by Nya Jade
“I couldn’t exactly tell you the truth earlier,” Colten said his voice full of regret.
“So you’re half-Vigo, half-human?” Phoebe asked, trying not to focus on the fact that both she and Colten had lost a parent to Vigos.
Colten shrugged. “I really don’t know how much of either I am. . . . I just know I have enough Vigo in me to be able to change.”
“And enough human to go undetected by Shapers?” Phoebe said, putting it together.
“Something like that.” His voice was low and intense.
Phoebe couldn’t make sense of his answer. “Then what is it exactly?”
Colten kept his narrowed eyes on the road. “I can manipulate my physical presence to emit the energy of a Vigo, human—even a Shaper. . . .”
“What? How’s that even—” Phoebe broke off and brought a hand to her throat; she could feel her skin getting hotter, almost to the point of scalding.
“Can you feel me now?” Colten said, his voice tight.
Phoebe choked. “Yes.” Slowly, her skin began to cool and her breathing steadied.
Cars slipped by faster now than they had before and Phoebe saw that Colten had merged onto the freeway. They drove in silence. Demonstrating his ability upset Colten, Phoebe realized. He was staring ahead, eyebrows furrowed, his lips and jaw tight.
“I didn’t hurt you just now, did I?” Colten asked, his voice soft and apologetic. Phoebe shook her head; Colten’s jaw seemed to slacken slightly.
“How does that work?” Phoebe said shakily.
“Think of it like a volume dial with Vigo physical energy being at the highest setting. I’m mentally able to dial the energy I radiate down to the cold point where to you I feel—”
“Human,” Phoebe finished.
Colten nodded.
“And if you wanted to feel Shaper you’d dial the energy up to some middle point?”
“Yeah, something like that. But it’s a bit harder. The warmth of Shaper physical energy comes from the fact that you have two hearts operating two circulatory systems—one regular for your human appearance and the other one mystical. It’s hard to mimic. It takes me being around a Shaper for a while to get it right. . . .”
Almost at once, Phoebe felt a warm tingling energy move through her body, then it was gone.
“That’s crazy. . . . Which energy is most natural to you?”
“Vigo,” Colten said, anger vibrating his voice. “I have to keep a strong mental guard up to prevent it from flaring. I almost slipped around you a few times, and when I yanked it back in place, I noticed that you’d get dizzy.”
“That was you?” Phoebe said, stunned.
Colten’s jaw tightened again. “I don’t know why it affected you like that, but I’m sorry.”
They lapsed into a silence. Phoebe reached for the radio and turned it on. The dial had been set to a talk radio station and she was happy to listen to other voices for a change. After ten minutes of scholars debating the state of the economy, Phoebe asked, slowly, “After you were born, what happened?” Her eyes were fastened on his face, and she fought her impulse to read him.
“I was born in a crèche.” Colten paused, then glanced sideways at her. “Do you know what that is?” Phoebe nodded. Colten focused on the road and continued. “Given my situation, I stayed at the crèche for thirteen years until they thought I was ready to receive my—”
“—mark,” Phoebe finished.
“What do you know about our Mark Days?” Colten asked, looking genuinely confused.
“Cubs get the Mark of Wang to signify learning all things Vigo. We learn it in class.”
“It’s a bit more involved than that,” Colten said.
Phoebe turned to gaze out of the window, waiting for Colten to explain.
“Crèches mark cubs in a private ceremony,” he said. “After that, it becomes a big lavish event thrown for the Consiglio dei Alfa to attend and bid for new graduates for their packs.”
Phoebe hadn’t expected this at all. “What’s the Consig—Consig—?”
“Consiglio dei Alfa,” Colten said in a false Italian accent. Then, shaking his head, “You’d think as much as Vigos hate the Old Country, they’d lose the Italian terms. It’s basically a council of all the local Alphas. From what I know, they meet a few times during the year for various reasons. One of those times is the Mark Day, which can turn into a crazy bidding war when the Alphas compete for the best of the new recruits.”
“Which pack did you end up with?”
