossed his legs, then smoothed the legs of his pants with his hands, hiking himself up in the chair. Finally, he spoke. “I'm confused.” Looking back at her, seeing her expression, he clarified, “By you. You confuse me.”
Integrity clenched her fists under her arms, feeling the sweat on her palms. “What's that supposed to mean? Am I supposed to apologize?” She tried to keep her tone biting, but she was knocked off balance by his words, and her voice reflected that. She swallowed hard, mad at herself.
“You think we are all crazy.” It was a statement, not a question, though he did raise one eyebrow. “That confuses me.”
Integrity scoffed, throwing one hand in a disgusted gesture. “What else am I supposed to think? You think you're a bunch of vampires!” She could feel her pulse racing dangerously fast, and she tucked her shaking hand back under her opposite arm. Her brain was sending panic signals, telling her to shut her trap before she got herself killed, but the lack of sleep was messing with her self-preservation and she didn't really care if he flipped out and killed her. Evan stood swiftly, and she took a step back. Okay, so maybe I care a little.
There were only inches between their faces, his leaning toward hers as he stared at her intently. “You don't believe in vampires?” His voice had lost its cool edge, although his volume remained constant. Integrity was finding it hard to breathe, as though the oxygen quality around her had dropped drastically. Before she could respond, Evan spun on his heel and stalked to the door, throwing it open. Without a word, he turned back around and walked toward her once more. He stopped several feet from her, and she found she could breathe easier.
She saw, over Evan's shoulder, that both Bowman and Paul were entering the room, dragging a person each. She knew instinctively who they were, before she could even be aware of it. “Mom!” she uttered, stumbling forward. Evan stepped toward her menacingly, and she stopped. She tried to force herself to keep moving forward, to defy the man in front of her, but her body wouldn't respond. Her gaze returned to her parents. From the way her dad was clutching his gut and her
mom was ministering to him, she figured they had tried to get to her and been stopped. She felt ill. Sure, Bowman was her prison guard, but he had always seemed decent. Why would he attack her dad like that?
Her gaze flickered to Paul. Though he was holding her mom's arm, he appeared uncomfortable, almost undecided. Paul's grip looked fairly relaxed, and the look on his face was not anything like Bowman's stoic, businesslike expression. But, still, why wasn't Paul standing up for her dad? He couldn't fight back. Bowman had punched a defenseless man.
Her roving gaze took in the fact that her parents' hands were bound with little plastic strips. Just like the kind mom always used to close the turkey bag on Thanksgiving. Integrity could feel the bile rising in her throat. If I move too much, it's going to slosh over, she thought, detached.
Evan spoke, and her gaze flashed back to him. “You don't believe in vampires, huh?” His voice was derisive, mocking. “Bet I can change that.”
Watching the change that was coming across Evan's face, Integrity had to clutch desperately at the armchair he had been sitting in. I didn't think my knees could shake this much. Is this supposed to be a Three Stooges movie? She wished that her vision would blur, that the colors would smear together, but she could see everything in sharp relief. The sneer on Evan's lips never changed as every ounce of color drained from his face. His skin looked fake, dry and waxy. His lips changed an awful blue color, as though he had suffocated, while the pupils of his eyes spread rapidly to cover his entire eye, even the part that should have been white. The bile rose in Integrity's mouth, she could taste the acid, but she swallowed forcefully and forced herself to stand up again. He couldn't know how badly he had shaken her.
“Okay, I'll admit that's creepy.” Her voice shook, along with the smile she plastered across her face. She opened her mouth to speak, not sure what she could say, but Evan cut her off.
“You think that's creepy? Just watch.”
Integrity had never been aware that blood had such a distinct, overpowering odor. No wonder hospitals have to use such stinky cleaner to cover up that. Unaware of her body, Integrity only knew she had collapsed by the angle of her view. Everything seemed to be in slow motion, each second an excruciating hour. Dad's face looks like Evan's now. Integrity couldn't hear anything, not even her own mother's screams. She sensed the vibrations her father's body made as it hit the floor of her room, though she didn't really feel it. Her body was numb, far past the pins-and-needles stage. Someone could operate on me right now, and I wouldn't feel anything.
Unable to watch her mother's life drain from her face, Integrity's gaze slowly rose to those around her. Bowman was not watching Evan, his gaze fixed inexorably on the far wall. No emotion crossed his face, though a few drops of blood had splattered across one of his cheeks. She saw the small movements he made in response to the struggles her mother made, his jaw clenching.
Paul stood a step back from the still form of her father; her father, the one person she had thought would always be there to protect her. His gaze was locked on the struggling group, the opposition to their actions growing increasingly weak. His face looked merely interested. As though sensing her gaze, he turned to face her. His expression changed. He couldn't look at her for more than a second or two. She saw him bend and lift her father in his arms, tossing him slightly to readjust his weight. He turned and walked to the closed door, where he stopped. He did not turn around again, but stared blankly at the door, bearing her father's corpse as though it weighed no more than a bag of dog food.
Integrity looked back at Evan and Bowman—she deliberately kept herself from looking directly at her mother. It's just a manikin, that's why it's so white. Bowman scooped the dummy up in his arms, almost gently. Evan turned to face her once more, his face smeared with a thick liquid, almost black in color. Her mind shut down before she could admit it was blood. When he moved toward her, so slowly, she forced herself to stand up, leaning heavily on the back of the chair for support. She didn't have the energy to move away from him when he entered her personal space.
