Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1)

by Lauren Stewart

  An absolutely revolting looking demon instantly appeared inside. A big, gorgeous, white angel was next. Obviously neither was the actual leader of their race, but the big guy upstairs and the big guy downstairs wouldn’t show up to something like this, no matter how important Rhyse claimed it was.

  And then, the race that led every being in the North American zone was announced. Not because vamps were the strongest—that honor went to the fae, though vamps were nothing to scoff at—but because they were the most organized and influential. And that was due to the jerk who’d forced her to come here.

  “Vampire,” the caller repeated. No one stepped forward and no one moved. Or spoke. Until a murmur of unrest moved through the crowd—feet shuffling, wings flapping, low, guttural growling.

  Finally a lone voice stood out from the masses. Powerful, deep, using beautiful, poetic words to tell everybody to shut the fuck up.

  The sea of supers pulled back from the vamp who’d spoken. Addison craned her neck around the beings blocking her view. She’d see the guy, find out who he was, leave this place, give a name to Rhyse, and go home. Perfect. Simple.

  The vamp approached the pentagram but didn’t step inside it. Instead, he turned and faced the crowd. “The Prime sends his regrets. He cannot be here this night, but rest assured that his heart”—

  If he had one.

  —“and devotion stays true to the Treaty and all who live within its wisdom.”

  Voices rose en masse, arguments breaking out in various areas of the room.

  “Enough!” the vamp called, raising his hand and his voice. “Tonight is not a time for disagreements. It is a time to celebrate the peace the Treaty has created for us all.”

  Except humans and seers, but she wasn’t surprised he left those out.

  “Why is the Prime not here?” the angel said from inside the lines.

  As the vamp prepared to speak, Addison leaned forward. Because as soon as the guy said anything about Rhyse being staked, she could leave.

  “He recovers from a grave injustice done to him.”

  Oh, crap. Well, that wasn’t helpful. Rhyse wanted to know who’d taken control after trying to kill him, but this guy wasn’t taking control.

  “By whom?” the angel asked.

  “He requested I not say on this night because of his respect for the race the individual comes from.”

  “Which race?” someone called out. Well, cross seers off the list because the vamp said Rhyse respected this race.

  “I cannot say. But he is recovering well and sends his apologies for his absence.” Why would the guy claim Rhyse was recovering? Why not tell everyone he was already dead? Or if that would cause too much trouble tonight, why not at least keep the news grim so when no one ever saw Rhyse again, it would be easier to explain?

  She needed a name. If nothing else, she had to go back to Rhyse with a name. She searched the room for Micah, but he wasn’t there. Crap. She closed her eyes, clicked her heels together three times, said his name, and asked for help, not knowing if she used her whole heart or not. If it meant that she still might be breathing in a few days, her heart was probably in it.

  “I hope this is an emergency.”

  She flinched when she heard Micah’s voice. The seer closest to her backed away a bit as Addison looked around frantically. Micah wasn’t there.

  “M?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes.” His voice was like a hummingbird’s wings inside her head. Like a mutant, freaky hummingbird who could go into people’s heads. But she hadn’t felt the sting Rhyse said she would if an angel or demon went beyond her shield. So the telepathy thing was probably a first-floor-only deal. “What is it, Addison?”

  “I need your help.” She felt his sigh down to her toes, her body suddenly buttery, calm and relaxed. Her hand on the chair rail behind her was the only thing that kept her from melting onto the ground. She smiled to the seers on either side of her, because they were looking at her like she was insane. When that had no effect, she pointed to her head and mouthed, ‘angel.’ Still no reaction, so she moved on. “Don’t sigh again, M. That shit ain’t natural.”

  “Hmm…”

  “Sorry.”

  “It is not your language that bothers me, it is the timing of your call. I cannot come to you right now. I’m…busy.”

  So much for angels always being there when you needed them. “No biggie. I’ll talk to you later. Signing off now.”