“I didn’t go to a pack.” Colten raised an amused eyebrow. Phoebe knew she was missing something important—something Colten had expected her to glean from his words. What was he getting at?
“No one bid on you?”
“I was actually predicted to go high in auction,” Colten said, chuckling. “But every marked cub can choose to enter the pack bid or select to be a loner. I chose to be a loner. It’s rare, and it’s frowned on by the crèches, but . . .” he threw his hands up.
“Why?”
“Because it’s a source of pride for them to have a one hundred percent ‘graduation rate’—it means more bids and more money. They line the walls with the photos of their graduates and the names of which pack they went to.”
“What I meant,” Phoebe said, a tiny smile forming on her lips at his continued disregard for status, “is why did you choose to be a loner?”
“Following nature, I suppose,” Colten said. At Phoebe’s questioning look he chuckled, and added, “In the wild, tigers are solitary animals. They don’t form packs. It’s unnatural.” He tapped a finger against the steering wheel and then after almost a full minute, he fixed Phoebe with a serious gaze. “The truth is, over the years, whatever humanity—soul—I have within me started fighting the Vigo soullessness and started winning. I don’t have the same thirst for—”
“Then why didn’t you leave earlier?” Phoebe broke in, her eyes wide, her mind invigorated by the idea of his fledgling soul.
Colten’s eyes went distant. “I have no mother,” he said. “There’s no record of my father. So, it isn’t that easy to get up and leave the only family you’ve ever known. The crèche indoctrinates you with what it is to be in a pack. Growing up in that environment, I came to depend on it. But after years of seeing cubs enter and graduate, I began to question what it meant to just be me. That’s when I knew something else within me was overpowering the Vigo. By the time they considered me ready for my mark, I had my mind made up that I would be a loner.”
Phoebe frowned. Something was still gnawing at her. “Then why get marked at all?”
“Because you have to,” Colten said, his tone serious. “If I hadn’t gotten marked it would have raised suspicion to a level where I could have been killed.”
Phoebe shivered.
“Besides,” Colten continued. “Your mark is your calling card among Vigos. Even a loner is given the respect and courtesies of the mark. I needed that to be able to move among them. It was the only way I could collect information to undermine Vigo activity.”
Phoebe stared at Colten, eyes wide. “To turn against your own?”
Colten’s breathing got heavier for a moment, then ragged, and when it steadied, he said with effort, “Do you know what it’s like to walk around knowing that much of the blood in you belongs to a race that is responsible for killing your mother? Responsible for killing all kinds of innocent people? It’s a nightmare. I’ve spent the last few years loathing my Vigo side—everything to do with it.
“One night I came across a triad taunting a human woman before a kill and something came over me. Before I knew it, I lost myself and had killed them all. That was the night I found my new purpose. Triad by triad, plot by plot, I work against Vigos. I know it won’t change what I am, or redeem anything I’ve done, but it helps me sleep a bit better at night.”
Something that had been lurking in the back of Phoebe’s mind finally formed and she swallowed hard. She found her voice enough to ask a que
stion she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer for. “What do you do to survive?”
“Are you asking me what I eat?”
“Yes.” Phoebe turned her face from his and gazed out the window.
Colten hesitated for a moment and then spoke carefully. “My human side allows me to process some regular food. Mostly vegetables . . . but, I need mito to—” Colten broke off, his eyes locked on Phoebe who was now staring at him openly, devastation marching across her face.
Phoebe was unable to feel her own expression, but whatever her face held was enough for Colten to make a sharp turn, pull over, and stop the car. Then she felt what Colten must have seen. Her chest hurt, her back ached. All at once, something bitter rose from the pit of her stomach and Phoebe’s need for air was immediate. Pushing her way through a door that was now thankfully unlocked, she vomited.
Colten jumped out of the car and went to Phoebe’s side. He held out his hand, but Phoebe turned from him and stumbled toward a bench in the corner of the small park they were now in. She sat under the creamy glimmer of a quarter moon perched high in the clear night sky and found relief in the cold breeze that blew against her skin like the gentlest kiss. Forehead resting on her fist, Phoebe stared at her feet for a moment, wishing the ground would stop moving. What was I expecting, she thought to herself, when I asked him that question? Avoiding answers she didn’t want meant not asking those questions in the first place; Phoebe knew that.
