by Tanith Frost
Finally.
“Then tell me what the hell is going on.” My words come out in a rush, and it’s all I can do not to put my hands on him now that it might be safe to express my relief at finding him here and safe. “When did they catch you? What happened to everyone else? How did you—”
He shakes his head. Even now that we’re truly alone, his expression doesn’t soften or show any hint of relief, concern, or anything I’d have felt if our positions were reversed. My stomach sinks like a stone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“No shit. You shouldn’t be, either. We have to get out.”
“There is no way out. That’s why I brought you here—to tell you how to survive.” Before my heart can warm with the knowledge that he wants me to make it here, he continues. “It took me a while to figure out what they wanted from me, but I’ve managed. I’ve survived. Neither of us can afford for you to face that kind of learning curve.”
My head is spinning. I still wanted this to be an act, but the jarring intensity in his eyes isn’t passion or love. I clear my throat and tell myself it doesn’t matter. “Go ahead.”
“First, you can’t lie and expect not to be found out. Lachlan has a gift for sniffing out insincerity.”
“Does he read thoughts?”
“Not exactly. But he knows if you’re lying. He might let you think you’re fooling him, but he’s only allowing you to dig your grave deeper for his own amusement.”
That explains how he knew I was lying about my name. They’d have beaten me until he was satisfied he had the truth if Daniel hadn’t come in and spilled it for me, I’m sure.
“Is that how you’ve survived? By being honest?”
One corner of Daniel’s mouth curves slightly. “Honesty and the truth aren’t the same thing, are they? You can’t lie to him, but you can show him the truth that benefits you. More importantly, you can choose what’s true. Did I lie to him in that interrogation room?”
“No, but—”
“Did I tell him everything?”
“No. You offered him the shittiest parts of me and sounded like you believed every word.”
“Because I did. And do.” He glances over his shoulder, though I didn’t hear anything. Then he steps closer. “I’ve made it this far by choosing my thoughts carefully. A vampire loyal to Maelstrom stands no chance of survival here, so I learned to hate the clan that sent me and my team here and abandoned us. It’s amazing how malleable attitudes and beliefs can be when you’re motivated to change them and see a new truth. Ignoring the alternatives is a fine place to start.”
I swallow hard. “So the things you said about me, about feeling nothing…”
“Also true.” I’m not sure whether the sharp glint in his eyes makes me want to cry or punch him. It hardly matters. I can’t afford to do either. “I did, once. You exposed that weakness in me and gave me the space I needed to move past it. I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
I cross my arms and glare up at him. “Is that why you’re telling me all of this? Because you owe me something?”
He smiles, though without pleasure. “Hardly. My concern is your weakness. If Lachlan finds out there was ever anything between us, he’ll be all too happy to use it. I have no desire to face physical torture so he can watch you melt under the pressure, especially when I’ve conquered my own shortcomings in that area. Understood?”
Understood. He used to say that to me and Trixie all the time when he needed to make sure we comprehended the importance of some lesson.
“You don’t want to suffer for my deficiencies. I get it.”
He looks deep into my eyes, searching for something—maybe for some confirmation that I’m really hearing him. “This isn’t Maelstrom where weakness is tolerated in the hopes that it will be overcome or that a vampire will prove herself useful some other way. This clan is massive. A member who shows weakness or lacks power can be easily replaced. If you want to survive, you have to prove yourself. Become what they want you to be—cold, cruel, entirely heartless.”
“Like you did?”
For a few seconds, he lets his guard down and shows me what’s beneath. No malice toward me now, but what I feel is almost as bad. Whatever connection we had is gone. Maybe he did love me once, but he’s killed that along with every other part of the Daniel I once thought I knew.
My eyes sting, and I squeeze them closed to keep tears from coming.
“Forget the past,” he says. His voice sounds as if it’s coming from far away, though he’s practically whispering in my ear. “It can only hurt you here. Where you can’t, take your true memories and reimagine them to cast a better light on yourself. Train yourself to feel nothing that doesn’t serve you here. No sympathy, no affection, no…” He trails off, and when I look up again, he’s glaring at me, jaw clenched tight. “No weakness. Nothing that can be used as a weapon against you. Don’t ignore those things or tuck them away for later. Crush them.”
“So I can’t lie, but I also can’t be myself?”
He frowns, and for a moment, I think there’s something else in his eyes—pain, though I can’t say why. Then it’s gone. “There’s no place for Aviva here. Either you kill her, or they’ll do it for you.” He looks around again. “We should go.”
I grab on to his arm as he reaches past me to open the door. The physical contact connects me with his power, deep and strong and painfully familiar. I ignore it. “Just so we’re clear—you hate me. You’re not interested in helping me find information about Tempest’s plans to invade Maelstrom. Is that right? Because that’s why I’m here.”
He looks away, exasperated.
“Let it go, Aviva. All of it. You don’t have a mission here. Not if you want to survive.” His shoulders slump, but there’s no weakness in him when he looks into my eyes again. “It’s your choice. But if you fuck up, leave me out of it.”
I don’t answer.
Daniel doesn’t seem to care. “Open yourself to what they offer you. You have power. Potential. Impressive gifts. Use them.”
