by Kat Catesby
My mind reels from what she’s just said and I can’t help stop the panic constricting my lungs. The only reason Jackson considered me safe was that no one had made the connection about my supernatural heritage. It seems that may no longer be the case, especially with Sonya’s here, asking questions. I’m just grateful I fell asleep before I took my contacts out, even if my eyes are now sore; I can’t have her figuring out what I am.
“What makes you all think he told me anything?”
“Because he returned in the middle of the night alone, distracted and majorly on edge. Combine that with him smashing his fists into Shaun’s face, which isn’t something that normally happens when he’s with a standard fuck bunny, and it’s enough to raise questions. Questions that Jackson was too distracted to lie about convincingly. They know he told you about himself, though he wouldn’t explain why. You’re an unknown quantity and you are to be watched. That’s where I come in.”
The bombshells just keep on coming.
I might’ve been able to come to terms with everything that was said and done last night…but now I’m being watched? This is too much.
My head starts to swim in a fuzzy and uncomfortable way that has my stomach-churning.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because there are other Avidites worth keeping on side and having them owe you one. Favors are currency with these people, and I plan on being rich. Your face is pale and green; are you sick?” she asks without patience or kindness.
I nod and I’m not kidding.
My body is clammy and my insides are clawing up my throat. My stomach roils and nausea makes it impossible for me to sit upright anymore so I flop back down onto my bed. I need to think of a way to escape this crazy nightmare that has become my reality.
“Do you want me to get Jackson for you?” she demands.
“Why would you do that for me?” I choke out.
“Because then he’d owe me one as well. He’s not thrilled that they’re enforcing me to watch you, but he’ll appreciate it and be less of a miserable asshole if he thinks I actually care for your wellbeing.”
“Please get him for me,” I say, a plan forming in my mind.
Sonya turns on her heels and struts out of our room.
When I’m sure she’s gone, I grab my mobile from my nightstand and speed dial my security detail.
It answers on the first ring.
“Miss. Vincent,” a clipped, professional voice greets me.
“Come get me. Now,” my voice cracks.
“Are you in immediate danger?”
“No.”
“Are you in your room?”
“Yes.”
“Stay there, we’ll be with you shortly.” The line disconnects.
Immediately I jump off my bed and onto my wobbly feet, grabbing my suitcase from my closet and start throwing in all my worldly possessions.
It doesn’t take me long as I never really settled and made my room feel like home and anything I forget I’m sure Dad will replace.
Once my case is packed, I stow my laptop in my rucksack and pull on a pair of leggings and last night’s ballet flats. Combined with Jackson’s oversized sweater that I refuse to take off and I look like a typical student who can’t be bothered to get dressed in front of a mirror.
When there’s nothing left to pack, I sit on my bed and pray my security detail get here before Jackson does. I may not want to take off his sweater, but I also can’t face seeing him; my resolve will crumble and for my own sanity I need to be far, far away from all of this.
I need to process what I’ve learned and what it means for me to be a Supernatural, and I can’t do that under the critical glare of that fucking bitch Sonya.
I’m resolutely ignoring the jagged pain that threatens to slice through me when I contemplate not seeing Jackson again. My own self-preservation needs to come before my body’s desire for him.
My security team arrives in record time; all four dressed in sharply tailored suits that do little to disguise the shoulder holsters for their licensed firearms.
I recognize the lead guy as Tristan Matthews. He was hired specifically to babysit me by Philips, my family’s longtime bodyguard.
Tristan is his younger protégé of sorts, tasked with my protection until Philips retires and takes his place.
Silently, they file into my room, pick up my bags and any items I missed and escort me out into the hallway, my body tucked protectively to Tristan’s surprisingly solid side.
The team forms a loose square around me as we move through the dorm block with students staring inquisitively at me. I try not to look at anyone in return and focus my energy on picking up my feet instead of stumbling along with heavy, numb limbs.
Tristan can feel me struggling beside him so he moves his arm from around my shoulders to hold me firmly around the waist, allowing him to half lift me and take some of my weight. It doesn’t seem to slow his steady stride and before long we’re outside heading towards a blacked-out Audi SUV.
That’s when I look up and see Jackson sprinting towards us calling my name. The team maneuvers me towards the vehicle, their hands reaching for their holstered weapons in case Jackson is a threat.
He is, just to my heart, not my body.
“Don’t, just get me out of here.”
I don’t want them hurting him – if that’s even possible – although, from the look on Jackson’s face, running away will do exactly that.
My security detail won’t hurt him, I will.
Tristan orders everyone into the vehicle; one of the guys I don’t know taking the driver seat while Tristan picks me up and bundles me onto the back seat with him.
I hear Jackson call my name one last time, his voice laced with hurt and restrained fury, before the SUV speeds off and I burst into tears, pain slicing through me and a growing, aching void developing in my chest.
Tristan sits awkwardly motionless as I sob into his side, cocooned in the soft fabric and manly scent of Jackson’s stolen sweater.