A few feet away, Colten stood with his face raised to the sky, his thoughts as distant as the horizon. Watching him now, Phoebe couldn’t help but picture him hunting and her stomach clenched, violently threatening a repeat performance. It was a few minutes before Phoebe felt that she could breathe again.
As if sensing this, Colten came to Phoebe and knelt on the ground in front of her. “I promise you,” he said softly. “I’m not a monster.” A pleading note in his voice tugged at Phoebe. He reached a hand out, hesitantly, placed it under her chin and raised her face to meet his eyes. “I’m not—”
Phoebe looked away. “But you hunt.”
“I only take what I need to repair my wounds and I only take it from people who wouldn’t even notice,” he said.
Phoebe forced down another upward movement of bile.
“Who would never notice?” she said in a hoarse whisper. Phoebe hugged herself, waiting for an answer in the heavy silence that followed.
“City drunks mostly,” Colten said, sighing. “I find them passed out on street corners or park benches like this one late at night. They wake up in the morning with a more intense hangover than they would have otherwise. That’s about all.”
“How are you able to control yourself from not killing them—turning them? I thought mito was an intense need for Vigos. An addiction.” Phoebe hugged herself even tighter.
Colten’s green eyes clouded. “It is. But I wasn’t created from a human drained of mitochondria, so I don’t thirst for it as intensely as other Vigos do. And, I try and stay off mito for as long as I can, and only hunt when my bruises start to show. As for turning someone”—Colten scrubbed his hands on his jeans—“Vigos do that one of two ways. The first way is a reflex response to being mito drunk—our venom is released into a victim’s blood stream once we feel the high of being full. Because I only take what I need, I’ve never let myself feel that high.”
“And the second way?”
“An intentional release of venom that has nothing to do with feeding.” His voice was flat, emotionless; Phoebe could sense that the interrogation was beginning to wear on his patience. He seemed desperate to win back her trust, but the effort was clearly costing him. Still, Phoebe had another question to ask.
This question was the painful one she’d been turning over in her head since the day she’d found out what Colten was. But judging by how she’d handled the question about mito, she was uncertain of this one, the knowledge she was asking for could ruin her. Still, Phoebe couldn’t turn away from it. If she was to find a way to accept what she’d learned about Colten, not turn him into the Blackcoats, and get on with her life—with or without him—she needed to know. “Have you ever killed a Shaper?” Phoebe finally asked, trembling from head to toe as she waited for his response.
Colten bent forward involuntarily as though the wind had been knocked out of him with an invisible punch. He walked away from her and Phoebe drew a deep shuddering breath.
“I spent thirteen years in a crèche,” he said, facing a cluster of round picnic tables. “And from about the age of ten I trained with each group of cubs that came through. By twelve I was an expert in every one of the triad positions. I’ve hunted. I’ve done many things”—his voice hardened—“that I wish I hadn’t done, but I have never killed a Shaper.” And turning to look at Phoebe, his gaze was fierce, his eyes clear and deadly serious, “I swear it.”
Phoebe let the breath she’d been holding rush out of her, hardly believing the surge of relief that came to her like a storm. The release brought with it the sting of tears, and she let them flow freely. She shivered. Colten went to her, took her hands, and blew warm air onto them. For a moment, the gentleness of the gesture released Phoebe from her thoughts. She looked up into his face, tentatively.
“It’s another reason I didn’t join a pack,” he said softly. “You earn the mark of your pack after you make your first Shaper kill. And it’s not something you can fake—the Alpha joins the hunt to verify the kill himself.”
Colten stood, dropped Phoebe’s hands, and scrubbed his face with his fists. “I should get you back.”