He pulls the door open, checks to make sure no one is around, and leads me back out.
The rest of the tour passes in a blur that ends with me back in my room that feels more like a prison cell, exhausted and facing the prospect of my first day in a coffin. No one has stopped by to bring me anything else to wear, so I lie down fully dressed.
The coffin is surprisingly comfortable, obviously custom-made for vampires, with something like a mattress at the bottom. No blankets, though. Just fuchsia silk lining that echoes the roses on the outside. I don’t close the lid. It would feel safer in a way to be enclosed, armoured, but just lying here makes me feel claustrophobic.
I’ll sleep because I’m exhausted, because my body needs the rest if it’s going to heal, because I’m so fucking weak and no one has offered me a meal yet. But my thoughts won’t stop racing. They should be focused on my mission and how I’m going to get the information I need when everything I do or say is potentially being observed, but all I can think of is Daniel.
Genevieve was right. This has thrown me. I could have dealt with him being physically or mentally broken better than I can deal with his choice to despise me. And it was a choice—one he obviously made long before he knew he’d meet me in that interrogation room. If there’s any part of the old Daniel left, he’s buried it so deep even he can’t be betrayed by it.
Or has he?
He had to be willing to kill me. Lachlan would have known if he wasn’t. Pulling his punches would have meant the end for both of us—and any sign Daniel felt anything for me would have made it all the worse. He was protecting himself, but me as well. By insulting me to my face, he told the leaders of Tempest that I’m exactly what they’re looking for in a vampire.
But then, his attack is also what exposed my fire to Bethany, and I don’t know yet how that will play out. Maybe I’m grasping at straws instead of stepping onto the solid ground he’s tried to offer me.
>
I can’t cling to the idea that I can bring back the Daniel I knew, but I can learn from him. What he’s doing is obviously working—he’s the only member of his team who survived. He’s showing them his power, not modulating it as he did in Maelstrom where he didn’t want to be marked as a threat to vampires like Viktor. He’s killed his past in order to focus on survival in the future.
Survival will become my priority, too.
There has to be a way I can lie to Lachlan. Bethany did it right in front of me… sort of. He asked about my power—What is it? She answered honestly, saying she wanted to study it, agreeing with what she knew he’d felt in me. But she didn’t answer fully.
Every word was true, but there were things she didn’t tell him. So that’s step one: offer enough true statements to head off questions.
Unless that was an act, too, to throw me off and encourage me to dig my grave deeper.
I turn and punch the pillow as though that will make me any more comfortable. Sleep’s never going to come at this rate. I need to calm down. Maybe if I had a book to read.
I sit up straight as an idea strikes me.
Books. Daniel’s room.
Fiction, every bit of it, but maybe there’s help for me there. Not in the fake monsters of Dracula and Frankenstein, but in the story of a man divided.
I settle back down and stare up at the ceiling.
Daniel’s advice was good, but I’m not him, and we have different strengths. He’s never put a name to his gifts when we’ve discussed them, but secrecy is a big part of it—hiding his power, showing only what others want to see. Walls like a fortress that hide his true self. Lies, if that’s what he needs.
I’ve never been as good at those things.
So I can’t be myself. Not around Lachlan if I see him again. Not around any of the prying eyes and listening ears that seem to be everywhere in this place. Daniel said I had to kill Aviva as he’s killed the Daniel I once knew. But maybe I don’t have to go that far.
Daniel’s wrong if he thinks compassion and connection and well-intentioned fuck-ups are all that I am. I’ve seen a darker side of myself. I’ve felt the thrill of taking a life and craved more even as I felt guilty for wanting it. I’ve seen the beauty of the void’s darkness, taken steps toward embracing the power and strength that come from my monstrous nature. Even when those aspects of myself horrified me, they were there. And that’s what he says Tempest wants to see.
What I need is separation, a Mr. Hyde persona I can slip into while I hide Aviva and her true intentions at the back of my mind, where she can gather information for quiet moments when I can let my true self out to think.
Ava. I’ll tell them I chose my new name before I came here, and that’s why I tried to give it to them.
I don’t have a chemical concoction to create the split, but maybe I can do it on my own by taking Daniel’s advice. I’ll choose my thoughts, let Ava come fully into her own. I’ll give her the memories that serve my purposes here—the murder accusations against me, my bitterness at Maelstrom for how I’ve been overlooked and used, the fact that I was as good as finished if I’d stayed there.
As Aviva, I carry a lot of other baggage—Viktor, Gideon, vague knowledge of Tempest’s plans to invade Maelstrom. But Ava certainly had nothing to do with that whole mess. I can become her. I know I can, especially if I stick to the truth in as many other ways as possible.
It’s not a lie if she really is me.
Ava can become whatever it is they want as long as it lets me survive long enough to escape with information. I’ll keep my mission in the back of my mind, though. I’ll keep my ears open. I’ll discover Tempest’s plans, and somehow I’ll get them back to Miranda.
I close my eyes, thoughts of Ava’s memories swirling through my mind.
Daniel wears his mask. Now I have mine.