Chapter Ten
My parents pace back and forth across the dining room of their grand Fifth Avenue Penthouse. They look stressed as they pace a hole in the hardwood floor.
I sit at the head of their dining table fuming and yelling at them; Philips and Matthews stand in one corner acting professionally while I have my meltdown.
My cheeks are tear-stained, my eyes sore and puffy – the contacts had to go – and I’m still wearing the abducted sweater.
It turns out my parents knew about my supernatural heritage all along and I’m not exactly feeling forgiving. My parents always spoke about love and honesty whilst keeping my past a secret from me. They lied to my face, for years. How am I supposed to trust them after this?
I always suspected that they found out something about my birth parents they didn’t like, and I never pushed for the information because I wasn’t lying when I told Jackson I was content with my adopted family. But I also never dreamed that the secret could be so explosive. I thought it would be something along the lines of my birth parents being drug addicts, not a secret about my entire existence.
This deception is breaking my heart…and it has the power to break our family.
Philips disappears for a moment and returns with a mature looking woman with kind brown eyes – somehow, he was able to hear her knocking at our door above my noise. Her blond hair is paling into gray, but her face is smooth and with very few lines; I find it impossible to guess her age.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice Wilhelmina. This is our daughter, Emilia,” my father says gravely. “Emilia, this is Wilhelmina Price. She is a matron at a sorority of young ladies like yourself at Columbia.”
“An angel sorority? Perhaps someone should have suggested that to me before I went on my merry way to meet the vampires of Dartmouth!” I snap.
“We were unaware that there was a coven at Dartmouth when your parents and I discussed safe options for your education,” soothes Wilhe
lmina, acting oblivious to the tone of my outburst.
“I don’t think they’d appreciate being called a coven,” I automatically defend Jackson, feeling guilty for just calling him a vampire when he said they hated the name and thinking that ‘coven’ isn’t much nicer.
I’m also choosing to ignore the comment that my parents discussed my education and safety with someone I see as a total stranger.
We’ll get to that issue later.
“No, you’re probably right. But still, we were unaware of their presence at Dartmouth.”
I notice that Ms. Price has a serene sounding voice, melodic and soothing and I remember something Jackson said about pushing my serenity to its flaming limits.
“Are you a Guardian?” I ask. I don’t think she is unless Guardians come in middle-aged varieties.
“No, I am a Halfling. My mother was a Guardian and my father was human. I have some of the Guardian strength, but not all, and I do age, albeit slowly.”
“If you all knew what I was then why did no one say anything? And if there was a place where I could be with my own kind then why wasn’t that encouraged? I would have listened to reason, eventually…after I got over the shock. And to be clear, keeping something this big from me shocks me to my already shattered heart. I’m clinging to the tattered remains of my comprehension for the world around me and I find out you knew all along.”
My accusations are calmer this time; Wilhelmina Price really is a calming influence.
“I’m unsure how forthcoming Mr. Smoak has been with you, so please tell me if there is anything I say that you don’t understand. Supernaturals, on average, take three to six years to reach their prime once maturity has started. This process usually starts at around twenty-one years of age, by which time college is nearly complete. My sorority is designed for those who begin maturity early and need an extra level of guidance and stability through crucial years of development that can already be daunting and trying for a young adult without the added complication of becoming immortal. You didn’t display any symptoms to suggest early maturity, so we didn’t believe you needed the support.”
“So you sent me off to college completely oblivious where I could’ve started maturing at any time and would have had no clue as to what was happening to me or why? I’m certain that the girls in your sorority are aware of what is happening to them.”
I don’t try to hide my accusation; what they did was just plain stupid.
One glance at Tristan’s brooding eyes confirms that he thinks the same, even if he does disguise it behind a passively professional expression.
“We believed you hadn’t hit maturity. We thought we had more time,” my mother pleads.
“That’s not an excuse to send me out into the world clueless!” She pales under my damning words.
“Don’t shout at your mother, young lady,” my dad bellows, obviously out of patience with my temper.
“You EARNED it, YOU. LIED. TO. ME,” I shout each word for maximum effect and my mother’s sobs start all over again. “And don’t you DARE call me ‘young lady’ in that patronizing tone; I found out today that I was killed one-hundred-and-twenty years ago…long before you were even born! Every nightmare I’ve ever had was actually a terrifying memory and you kept it from me, apparently for my benefit.”
I see the shock in every pair of eyes in the room.
Wilhelmina places a firm yet tender hand on my shoulder.
“We were wrong,” she says simply. “One day you will learn that as parents we don’t have all the answers. There’s no manual to show us the pitfalls of our decisions, we do the best with the information we have. In this instance, your parents and I made the wrong call. That doesn’t mean we’re not sorry for what you’ve been through or that they love you any less than you grew up believing. So your choice is quite simple, forgive them and get over it or keep screaming at them like a child, what will it be?”
“Just like that? It’s that simple; get over it and forget about the betrayal and destruction of trust?”
