He froze—this was the first time she had spoken since she had been extracted, and he didn't know what to say or do. As the silence stretched, he picked a question and said, “Ben was there?” He tried to keep his tone light, conversational. The girl nodded mutely, so Paul resumed bandaging her wounds, struggling to find areas of skin where he felt comfortable sticking the adhesive. “If he was there, how can you say it's not his fault?”
Integrity pulled away and turned to face Paul. Though he could tell she wasn't comfortable making eye contact with him, she did. “Ben would never hurt me. Ben's the one that protected me. He took me away from here.” She pulled back another fraction of an inch and almost glared at Paul.
Paul gestured hesitantly toward her arm. “I'm not done.”
Crossing her arms, pulling the hem of her sleeve tightly down, she said, “It's fine.” She stood, turned her back on him, and returned to her corner. Paul sat for a moment, then, shrugging, gathered up the wrappers from the bandages and the tube of ointment. Angry, he muttered, “You're welcome.” He stalked to the door then paused and spat over his shoulder, “By the way, he never protected you. He only endangered you. He used you.”
“He did not.” Her voice had raised in volume, though she was not speaking any louder than Paul. He spun around and faced her once again.
“What, you're going to tell me he didn't slice you up like that?”
She broke eye contact for a moment, then said firmly, “I did it. To myself.” She paused, then added, “I scratched myself.” She gestured with her hand, showing how her nails would make the patterns he had seen.
Paul felt like he'd just been hit in the head with a basketball. “What? Why would you do that?” Though he tried to keep the anger in his voice, he could feel it slipping in his confusion. Just how weird were mortals?
The girl wrapped her arms around her knees and fell silent for a moment. Paul was just about to leave when she finally spoke. “The pain was better than the memories.” She paused again, then continued, “Pain can block everything else out.”
Paul took a step back into the room. “What what would you want to forget?” All traces of anger were gone now.
Looking up once more, the girl's eyes sparked. Her voice filled with venom, she growled a single word: “You.”
Є
As the days passed, Integrity found that she couldn't maintain the level of apathy that she would like. Her ultimate goal was to feel nothing. The fear Evan struck deep to her soul interfered with that.
The dog was a consolation, at least. His presence brought her out of the apathy. Kellin invariably brought her joy. When he finally built up the courage to jump onto her bed, she began sleeping there with him, though she felt somewhat guilty about using luxuries provided by the enemy. If she weren't so entirely certain that Ben would rescue her once again, she would have lost all hope and become little more than a lifeless dummy propped in one corner.
As much as she tried to avoid thoughts of Evan, and why he terrified her so, the stories Ben told her would creep into her mind, playing out vividly in her imagination. Failing to drag her thoughts away from what had happened in Jakarta, her ears provided the escape for her. She blinked slowly, then focused her gaze on the doorway as the soft strains of a violin reached her ears.
The song was haunting, in a minor key that sent shivers down her spine. Unable to contain her curiosity, she crawled silently to her doorway and peered around the corner. What she saw shocked her even more than the music had.
In the center of the living room, Evan, his back to her, stood playing a violin as easily as he walked. Kellin lay asleep at his feet, causing Integrity to frown. She briefly considered calling Kellin to her, but did not dare to break the song with her own voice. Soft and slow, the music wrapped around her like a cool sheet, invigorating but slightly uncomfortable at the same time.
Transfixed, Integrity watched the vampire sway slowly from side to side, keeping pace with the tune. When the notes trickled higher, Integrity shivered again. The spell was broken as Kellin lifted his head and began howling.
The music stopped instantly when Integrity snorted. Evan turned to face her and she felt her heart sink to her stomach. Why did you laugh? Are you insane? You know what he's capable of! Frantically, she glanced around for Paul, her gaze not finding him. Oh, no. Oh, no. Her breathing increased. Though she disliked Paul, she knew he would feel duty bound to protect her from Evan. But if they were alone...
