“Your dad had other intentions,” he interrupted. “Your mother lost her powers when you were born, and when you have a child, you will, too.”
The memory of the bats flooded through me, the night sky melting away with the pastel colors of the sunrise, the silhouettes of the scurrying creatures I visited. My mother had been a shade, but I was a human. I was five years old. I knew that much.
“You’re wrong,” I argued. “She was transformed—”
“And any shade can transform since birth. Full powers are given later,” he pointed it out like the Light shared our Naming ritual. “Tell me, did you ever see her use her powers? Did she ever protect you or teach you how to fight or—”
“I was five,” I spat, managing to sit up. My spine snapped into place like it had been broken. “She couldn’t have taught me yet.”
Darthon leaned back. “Perhaps.”
“There’s no ‘perhaps’ to it.”
His brow straightened out in the same way Luthicer’s did when he confessed to his past. “Maybe you should ask your father why she killed herself.”
“Since you seem to know everything, why don’t you?” My voice ripped against my throat.
Darthon didn’t flinch. “I won’t keep you here forever,” he said. “You can ask your father when you return.” He wasn’t going to tell me any more than he already had.
“So, why tell me this at all?” I wanted to punch him, but I didn’t have the strength.
Darthon stood, but he sat back down like he didn’t have the strength to leave either. “As much as I hate to admit this, Welborn, you and I are the same—”
“We are not the same.”
He stared at the wall as if he hadn’t heard me. “You might die by my hands, but the least I can do is guarantee you don’t go to your grave with lies in your head.” His words silenced me. “I want you to understand your death when it comes. You’ll find peace in it then.”
14
Jessica
Darthon didn’t come that night. No one did. But I found myself immune to sleep. My eyes propped open like I had taped my eyelids to the arches of my eyebrows. I stared at the door, and it wavered over my lack of sleep. When it clicked open, I thought I was hallucinating, but Fudicia was as solid as the overbearing walls.
“Get up,” she said, but she didn’t look at me.
It took me a minute to realize I was curled up on the floor. At some point, I had fallen asleep.
When I didn’t move, Fudicia stomped across the room, and her hand wrapped around my bicep. “Come on.”
My knees wobbled as I stood to walk. I didn’t ask her where she was taking me as she yanked me out of the dungeon and into the hallway. The red walls might as well have been painted with blood, and I was relieved when she directed me into another room.
A bathroom.
The golden light reflected off the granite countertops and marble steps. A shower sat at the top of the small stairs, already running hot water, and the steam glimmered as a bright mist.
“Get cleaned up.” Fudicia let me go to leave the room. When she exited, a lock clicked outside of the room. I was taken out of one dungeon to be put in another one, but this one had a shower.
My skin itched, and my clothes were heavy in the humidity. I waited, anticipating she might enter again, but she didn’t. Instead, she spoke through the door, “If you don’t get in, I’ll treat you like a child and bathe you myself.”
“Fine,” I snapped back, tearing off my T-shirt. I dropped my pants and peeled off my socks before stepping into the open stream of water. The hot water met my skin, and air hissed out of me. The dirt trailed off my body in dark rivers. Light hues of red spiraled into it, and I shivered. I was bleeding somewhere, but I couldn’t find the source. The injury was gone. Or it wasn’t mine at all.
Eric.
My hand slammed over my mouth to prevent me from crying out. I couldn’t stop fighting now. I had to be strong, and I had to do what they said if I wanted to get both of us out alive.
I forced my mouth open, and the shower’s steam filled my lungs. The dust and grime that had suffocated me cleared out, and I coughed. My eyes closed as I lifted my face into the hot water, letting it stream down my hair, my cheeks, my collarbone, and my shoulders. I lost track of my body after that.
The shower was warm, refreshing, and perfect. It was serenity, and I almost forgot I was a prisoner.