“It can be as simple as you want it to be.”
I don’t appreciate being scolded by a woman I don’t know, but she has a point, albeit a small one I’m loathed to admit. It would be stupid of me to push away the few people I can be myself around, who know the complete truth about me and love me unconditionally. The only other person I’ve had a similar connection with is Jackson…but we’re not going there.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you all. But don’t think that my willingness to move past this is a green light to keep me in the dark about things; if there’s anything else I need to know, now is the time to tell me.” I don’t want to fight, but I’m not going to just roll over and be a doormat.
“You appear to know as much as we do, courtesy of that boy,” says my father testily.
“You mean the one-hundred-and-sixty-year-old man who didn’t lie to me?” I don’t know why I’m continuing to defend Jackson, especially as it earns me a scathing look from my dad. “This is pointless and I’m exhausted, what are my options now?”
“Well, with your grades you’d readily be accepted to Columbia and I have a long-time understanding with the faculty for transfer students of particular interest – that’s how I provide support to those Guardians who start maturity whilst at college instead of displaying symptoms before. Most of my girls are transfers in fact, so you won’t be out of place,” answers Wilhelmina.
“What are the symptoms of maturity?”
“In the early phase, as your DNA begins to evolve, you may feel fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and general flu-like symptoms. Some people have reported feeling insecure and retreated into themselves, socially speaking, while all of their energy is focused on the changes their body is going through. This stage lasts for up to a month and from then until immortality is set, symptoms are sporadic and mostly display themselves as difficulty in controlling the newly-developed powers, such as speed and strength.
“The physical changes enhance the senses, so my girls frequently see and hear things they don’t want to, and prior to maturity, wouldn’t have. They heal at accelerated rates and they cause accidental damage due to underestimating their increasing strength. Some girls develop talents that are a rarity, even for supernaturals.
“After the first stage of maturity, the most prominent issue is mental well-being. It’s no small task to evolve into an immortal being; there’s a level of responsibility that comes with such enhanced powers. Not to mention the emotional toll upon realizing that you will live for a considerable amount of time, likely outliving people who are very dear to you. Supernaturals are quite difficult to kill once they reach their prime and their immortality is set; it can be done, but it’s not easy.”
“It isn’t hard if you bleed out faster than you can heal,” I say without inflection.
“Is that how your first incarnation was killed? How was that accomplished?” asks Wilhelmina.
“Most of my throat was torn off by an Avidite. I bled out before Jackson Smoak could do anything to save me.”
“He was there?” asks my father incredulously.
“I died in his arms.”
“Well that explains why he was so keen to re-acquaint you with our world before you were ready,” Wilhelmina sounds almost accusatory.
“I’m not so sure it was before I was ready; if by ready you are referring to the onset of maturity? I’ve felt shit for weeks, I’ve lost all social skills, I’m dizzy at least once a day and there have been occasions when I couldn’t even get out of bed. My moods have been all over the place and I haven’t felt like myself since I left for Dartmouth.”
“Early onset of maturity would be concurrent with the amount of power needed to be contained within you to enable you to be reborn. I guess we just missed your symptoms by a couple of weeks. I will be able to confirm this once you join me in school, but honestly, even if it’s not maturity, you are better off safe with me and a sorority full of ladies who can protect
you than out there on your own now that you are on the Avidite radar. You are vulnerable until you hit your Prime. James, Margot, I will be able to confirm Emilia’s place with us first thing tomorrow morning,” she says the last part to my parents.
“Thank you, Wilhelmina,” my dad’s voice finally sounds like its back to its relaxed, even tempo.
Tristan escorts Matron Wilhelmina Price back to our foyer and out the front door.
She calls first thing to make arrangements for my transfer to Columbia and a few days later, I’m packed and ready to leave.
Things with my parents are tense so it’s a relief to flee the nest. I know they love me and I agreed to forgive them, but that doesn’t make forgetting any easier. Trust is a fragile thing and ours took a pounding.
In the underground parking garage, I find Tristan waiting next to one of my parent’s fleet of SUVs – another Audi. His bags are already loaded in the open trunk and he opens a back-passenger door for me.
I hate the back seat; being chauffeured doesn’t sit well with me. Not to mention, I prefer the unobstructed view through the windshield.
I walk past Tristan and reach for the front passenger door, ignoring his unamused expression.
I feel bad for Tristan, his job protecting me means that he has to live wherever I live…and that’s seen him pack his life up twice in a week. Still, I don’t feel bad enough to sit in the back as he wants.
“My job is to protect you, Miss. Vincent, I would rather you sat in the back,” he said gruffly but firmly.
I don’t know a lot about Tristan Matthews except that he’s ex-military, a British Green Beret, and I know enough about that to know he thinks I won’t fight him.
He’s wrong.
“The windshield is bulletproof, just like the rest of the stupid car, and surely you can protect me better if you can see exactly where I am; the front seat of the car seems like a good place for you to have an uninterrupted view of me.”