Her eyes locking on his face once more, she saw a look of such malice that she felt dizzy for a moment. Her voice barely audible to her own ears, she gasped, “Kellin. Come here, Kellin.” Thankful, she saw the dog lunge to his feet and begin walking toward her hesitantly. She wanted to encourage him, give him something to hone in on as he walked, but her throat felt like she'd just swallowed a cotton ball. He bumped into the wall right next to the hallway, adjusted his course, and continued toward her. Still staring warily at Evan, she backed slowly into her room so that Kellin could enter. “Good boy,” she whispered, causing the dog's tail to wag. “Why don't you just stay in here with me.” Ears straining for any noise from the living area, she swung the door slowly closed as soon as Kellin was clear of its path. Grasping the doorknob, she turned it before shutting the door completely, relaxing it slowly so the latch could fall quietly into place. Still listening for Evan's approach, though she suspected he could be as silent as death if he chose to, she only began to relax when the violin began playing once more, picking up flawlessly from where it had left off. Stroking Kellin's head in relief, she murmured, “I don't think he'll take any more comments from the peanut gallery, Kell. We'd better keep our opinions to ourselves from now on, huh? No more howling if you don't want to end up like--” She cut herself off, her previous thoughts returning with full force. I'm so glad he just killed my parents. It could have been so much worse...
Є
Galia was pleasantly surprised to find that she had accomplished the day's tasks with time to spare. She returned to her room and allowed herself the luxury of lying on her bed, intent on being completely idle. Unfortunately, doing so was easier said than done. Mildly disgusted with herself, she stood, smoothed her wrinkle-free skirt, and moved out into the hallway, knowing that there was always something to do in a castle the size of Westmarch.
As she strolled the hallways, checking on those under her direct supervision, she decided on a whim to check rooms for readiness, kind of a punishment-free pop quiz. Entering Whitely's area, she checked the first room. Upon initial inspection, everything appeared in place, but the bathroom mirror showed a smudge in the upper left corner that could have caused Whitely a lot of trouble if someone had decided to occupy the room. Galia wiped the mirror clean, extinguished the electric sconces that flanked either side of the mirror, and exited the room. She'd have to talk to Whitely later about it.
As Galia continued through the castle, she passed by the door of Evan's quarters, then hesitated and turned back. She knew he was away from the castle, but he had been for some time and could return unexpectedly.
Knocking cursorily on the door, she used her master key to gain access. She shut the door, looked up, and froze. She didn't know what to do.
Raising one eyebrow laconically, Evan asked, “Yes? Is there something you need?”
Gathering herself hurriedly, Galia dropped a curtsy and began rambling. “No, sir, thank you, sir, accept my apology; I was under the impression that you were away from home.”
Evan closed the book he was holding and set it carefully on the table at his elbow. “Yes, everyone seems to be under the same misapprehension. Perhaps it's best if we let them continue to think so.”
“Yes, sir, whatever you think best, sir.” Galia backed up a few steps, bumped into the door, and reached behind her, groping for the doorknob. “If there's nothing else, sir?” He nodded at her, and she turned the doorknob. As she turned to leave, her eyes grazed the room, hoping to anticipate any future needs of the powerful, da
ngerous man. She froze, her eyes locked on the girl poking her head out of the door on the right, down the hallway. Galia's eyes flashed from Integrity, to Evan, back to Integrity. When Evan spoke once more, she reluctantly returned her gaze to him.
“Yes, I think it's best for all if they continued to think none of us were here.” He looked at Galia meaningfully for a moment, then picked his book up, opened it, and returned to reading.
“Yes, sir,” Galia murmured. She couldn't stop from glancing down the hallway once more before she left; Integrity stood fully in the hall now, looking at Galia with a strange mixture of emotion on her face--what seemed to be something akin to longing, fighting with anger. Galia ached to go to the girl, to at least speak to her, but dared not do so. Shutting the door behind her, Galia turned her key in the lock once more, slipped it into the pocket of her skirt, and moved off down the hall. Interesting. That was another topic she'd have to bring up to Whitely. Discreetly, of course. Endangering the Destine was never an option, not if Galia wished to remain alive.