My heart slammed against my chest as my eyes popped open. Before I submitted to the comfort, I grabbed the faucet and turned the water off. Cold air swirled in with the steam as I stepped out. My toes curled against the marble floor.
“You done?” Fudicia spoke as she opened the door. Her eyes moved over my naked body before she threw a towel at my head.
I caught it, covering myself before she could continue to look. If the shower made me forget, her stare forced me to remember. But she didn’t give me a chance to get dressed. She grabbed my old clothes and left me standing in the miniature sauna.
“You have new clothes out here,” she called over her shoulder.
I followed because I didn’t have any other choice.
The bathroom was attached to a bedroom that hadn’t been there before. The Light realm shifted as fast as my thoughts did, but the room existed now. It was small, but it had everything a bedroom needed—a bed, a nightstand, a lamp. A pile of clothes sat on the end of the mattress.
My eyes focused on Fudicia, but my nails dug into my towel. I didn’t want to move. I was positive she would kill me at any moment.
Fudicia groaned as she turned her back to me. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she grumbled, “so get dressed.” Even though her back was to me, she would attack if I did. I could hear it in her voice.
I walked to the pile of clothes only to touch the silky fabric. The color was as rich as a sunset over the Midwest. Golden threads stitched the pieces together, and designs spiraled down the sides of the dress. It was long-sleeved, thin, but bearable.
“Why is it so nice?” I asked. It wasn’t everyday a prisoner was forced to dress up like royalty.
“Just put them on,” Fudicia said. “You’re already late.”
“Late?”
“It’s dinnertime,” Fudicia explained, but I wondered if it was the same time in the Light realm as it was in the human world. If it was, that meant they had just returned from school—from Hayworth—from the place I yearned to be.
I forced myself to get dressed because it meant I was one step closer to returning to my family, to the Dark, to my loved ones.
As if she could sense I was dressed, she turned around. This time, her stare didn’t move over me. “Ready?”
“Who will be there?” I asked, hopeful they were feeding Eric, too, but her frown told me otherwise.
“Just come,” she said, opening the door. She didn’t drag me this time. I followed anyway.
I tried to keep up with the tall woman. “Is he okay?”
She was silent; the only sounds were our footsteps as we walked down the corridor.
“Is he?”
“No.”
That one word was enough to kill me.
“But, if you must know,” Fudicia continued, “Darthon is keeping him alive.” The side of her lips twitched up. “But I doubt he will do it for much longer.” She didn’t have to tell me to obey. Her orders hovered in her tone.
The rest of our walk was silent. Neither of us spoke or dared to look at one another. As much as she said she wouldn’t hurt me, I didn’t believe her, and I knew she figured I wanted to hurt her. I only needed good timing. We both understood it.
Two wide doors sat at the end of the hallway, and my heart pounded to the rhythm of my approaching footsteps. The wooden design reminded me of the doors in the Dark’s shelter. The familiarity was chilling. I half-expected to see a library when she opened the door, but I didn’t.
She stuck a key in the handles and pushed the oak doors open in one movement. The red room stole my breath. Li
ke my clothes, the walls were crimson. In the Light realm, everything was lined with red, and this wasn’t an exception. Even the decorations had scarlet edges, including the black horns sticking out of the walls. Antique furniture circled the room, and thick candles cast a glow over the long table in front of us. The place resembled where Camille died, but it wasn’t the same room. A heatless fire was missing.
Fudicia grabbed my arm and pulled me over to a chair. “Sit.”
I grabbed the table in front of me, feeling as if I could break the wood in half, but it tingled under my fingertips. It wasn’t real. It was all an illusion.
“Enjoy your dinner,” she said right before she left.
I was alone now, but I didn’t dare stand up from the table. I wasn’t as alone as I originally thought. I could feel him—his energy. He was the heatless fire that was missing.
“Darthon.”
He appeared like a flame that lit itself.