With a sneer still marring his features, Evan deliberately leaned forward and, lifting the hem of her pajama shirt, wiped the moisture from his face onto her clothing. Straightening to look her directly in the eyes, dried gore still obvious in a streak across his jaw, he pushed the material against her stomach lightly, so that she could feel the quickly cooling dampness. Still moving slowly, he leaned toward her, his lips millimeters from her left ear. “Are you a believer now?” he whispered, his breath flowing across her skin. He stepped back just in time to avoid her vomit. She knew he was laughing as he gestured for Bowman and Paul to follow him from the room with their burdens.
Chapter Nine
As time passed, Integrity learned that blocking reality was the most feasible way to continue her existence. Her parents' cold, calculated, violent death was something that she had not been able to fully cope with. If she allowed herself to consciously think about it, she felt physically ill and was plagued by migraines. If she subconsciously dwelt on the murder, she became dangerously depressed, having no desire to eat, bathe, or even move. She talked to no one of the incident, but she assumed everyone knew what had happened. How could they not? It was cataclysmic.
Galia had obviously known what had happened. She came prepared with a carpet shampooer what seemed only minutes after the men had left. The throbbing noise made Integrity feel as though her brain was swelling, pressing against the confines of her skull. Though that had been days ago, Integrity could still see precisely where the deed had been done, though she knew that no one else would be able to pick it out. Her eyes now automatically skimmed over that section of carpeting.
Rather than feel helpless and afraid, Integrity focused her attention on anger at the man responsible for her pain. It was much easier to focus on hate than sadness, and she embraced the escape provided to her. Thoughts of Evan would drive thoughts of her parents out of her head, her rage wiping out any other emotion. Hate was good. Memories were bad.
She had fallen so irrevocably into her new reality. Nothing else existed. Any errant thoughts of home or family were viewed from a distance, as though from a movie she had once seen. She knew that a psychologist would tell her how unhealthy it was to ignore her feelings and that she needed to find closure, but she didn't care. What did psychologists know, anyway? They've never lived with vampires.
She didn't know how long it had been since Ben had visited, but it was long enough that she felt distinctly uncomfortable around him now. The easy conversation they had enjoyed had fled, leaving behind a stilted, awkward substitute. After one too many uncomfortable pauses, Ben finally asked, “Is there something wrong?”
Her gaze oddly glazed, Integrity looked at him and shrugged slowly. “Not that I know of.”
His brow wrinkled in concern. “There has to be something. Are you mad at me?”
Integrity shook her head. “Why would I be?” His visit was short, and both felt relief when he exited the window. Things had changed, and neither knew how to fix that.
The training sessions with Bowman had taken on a new, dangerous intensity. Though the girl's progress was slow, her new passion pressed her on. New and varying bruises covered her skin, their dull ache oddly satisfying to her in quiet moments. All she could think of was fighting with Evan, any scenario that would permit a vicious battle. Thoughts of this crowded out any other, especially at night as she let her mind relax before sleeping. Each dream brought a smile to her face, one that was so twisted and skewed it resembled her previous smile not at all.
Her relationships became stilted as the days passed. Galia, Bowman, Paul, and Ben all pulled back, their former camaraderie dissolving with each foiled attempt to restore balance in Integrity's life. She spoke very rarely, keeping her thoughts to herself. Any attempt to draw her out was met with a grunt or, if necessary, a monosyllabic response. She knew that Galia and Ben were becoming increasingly concerned; what could she do about it? Things are what they are
. They'll just have to deal with it.
The day that Galia brought a small pine tree, about two feet tall, in a pot, was much like any other. Integrity was vaguely interested, something she hadn't felt in a while, and she followed Galia across the room. Galia set the tree on the coffee table and turned it slightly, apparently looking for the best view. When she looked at Integrity, she smiled and said, “Merry Christmas. I thought you'd like a tree. I know how important Christmas is to your people.”
Integrity reached out one hand and lightly touched the tip of one branch, the needles surprisingly sharp against her skin. Christmas? That means I've been here for . . . more than four months. Integrity met this news with a slight twitch somewhere in her chest; it had been longer than she thought, and yet much, much shorter at the same time.
The smell of the tree was sharp in her nose, slightly unpleasant. We always had a fake tree. Dropping her hand back at her side, she turned toward the retreating figure. She's just trying to be nice. “Thanks.”
Galia paused and turned back, her feet on the spot. Integrity halted her thoughts abruptly. “You're welcome, Integrity.” For some reason, Integrity felt tears pricking at her eyes. It's been a long time since I heard my name. She watched Galia leave, glad that she could retreat back into her safe shell where nothing could touch her, where emotions didn't exist. She climbed onto the exercise bike that Bowman had supplied and pedaled until she felt that the speed was out of her control and would dislodge her at any moment. Evan. Evan . . .
Đ
It wasn't hard to find the jail keeper—all she had to do was follow the stench.
She had to try her best to not laugh at the ridiculous man, the startled expression that sprang to his face when he saw her, his pathetic attempt at bowing. She forced her smile to soften from the sneer that normally inhabited her face. The man straightened from his bow, though he stood far from straight, and peered at her cautiously. Good. Her reputation had preceded her.
Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series Page 12