  “I wish you peace.”

  “You, too.” Then she stepped forward slightly, closer to the female were in front of her. “Who is he to speak for the Prime?” she whispered before jumping back and trying to look docile. But Addison’s eyes stayed lowered so she couldn’t see what the female was doing.

  “Why did you do that?” the seer to her right whispered after the were turned frontwards again. Addison had never seen the woman before, and she didn’t look like she had a manual labor job. All the seers here were probably toys on loan from the boxes.

  “I want to know who the vamp is,” Addison whispered back.

  “Shit like that is what gets people killed. His name is—”

  The female were’s voice rang high and true, kind of like a howl actually. “Who speaks for the Prime?”

  The vamp looked towards the voice, which also meant that he could see Addison. Damn it. She was looking down so hard her forehead was going to be on the floor any minute.

  “My name is Graham. I am marshal for the Prime.”

  When the angel started speaking again, trying to calm the crowd, Addison scooted closer to the seer who’d talked to her. “Does he take over if something happens to the Prime?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Why do you know and why won’t you tell me?”

  Someone further down the line said, “Parker, stop talking.”

  And that was all it took to lock the woman’s mouth down. Damn it. Addison would find her later. No one knew much about the vamps hierarchy, evident by the easy prodding it took to get the female were to ask who Graham was. But this seer did. And Addison had lots more questions for her.

  “I understand your concern for the vampire king,” the angel said, “but it is time to introduce the champions. Graham, you must enter the pentagram and stand for your master.” Graham nodded, took a quick breath and stepped across the line, barely flinching.

  “We shall begin with the seer.” No name.

  Oh, shit. Addison scooted closer to Parker to see through a thin opening in the crowd. Parker looked annoyed but didn’t say anything as she gave up a little of her floor space. Their viewing angle faced the wrong direction, so all she saw were a lot of heads turning towards the door on the far side. Somebody was coming in. Some unlucky bastard who was going to die about two seconds into the show.

  “Oh, no.” When she saw him, she fell back against the wall, gripping the chair rail for support.

  Logan.

  Thirty-three

  Holy shit, it was Logan. He looked resigned, as if he already knew what was about to happen and had made his peace with it. But it was Logan! Not just a faceless, unlucky bastard. An unlucky bastard Addison knew and cared about.

  Parker’s arm slipped around Addison’s waist, holding her together. “Do you know him?”

  Addison just nodded. A life in the box and then this. Micah called it a great honor. She wondered what Logan would say to that. He wore what looked to be breeches with leather straps crisscrossing his bare chest. He was stunning and alone.

  Beauty seems more important when you know it’s about to disappear.

  Parker put her hand over Addison’s mouth before she could call out to him. With sad eyes, she shook her head. “You can’t stop it.”

  The angel moved on to the champions of the other races, but Addison didn’t listen. She didn’t care. Why would she? One of them would murder her friend, and gawking at them wouldn’t change that. She stared at the ground, not because protocol demanded it, but because with her head
down, no one would notice her tears.

  “The angel,” the announcer called.

  Parker cursed and pushed Addison’s head further down. “Don’t look up.”

  “What the hell?” She shrugged the woman’s hand off. With a reaction like that, Addison had to look. Had to know. Was Logan already dead? The fight hadn’t even begun.

  “Don’t—”

  Now she knew why Micah had been busy. He walked through the crowd, towering over most of them, even without using his wings. But they were out and they were magnificent, almost too beautiful to look at. He wore an outfit similar to Logan’s, but he didn’t look resigned as Logan had. He looked fearless, confident, and grief-stricken. He didn’t want to be here any more than Logan did. Any more than Addison did. Yet here they all were.

  She called his name, asking with all her heart for his help to stop this.

  He spun towards where she stood. His lips didn’t move, but she heard him. “Not now, Addison, or I shall regret telling you my name.”