The tips of his blond hair were gelled up, and his black eyes were holes of darkness. His complexion shimmered over his high cheeks bones and defined jawline, but his smile held no light. His teeth were like razors, sharpened into spikes, but his expression was full of delight.
“You continue to impress me.” His voice sounded closer than his body was, but—unlike Fudicia—I believed he sat where he sat. The energy was too strong for him not to be where he was. His entire presence was like gravity, impossible to forget, possible to believe in, a theory merged into a law.
My fingers uncurled from the table. “What do you want?”
He waved his palm over the table, and food appeared. “You must be hungry.”
As the smells of freshly cooked food met my nose, my stomach growled.
His grinned stretched. “Don’t hold back,” he said. “We’ll talk once you’ve eaten.”
I hesitated, and then reached over and grabbed a piece of bread. Instead of eating it, I threw it at his face. It smacked his forehead, only to fall into his lap.
The confident smile slipped off his face. His upper lip twitched. “What’s the problem, Jess?”
He said my name like he knew me.
“Where’s Eric?” I asked.
His sigh was as loud as a thunderclap. “Do we always have to make everything about him?”
I glared back.
“Fine, then.” His elbows propped on top of the table. Veins pushed against his tan skin. “He’s alive, and I’ll keep him alive if you listen to me.”
“I’m already listening.” Anything to save the Dark.
Darthon’s gaze dragged over the silk I wore. As if he had touched me, goose bumps trailed over my collarbone. When his eyes snapped up to my face, he spoke, “I don’t plan on hurting either of you if you comply.”
If you comply. His threats were harsher than Fudicia’s worst tone.
“I thought your entire life’s purpose was to kill Eric,” I spat back.
He flinched.
“Unless you can’t,” I added, realizing it as I spoke. Shades weren’t supposed to live in the Light realm. Darthon should’ve already killed him. It was the only reason to bring Eric with me, but Eric was alive. Somehow, in some way, I could feel his heartbeat in my own veins.
Darthon’s fingertips curled around his chin. “You’re quite intuitive.” He smiled like he was proud, but I smiled because I couldn’t fight it. I was right. Darthon couldn’t kill Eric. He was safe.
“You’re impressive,” Darthon continued, laying his head on his open palm. Candlelight flicked over his face, and he glittered like an angel would. “But that’s to be expected from a Light member.”
Eric’s heartbeat disappeared beneath my pounding one. “I’m not one of you.”
He nodded. “Not completely anyway.” He straightened up only to lay his hand on his chest. His fingertips spread over his sternum. “You must feel it, the Light power coursing through your veins, the sizzle of desire, the sickening lack of satisfaction you have with the Dark.” His words sounded far away. “It’s in you. It’s only been awakened recently.”
“I’m not one of you,” I repeated.
Darthon’s bottom lip snapped shut. When he leaned back, his shoulders slumped. Right when I thought he had relaxed, he shot up, and his metal chair crashed against the cement floor. The air rushed through the room, brushing past me, and he disappeared, only to reappear to my left. He grabbed my arm and yanked me up like I was a doll.
“You are,” he shouted as he latched onto both of my shoulders. His thumbs dug into my skin. “You’re one of us.”
I kicked his knee, and we broke apart. I had to grab my chair to prevent myself from falling, but Darthon didn’t grab anything. He remained standing, right in front of me, and I reached over for anything I could use as a weapon. The table disappeared.
“I own this place,” he said, but his voice wavered.
My skin tingled where he had touched me. I wanted it to burn, but it didn’t. It felt like an energy boost. My muscles ached for it again.
“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked, quieter this time. He hadn’t grabbed me to hurt me. He grabbed me to show me, but I could already feel the bruises forming.
I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn’t dare to. I would not look away from him. It had to be an illusion. I only had to find the source of it.
Darthon’s crumbled brow straightened out. “The Marking of Change was never about Welborn.” His name hurt. “It was about you—you changed.”
“I didn’t—”
“When Camille gave you her powers, they never left.” His words shot out. “She activated you.”