CHAPTER FOUR
Galia's talk with Whitely had been enlightening, to say the least. Although the man hemmed and hawed a lot, she was able to get him to answer her questions. A guard had told Whitely to let Evan's quarters be until further notice. Whitely had seen this same guard coming and going from the same quarters often. Whitely had no idea that Evan himself resided in the quarters.
She could understand Whitely's unease with the whole situation. For this guard to spend so much time in the quarters of one of the elite was disturbing, especially since Whitely believed Evan himself was away from Westmarch. At the same time, servants dared not question those above them, even those who are only a step higher. Whitely had found himself in a catch-22 and he was not eager to let his supervisor know, even though Galia was known for being fair and discreet.
This was what upset Galia so much. She was discreet; so discreet that she had been solely responsible for Integrity's care before the presence of the Destine was known at large. So why had she been kept in the dark now? Why exclude someone who had proven herself before? Unless they thought she had leaked information, in which case her very existence was in jeopardy. Whatever the reason, she had to find out who this guard was that had access to Evan's quarters. Perhaps she could glean more information from him.
Coming up with excuses to enter Whitely's territory was a challenge. Galia had reassured the man that he was not in trouble for any of his behavior, but trust was a rare commodity in Westmarch, one not gained easily; it was only natural that Whitely still had his guard up, watching over his shoulder more than was normal. Galia could visibly see his unease increasing each time he found her in his area, a frown etching itself into his features as though it had been there for years. Little could be done about that—the more she reassured him, the more he would likely think her a threat. Later, she did feel guilty for causing the man so much stress, especially since she discovered the mysterious guard in a completely different section of the castle.
If she hadn't been responsible for delivering Integrity's meals on a thrice-daily basis before she had been taken from Westmarch, she would not have put everything together so easily, but how many vampires did she know that got the occasional craving for lemons? Particularly lemons with salt. She felt as though she could actually strike Paul. “You?” she said in shock. “You're her guard?”
Paul almost dropped the lemon and salt shaker. “Um, uh, what are you talking about?” His gaze flickered everywhere but her face.
Frowning, Galia grasped his forearm and drug him off down the hallway. Some distance away, she jerked open a door and gestured impatiently for him to walk through. Following him, she firmly closed the door on the supply closet, snapping the light on as an after thought. “Why didn't you tell me?” she hissed at him.
Flustered, slightly red, Paul caved. “You know why, I can't tell anybody anything.” He shrugged helplessly.
“Of course.” Her tone had softened slightly, though she was still obviously riled. “I just assumed that if I was excluded, everyone was, including you.” Locking her gaze on his, a small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. “Do they think I disclosed secure information? Am I in danger?”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” Paul impulsively moved to touch her, then dropped his arm back to his side. He ran one hand roughly over his short, fair hair. He made a noise of disgust and shook his head. “Everything's just so messed up. They don't even know what's up or down anymore. She doesn't even know anymore.” He rubbed one eye roughly, obviously tired. “I don't know what the fetch I'm supposed to do, except keep her alive.”
“What? Keep her alive? Like some bacteria culture?” Galia stood even straighter than normal. “She is a woman. She needs more than the bare necessities. No wonder she no longer knows up from down. She is not a dog, you know.”
Paul shrugged defensively. “Well, I'm not in charge. I'm all she's got.”
“What about Evan? He is there, too.”
Paul snorted. “Evan? Please. Since when did someone with his standing ever do anything useful? Besides, she doesn't want help, from anyone.”
“What do you mean?”
Paul looked at her, then away again. “She's different, Galia.”
Galia felt a weight pressing on her chest. “What do you mean?” Her voice was so low, Paul had little doubt she didn't really want to know the answer.
