Midnight Falls (Sky Brooks Series Book 3)

by McKenzie Hunter

  I couldn’t have cared less about automatic or manual transmission, but I wanted him to concentrate on more than his injuries. As I gathered the supplies from the bathroom, I tried to prioritize them. The ones on his leg looked bad, and I definitely thought it would be a good idea to call Dr. Jeremy, but he declined. It didn’t dawn on me until I was kneeling in front of him helping him out of his pants that looking for the Aufero may not have been supported by the pack. It would surely change the dynamics of the relationship with the witches and Josh.

  “Wait,” Ethan blurted once I started to touch him. He closed his eyes, taking several long controlled breaths before nodding. “Go ahead.”

  This subdued version of him wasn’t something I could get used to. He was hostile, short-tempered and in touch with his wolf on a primal level. It wasn’t his best attribute and made dealing with him a pain; but it was who he was. This was a manufactured version of him I didn’t like. He seemed restrained, limited and unnatural.

  Once the blood was cleaned away, the wound didn’t look as bad. “I should have given her the Aufero sooner,” I said, my guilt making it hard to make eye contact.

  “That wasn’t the goal,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to choose me over it.”

  I didn’t know if that was an indictment of his character or mine. Did he think his life had less value than the Aufero to me? Did he think I was cruel enough to allow my self-interest to trump his life? Or was he projecting because that is what he would have done: let me die and walk away with the Aufero?

  Instead of settling my curiosity, I continued to treat the cuts. No matter how I ignored it, I could feel his keen gaze on me. I glanced up in silence several times, chewing on my lips as I suppressed my questions.

  “I would have given it to her too,” he said.

  “Well, I hope so; even you aren’t that big of a jerk,” I said with a half-grin. Relief. It shouldn’t have made me feel unweighted, but it did. Ethan and I weren’t going to ever be friends, I accepted that; but we were part of the pack, and he wasn’t a bad person to have your back.

  He glanced down at my patchwork nursing, but it was just a moment. I assumed that if he gave it too much attention the calm that he had worked so hard to achieve would crumble. Marcia’s cruelty angered me, and she hadn’t stabbed me with broken glass or threatened to slice me into bite-sized pieces.

  When he stood, he winced, so I stepped back, giving him room to move. “She knows what you are. She will likely approach you soon,” he said.

  She could approach me all she wanted; it didn’t mean that I had to talk to her or do whatever she asked of me. Or did I? Could she cast a spell on me that would force me into compliance? I doubted it. If that were possible, I am sure that Sebastian would have ordered Josh to cast one on me the day he met me.

  “What would she want with a Moura?” But that wasn’t the most important question. Why did the Midwest Pack want one?

  “Your connection to the Aufero is stronger than hers is. I am willing to bet she thinks she can use it and you to find the other protected objects. More specifically the Clostra. Believe me, if she ever gets a hold of it, we are done. The first spell she will use is the one to kill us,” he said. He glanced at the clock. “It’s getting late, and I am tired,” he admitted softly. Desolation hung off his words. I was reluctant to leave, but Ethan insisted. He wanted to be alone and his mood made that very clear.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the look on his face. It bothered me more than the fact that Marcia had the Aufero in her possession again. Sitting on my couch and trying to grab the final crumbs in a family-size bag of Doritos that I had devoured over the course of an hour, I couldn’t get the defeatist look that had eclipsed Ethan’s appearance out of my head. How long would it take before he would have his abilities under control? But what would his life be like? A person controlled so much by his wolf, his normal temperament could be easily described as hostile. How long would it be before he and Josh get into one of their typical fights and he accidentally killed him or someone else?

  The more I thought of it, the less contempt I held for the elves and that covenant to “contain” dark elves. In a sordid way, it was a mercy killing. How long would it be before Ethan would require the same fate? My head was starting to hurt thinking about it. If they decided to continue to hide him, what would happen if his existence became known? How would the others respond to the pack’s noncompliance to an agreement they had vowed to uphold?

  I had to get the Aufero from Marcia and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

  The light knock at the door was a welcome distraction. Quell’s chocolate eyes lifted to meet mine as I looked out of the peephole. I opened the door. He was paler than usual, and his hunger was apparent, but he pushed it aside and took a seat on the sofa. His gaze followed me no matter where I moved. His hand rested across his leg, the pensive look was the only thing different about him.

  “You’re unhappy a lot these days,” he acknowledged.

  I stopped pacing the floor and took a seat next to him, but that wasn’t any better because my fingers continued wringing the bottom of my shirt. I didn’t stop until his hand covered mine. “It may give you some relief to talk about it.”