Camille. The Light realm. She had been here before, and so had I. Even I couldn’t deny how she had been in pain, and I hadn’t felt a thing. The Light realm had felt familiar from the start.
“She began the absorption process. Not me,” he continued to rant. “I never forced you.”
Until now.
“Absorption,” I repeated the word I had heard too many times, the word the Dark knew nothing about. The prophecy always said the Light could absorb the third descendant, but it never explained what it meant. It only proved I was Eric’s weakness. “What do you mean—the process has started?”
Darthon sat down in the nearest chair. His hands landed in his lap, opening and closing over and over again. “Think about it,” he began, “Just think.” He tapped his forehead like he meant to break it. “Your bloodline was created when the Dark and the Light separated. There are two of you and one of me.”
So, I was still a shade.
“You’re the reason we’re unbalanced,” he said. “You can’t just be a shade. You have to be both.” Breath shot out of his lips in a hiss. “You are both.”
“I’m not—”
“Shut up,” he growled, laying his head in his hands. “Just shut up.”
I stepped back, glancing around the room as it shifted. The doors were gone. The horns were gone. The furniture remained. I couldn’t escape, but Darthon didn’t seem to notice I was looking for a way out. He was too busy rocking back and forth.
“How brainwashed are you?” His whisper broke the space between us. He stared at me through his fingers. “What did those dimwits convince you of? That Eric would win and you’d ride off into the sunset together?” His tone rose. “Life doesn’t work that way, Jess. Only movies do.”
I couldn’t fathom a response.
He grabbed his seat. “Let’s say they told you the truth,” he spoke. “Let’s pretend you’re only a shade. Let’s say Eric wins,” he stuttered over the last part. “Why would balance mean only one side survives? Why would balance result in the Dark having complete control?”
That wasn’t balance at all.
“It doesn’t,” he was the only one who could say it out loud. “That’s why your bloodline exists. You’re supposed to lead the new Light—as the light you already are—and you know what happens then?” His pause was deafening. “They’ll kill you, too.”
“The Dar
k would never kill me.” My words manifested on their own.
“I,” Darthon pointed to his chest, “I would never kill you. My people would never hurt you. The Dark? They will.”
“You’re wrong—”
He slapped his chair like he had to hit something. His knuckles were white. “Your death would mean the end of the Light forever, and that’s all the Dark wants.”
When I didn’t respond, he stood up, and I stepped back.
His body froze feet away from me, but I could feel his energy seeping into me. My veins were vibrating. “Stop it,” I hissed, knowing he was the cause of it.
He didn’t stop. “You feel that because you’re connected with me.” The electricity inside of me grew. “Your death will cause the Light to die, and that’s why your death would kill me,” he repeated the worst sentence he had ever spoken during the Marking of Change.
“That was a lie.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Darthon took a step forward. “Don’t you remember the first time we fought?”
I did. It was a memory that returned with a vengeance. My powers were new to me, but I had broken Darthon’s neck. I had killed him, and then, he had stood back up—alive—revealing only Eric could kill him. Unless I died. Then, I could kill Darthon.
“I ran because I didn’t want to hurt you,” his voice dropped to a whisper. “I would’ve been killing myself if I took your life.”
My powers. The faulty prophecy. The absorption. The bloodlines. It all made sense now.
“You’re Eric’s weakness because protecting you guarantees the Light’s life,” he continued, taking another step toward me. With every step, the energy grew deeper. The gravity became heavier. “That’s why he is weak. That’s why he doesn’t deserve to live.”
Darthon’s hand grazed my arm, and I slapped him away. Hot air sizzled down my throat. “This isn’t about Eric,” I said, but couldn’t step away. “The Dark deserves to live.”
His lip stretched up one of his cheeks. “If I live, the Dark can live through you. You’ll be a shade, then.” When Eric dies. “Or you can let me die and wait for them to kill you afterward.”
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