“She's not...Integrity anymore.” Paul hesitated, gathering his thoughts. He looked at Galia once more, saw the concern on her face and felt even more hesitant. “She's so dark, so bitter. She apparently hates me for some reason.” Paul tried to sound as though he didn't care, but he didn't carry it off.
Galia put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Paul, I want to see her.”
He stiffened. “You know I can't do that. There's no way to get you in without Evan seeing you, and he never leaves.”
She frowned, thinking. “We'll have to come up with a solution. She can't be without female contact forever.” She gave Paul a reassuring smile. “Hopefully the lemon will help.”
Є
Integrity found nighttime to be the most challenging. During her waking hours, what she assumed to be the day, she spent her time listening intently to the sounds emanating from the living area, playing out in her mind what she thought Evan and Paul were doing. Occasionally her curiosity would overpower her and she would creep to the door, steal a glance, then scurry back to her corner. If the two men were too quiet to occupy her thoughts, the fear would set in and she would seek out Kellin as a distraction.
Nighttime, however, brought exhaustion with it, which weakened her defenses. As she lay in bed at night, stroking Kellin's head slowly, unwanted thoughts would creep in and beset her. Once started down the path, she could not find a way of escaping, as though she were walled in on both sides. Only then would the guilt set in.
Feeling like a steel cylinder had slipped into her torso, emanating cold from its hollowness, she could find no relief. Her remorse demanded tears, but such a display felt like a way of easing a burden it was only right she should carry. Instead, she would lie perfectly still and let the pain wash over her, keeping herself in careful check. She deserved to feel as she did, and she would not cop out and allow herself to feel even the slightest relief.
Now, as she lay motionless, she felt the tears kept well at bay and let the darkness wash over her. She had not realized, at the time, what had happened to Ben while he was in prison. He had seemed relatively happy and well, and she had assumed that he was. Of course, she had always created her own, happier, reality. It was only a matter of time before the rose colored glasses were struck from her eyes and shattered on the cold concrete of life.
Only once Ben had rescued her from Evan, Paul, and Bowman, had things become clear. The scars that covered Ben's skin made her stomach clench, even at the mere thought of them. The burns were the worst, seeming as though they would never heal. She could almost see the anger flowing from t
he red, wrinkled skin.
Ben had always been careful to prevent her from seeing the scars when he had visited her at Westmarch on the rare occasions he was able to escape his cell, but he had been unable to continue the charade once they were surrounded by others who knew the truth. A passing comment brought questions that demanded answers. Ben had been unable to smother his fear, pain, and anger while trying to pass his injuries off as nothing of importance. Integrity knew him too well to be fooled.
The beatings Glegnar had inflicted upon her during her own imprisonment seemed like name calling now. True torture had been inflicted on the one person who had tried to help her, had been inflicted over and over, and she had done nothing to stop it. She had even been so wrapped up in herself that she hadn't noticed anything amiss, though there must have been plenty of signs.
All of it had happened as a direct result of Integrity. She may as well have been the one with the red hot poker or...any other instrument. She refused to let herself dwell on what else had happened to Ben, not out of any mode of self preservation but because she knew her ability to feel pain was maxed out. The details would keep for another time. The burns were enough for now. Oh, the burns...she could almost smell his seared flesh.
If she hadn't been so weak, if she hadn't complained about things that didn't truly matter, Ben never would have risked himself the way he did to remove her from under Glegnar's control. Instead, all she got was a luxury room and private guards while he ended up under the thumb of the very man who had permanently scarred his flesh. If only she hadn't been so weak. If only she had never spoken to Ben. He would have been so much better off for having never known her.
She had repaid his every effort at kindness in the worst possible way, betraying him and condemning him in one fell swoop. And here she sat, useless, disgusting, waiting for him to risk himself once more to save her. She could only pray that he would not, that he would be able to forget her as the nothing she was and never think of her again. She had already done irreparable damage to him; the thought of causing more made her ill.
Evan: Book Two of the Destine Series Page 3