  “It won’t matter once you’re dead, will it?” She saw him close his eyes for a moment.

  “Please do not do this. It is hard enough as it is.”

  She shouldn’t have called him. If he wasn’t killed, he would end the night by killing. He deserved better. “I wish you peace, Micah.”

  “And I you, Addison.” He turned and stepped into the pentagram, taking his place next to the angel who stood in for the big guy.

  “I saw you talking to him earlier,” Parker whispered. “It seemed like he looked at you before he went through the line. Was he in your head just now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow. That’s…incredible. Who are you?”

  “Parker, shut up,” came another whisper.

  Addison looked down the line of cowering seers, heads lowered not out of respect or grief but out of fear. When she spoke, it wasn’t a whisper or a shout. It was her voice—human and sad and real. “I’m Addison.”

  Parker slipped her hand into Addison’s and squeezed it. They stood together, both knowing their lives could be stripped away at any time from any direction, their bond built on nothing but being human. Did it still count if Addison wasn’t?

  When the vamp champion was called, Addison heard Micah’s voice in her head. “I did not know Lamere would compete. What would you have me do?”

  She saw the vamp’s back as he entered the pentagram, then his face when he turned around. That was Lamere? He looked so young and soft, beyond gorgeous until she saw into his eyes. Nothing could hide that much ugliness.

  “What would you have me do, Addison?” Micah asked again.

  “I don’t know—try not to die?”

  “I know Lamere and what he’s capable of. I ask not because I would spare him at my own expense. I ask because…if you wish to see him punished for wrongs against you, I will make his death slow.”

  “Holy shit! You’re an angel?”

  “Not for very much longer.” He paused, or maybe he went away, she couldn’t tell. But then he was back. “You don’t actually know Lamere, do you?” When she didn’t say anything, he did. “Why are you really here, Addison? What do you mean to do?”

  “Nothing. I don’t want to do anything. I just… Don’t die, Micah. And if you have to kill the seer, make it quick. He’s…” She looked up to keep her tears from spilling. It almost worked. “It should be quick.”

  “Addison?”

  She couldn’t take anymore. She needed to breathe, and that wasn’t going to happen here. Her dress was too tight for her lungs to expand. Her necklace seemed to have tightened around her throat at some point.

  She pulled her hand from Parker’s and shuffled down the wall towards the door. Parker tried to follow, but someone stopped her. Someone knew her and cared about her, while Addison was probably doing something that would get her killed. Because she had no one to watch her back.

  The one person who might’ve was going to die any minute and Addison couldn’t do anything—not even tell him that she was sorry that she didn’t have his back. That she couldn’t protect him or save him or tell him he mattered and would be remembered.

  “Addison.”

  “Go away, Micah. Focus on winning. And when you do…call me back.”

  He signed off in his usual way, but she didn’t listen. It was absurd. Wishing her peace before going off to kill other beings in an inescapable contest? She shoved seers out of the way. A large group of witches was too absorbed by the main event to notice her push through them on her way out the door.

  When she was outside the ballroom and could breathe again, all she felt was guilt. How many more breaths would Logan have? He was going to die in a stupid ceremony over a stupid treaty that gave his kind nothing.

  She groaned when she heard someone call her name. Was everyone she’d ever met at this fucking party?

  “Is that you?” Dawn stood in front of a door, probably a bathroom since she was still primping. She wore a dark green floor-length dress that hugged curves Addison hadn’t known she had. With her hair up, she looked almost ethereal. Although her teardrop-shaped necklace looked more like something a little girl might wear playing dress-up. Maybe there was a clove of garlic inside of it.

  “What are you doing here?” Dawn asked.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked you first.”

  As if Addison was in the mood for small talk. “I’m a plus-one.”

  “You? Not that they wouldn’t want you, but I didn’t think you knew any supers. At least not the ones who traveled in these circles.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Then skip to the end.”