“Not yet.” Phoebe blurted, “How does this whole movie star thing fit in?” She couldn’t help herself. She thought she had been done, but now, in her relief, her curiosity was taking on a life of its own. Colten closed his eyes and smiled tiredly. “It’s nice to be able to step into someone else’s life and deal with their choices and conflicts, and not think about what I am or what I’ve done. . . .”
“And the other reasons?” Phoebe asked, her stubborn streak at full blast now. “There’s more to it than that. I can tell.”
“Like I told you before. My mother was an aspiring actress. I thought I’d try my hand at the family business,” he chuckled bitterly.“And do what she wasn’t able to. And it doesn’t hurt that Hollywood is a hotbed of Vigo activity. It keeps me tapped in.”
Phoebe grappled, trying to comprehend what Colten had just said. She wrapped a few strands of hair around her finger, thinking it over. “There are . . . Vigos in Hollywood?”
Colten frowned. “Why is that so surprising? You’re talking to one right now.”
“You mean, other actors that I know of?”
“It’s mostly the folks behind the scenes like producers and top execs. But there are other actors and rock stars and pop stars, too.” He chuckled. “It’s why a lot of them look so good for so long. Vigo venom is a great preservative. There’s even a long-standing joke that it’s the secret ingredient in Botox.”
As much as Phoebe wanted to play the ‘Who in Hollywood is a Vigo’ game, she held her tongue as Colten continued.
“Other Vigos,” he said, “don’t really think highly of Hollywood Vigos as part of the race. They call them the lazy ones.”
“Why?”
“Because they don’t have to hunt. Fan clubs, backstage passes, and after parties exist for the sole purpose of bringing the prey to them. . . . That’s how my mother was taken. At some after party. They can blame it on drugs—overdosing—so easily.” Phoebe cringed as Colten stared into his hands. “As a loner, I don’t get the daily benefit of the pack filling me in on what’s going on within Vigo circles. So I stay in the loop by attending functions and parties in L.A. It’s how I learned that the New England Padrone had put a hit on four Hyphas with the promise of a big reward to anyone who got the job done.”
“How much money?” Phoebe’s fury seeped from her pores as she thought of Scott and the others.
“Not money. A title. The position of Alpha
of a new pack. You have to understand,” he said, when Phoebe raised a brow. “It’s a very big deal.”
“Why?” she tossed her head scornfully. Even as a Shaper cadet, she had a hard time feigning interest in Vigo hierarchy. It just reinforced to her how they managed to be both cold and calculated and completely ruled by mito lust.
“Anyone who wants to make a bid for starting a new pack must present their case to their regional Consiglio dei Alfa. It’s a very political and sometimes a dangerous process. A Padrone’s blessing trumps the Consiglio.”
Phoebe sucked in a breath and Colten came to sit by her.
“At first, I wasn’t going to bother trying to disrupt their plan. There were too many unknowns—like the location of the school. Then . . .” Colten let the unfinished thought hang in the air.
“Then what?” Phoebe said, hearing the desperation in her voice.
Colten, whose gaze had drifted, snapped back to Phoebe. “Do you know who the Anzaini are?”
Phoebe’s breath quickened and her eyes went wide. If there was one Italian word all Shapers knew and feared, it was the one for “Elders.” Comprised of the original surviving members of the exiled clan from Pompeii, the Anzaini were the Vigos’ governing body.
“What about them?” she asked, thinking with a shiver about how many centuries those immortals had seen.
Colten said, “I found out that Alexori’s orders had come from them,”—Phoebe gasped, trembling—“it’s why I decided to pursue this plot. Everything I’ve done ‘til now has been small time. But this—I couldn’t pass up a chance to disrupt an Anzaini sanctioned operation.”
Phoebe couldn’t believe that what Colten was saying might be true. It had been one thing to learn that a Padrone was after her, but to now find out that the Anzaini—a group that was shrouded in mystery—were involved . . . the thought chilled her to the bone.
Were the Blackcoats aware of this fact? And if so, why had they not disclosed it? Phoebe listened as well as she could in her agitated state while Colten explained how he’d gotten the names of the four Hypha targets through working sources, located the school, and learned that Alexori had found a way to breach campus security.