I’ll be walking a tightrope, balancing between Ava and Aviva, survival and saving Maelstrom.
It will be dangerous. Daniel is strong, and he’s lost himself completely.
But I won’t lose myself.
I swear I won’t.
8
When I open my eyes to darkness, panic sets in. There’s no other thought for several seconds—not after I try to roll over and find myself boxed in without room to stretch.
Coffin is the first thought to come back to me.
Closed casket.
Dead.
It’s like the night I woke without a heartbeat or a soul. For a moment, I’ve lost everything I’ve learned and experienced over the past few years. It was all a dream, and I’m back where I started.
I brace myself against the floor of the coffin and shove upward as hard as I can, expecting to meet the resistance of latches or locks—or six feet of fresh earth.
The lid flies back so hard it bounces and closes again. I catch it and scramble out, ready to fight whoever trapped me while I slept.
An auburn-haired human seated in one of the chairs in the corner looks up from the pile of dark purple fabric on her lap. “Did you not want it closed?”
I bare my fangs at her. “If I wanted it closed, I’d have fucking closed it.”
Her creamy skin pales. “I’m sorry. The others always sleep with them shut. I’ll remember next time.” She rises and sets her work aside. “My name is Paige. I’ve been assigned to you.”
“Assigned to do what?” My hands are still clenched at my sides. It’s not Paige I’m reacting to but the screaming terror that clings to me like a layer of cold sweat. My rational mind understands what happened. I have to calm myself. Adjust better.
Resist the urge to tear her head off for an innocent mistake.
“Serving you.” She gestures at the fabric. “Mending your clothes. Whatever you need.” She lowers her gaze. “Feeding, though I’ve been instructed to wait on that until Lachlan gives you permission.”
There’s a question there. A tremble in her voice. She’s not sure I’ll obey him.
Am I sure? I’m weak. I need the strength her blood would provide as much as I need the assurance and comfort it would bring. And they’ve left us alone just as they left me and Daniel when he came to get me—another test. The faint scars on her throat tell me she’s experienced, that I could probably convince her to let me feed. And if not, I could force it.
I won’t. I’m not that far gone.
“Did I startle you?” I ask. There are other things I’d like to know: Did she see me dreaming? Is she here to spy on me while she serves? But those questions would give too much away. I have to be Ava now, not Aviva. Inexperienced, probably a bit mistrustful after my rough arrival, but eager to find a home here.
Me, but only as much as I want them to see.
She smiles shyly. “That was quite an entrance. I’ve just drawn you a hot bath. You can put this on when you’re finished.” She holds up the skirt she was working on and reaches for a white blouse that’s resting on the table beside her. “And then I’m to take you to a meeting.”
“With whom?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t say.”
“Can you tell me anything? Who you are, why you’re here, how things work for you humans?”
“I’m sorry.”
I sigh. “It’s fine. A bath sounds lovely. Thank you.”
She carries the clothes into the bathroom and leaves me. Maybe it’s to report back to someone. I don’t have the energy to care. I just want to clean myself up and get through whatever comes next.
It takes a while to soak the dried blood out of my hair, and I don’t feel entirely clean when I leave the grimy bathwater. Still, it’s better than nothing. I dress carefully and give myself a once-over in the mirror. They’re certainly not equipping me for combat. The long skirt is tight all the way down my thighs before flaring enough to allow me to walk, and it’s a few inches too long. The blouse is nice, fitted but not too restrictive as long as I don’t button it all the way up.
Still, the clothes are only part of my appearance. My inj
uries are healing, but…
I lean in closer. My eyes are pale grey, as they should be, but there’s a disturbing hint of gold in their depths. I close them and focus on letting the void rise to cover the fire that’s been working hard all day to heal and sustain me in spite of my hunger.
Better. Not perfect, but better. I’m going to have to be on my guard if there’s any chance I’ll run into Bethany. She already knows too much, and what she doesn’t know could definitely hurt me.
Paige towel-dries and combs out my hair, then applies my makeup. A vampire doesn’t need much, but the mascara makes my eyes stand out, and the rosy lip gloss draws attention to my fangs when I open my mouth. Paige squints at my reflection, then musses my hair a little to give it volume.
“Last thing,” she says as she walks to the wardrobe. She sounds apologetic. When I turn, I understand why.
“You’re joking.”
“Not even a little.” She holds out the boots. “You need a hand with these?”
“No.” I move to one of the chairs and examine the boots before I slip them on. Knee-high, black leather, laced from arch to top… all of which would be fine if not for the thin, five-inch heels. I haven’t worn shit like this since I died and haven’t missed it for an instant. “What happened to my old ones?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or can’t say?” I frown at the boots. I’d rather scowl at Paige, but she’s just doing her job.
She doesn’t answer.
I stand cautiously. My balance is good enough that I’m not worried about toppling over, but my posture feels wrong. My leg muscles are too tight, and my ass is working overtime to compensate for how my hips are tilted. My strides are too short, my movement even more limited than the skirt can manage on its own. I pull my shoulders back and pretend this all makes me feel strong and confident, but inside I’m seething.
At least I have the comfort of imagining jabbing one of these heels through the eye of whatever sadist created them.