  She opened her mouth and promptly remembered what Rhyse had said. Even though Dawn wouldn’t tell anyone deliberately, she might say something accidentally or someone could read her mind. So the less she knew, the less trouble she’d get into.

  “I can’t talk about it now. Who are you with?”

  She squirmed.

  “Dawn, believe me, it can’t possibly be worse than who I’m here for.”

  She looked to the ballroom door. “He’s a warlock, but he’s really nice and treats me well.”

  “Oh.” A warlock wasn’t that bad. They were practically human, certainly less bloodthirsty than the higher races. But they weren’t angels either, especially if one of their rituals called for a sacrificial lamb that wasn’t actually a lamb.

  “Where were you going?” Dawn asked.

  “Logan’s in there.” She flicked her head towards his soon-to-be tomb.

  “With his patron?”

  “He’s the seer champion.”

  “Oh, shit. I didn’t know. I was—” She motioned towards the bathroom. “I didn’t know they started. Logan? Shit. I’m so sorry, Addison.”

  “Don’t be sorry for me. He’s the one who’s going to get killed.”

  “Yeah.” She adjusted her necklace. “I gotta go inside, but maybe we can get together tomorrow.”

  Seriously? Sure, because tomorrow would be just another day. An entire evening would be more than enough time for her to forget all about the death of a friend. “You’re going to watch it?”

  Dawn shrugged. “I have to be there, but my eyes don’t have to be open.”

  Just like always. Every day. They all walked around with their heads lowered and their eyes closed, pretending the Heights wasn’t what it was.

  She stiffened as Dawn gave her a quick hug. Then they split up—Dawn walked into the ballroom and Addison fled from it.

  As soon as she was outside, she power walked in the opposite direction of where she was supposed to meet Rhyse. She almost tumbled going around the corner of the mansion, but recovered before she fell, and then ran.

  Right into Rhyse’s chest.

  Thirty-four

  “I thought you couldn’t come this close to the house!” Addison screamed.

  “I can go wherever I want.” And had become quite impatient and a tad concerned she
’d gotten herself into trouble. Which, judging from her demeanor, was not an unreasonable concern.

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why’d you make me come if you planned to pop in yourself? I could’ve been killed.”

  “Yet you were not. What did you learn?”

  She stalked away without saying a word. Stubborn and rude.

  “Addison, you will stop walking and speak to me.”

  “Your compelling never worked on me and your bullshit doesn’t work on me anymore. I’m going home.” She grumbled under her breath. A moment later, the pitch of her voice raised, her breath quickened, and tiny whimpers replaced her complaints.

  “Addison. Stop!” The power of his voice would have stopped anyone—man, beast, or being. Every creature but her. “Damn you.” When he phased in two feet in front of her, she slammed into his chest again, but this time he held on to her. “You will tell me what happened. Then I will find the being who caused your distress and punish him for it.”

  She slumped into him, her head buried in his chest, and wept. He stopped breathing entirely, unsure of what to do. No one had ever cried on him before. He didn’t push her away. In fact, what he wanted to do was just the opposite—to hold her, caress her back, wipe away her tears, to take away her sadness. Taking away someone’s pain was impossible, absurd even to consider, yet he wanted to try.

  “Tell me who did this to you. And tell me what ‘this’ is.”

  When she looked up, she looked terrible—her eyes red and puffy instead of their normal beauty, her makeup smeared. All temporary, superficial signs of grief, of something having changed. Unlike the far more concerning and potentially permanent changes in him. While the hole in his chest healed, the rest of him was lost. To her.

  He should shove her away and forget they’d ever met. Forget the horrible little apartment, the bumpy mattress and coarse sheets, the cow myoglobin and the cheap glass she put to his lips. Though he could never forgive that pillow.

  Ignore the hypnotic scent that clung to everything, even the clothing he wore now. Her scent. She’d caused him pain, seen him weak, threatened his life, and yet he would have her live.