  Quell wasn’t one to confide in. He was the odd vampire so far removed from humanity that he was a peculiarity even among vampires. Not as cruel as the ones I had encountered, but his misanthropy somehow made him even crueler. His inability to connect with the basic nature of humanity made him dangerous. My guilt about being the one responsible for what he was today had me fettered to him in a way that was indescribable. He would never be a confidant because my emotions were something he would never understand.

  But I was desperate and he was better than just talking to the wall. “I have to do something kind of bad, and I feel that there is always that line you cross where you can no longer consider yourself a good person. I think I will have to cross it,” I admitted.

  He listened quietly, and when he finally spoke, he gave each word careful contemplation. “Rules of good and bad exist in the human world, from which you seem to draw your ethics, but they are biased at best. People will act in their best interests, using various means to justify the most heinous of acts. If you are holding yourself to the same standards and ethics seen in the human world, then there aren’t many things you should feel shame for. You do what is necessary to survive. I guess we all draw a line, but letting others define yours is futile and can be dangerous. I urge you to set your own boundaries of good and bad, because if you allow it to be set by others, it will lead to nothing but disappointment and self-loathing. Your life will become a pattern of self-deprivation because you fall short of what others have defined as human. Once that happens—” He stopped abruptly and sat in silence, drawn into his thoughts as I continued to wonder about Quell, the lost one. “Just don’t let that happen,” he whispered.

  Sometimes my curiosity about him got the best of me, but he often discouraged my inquiries about his life before he was turned, stating that some tales of darkness should remain where they deserved to dwell. But how awful was his human life that he asked Michaela, the Mistress of the Northern Seethe, to change him from being human?

  “I know nothing about you,” I said. His vacuous look didn’t make getting personal easy. “What was your life like before?”

  “There isn’t much to tell,” he said, dropping his gaze. The heavy cloud of despair rested heavily on him as his eyes stayed focused on his hands that fidgeted in his lap. After a long stretch of silence, he spoke so softly I had to scoot closer to hear him.

  “When I graduated from college, I thought I would teach: liberal arts, psychology. Human nature once fascinated me. Somehow I was foolish enough to think I would mold the minds of a generation, and marry Clara, a woman I loved dearly. But fate had its own warped plans. They weren’t supposed to draft the remaining child in a family that had lost others; it was a promise that the government upheld. But when my brother died
serving his country for what he believed in, I felt that, at least for appearances’ sake, I should show the same bravery.”

  “I felt sorrow for those suffering, but not enough to actively do anything about it. Shame was what drove my actions. So I enlisted.” He took a long time before he spoke again. I quickly did the math in my head; he had to be speaking of World War II.

  As many times as I had seen the atrocities on the History Channel and read about it in books, I couldn’t imagine seeing it firsthand and not being irreparably changed by it.

  He bowed his head; ignominy radiated off him, making his skin warm. Not warm like mine, but for some reason his skin didn’t feel cool when I touched it. He wrapped his hands around mine. He opened his mouth to speak but all he had was silence. Finally, he found his words. “I was good at war,” he whispered.

  I didn’t push it anymore. My curiosity had to be shamed into silence. But I was left wondering what had he done that now left him still brokenhearted. Do you ever forget the horrid things you do? Or do you still wake up with night sweats reliving the night you tortured someone? Do the faces of the people you killed in cold blood still haunt you? Was what he saw during times of war so disturbing that he lost all hope in humanity?

  He went on to tell me what it was like to walk over dead bodies that were tortured for an ideology. He said the word with such passionate disdain and loathing. He was less detailed as he brushed over the tales of torture as the recipient and the purveyor.

  “I went there with the intention to do good, but somehow things went very bad. Once you see such devastation, you no longer care about doing a good deed—you want to seek revenge. In the end you become the very monster you thought you were fighting against. It is hard to consider yourself human. It is hard to consider others that way. As humans, you live by a code that dictates your humanity; anything that falls short makes you a monster, inhumane, evil. And you battle with that so long that …”

  “You feel moral fatigue,” I offered.

  He mouthed the words “moral fatigue.” I think he liked it, because there was a hint, just a wisp of a smile that emerged. “It brings things out of you. In your mind you want to do the right thing. To maintain yourself. It is a constant battle of trying to remain true to who you are and who you need to become to succeed. The more horrors you see, the harder it is to care one way or the other. Eventually, you stop caring.”

  Now his voice was emotionless. “I was such an idealistic young man. But once you’ve been in a war, you realize the world is small and limited by so much. It is easy for men to become monsters in the middle of hardship. And for the unremarkable to become heroes. And what you become has less to do with the character of the person and more about the situation. I became a monster. A monster that commanded and trained others to be and do worse than I had. Because I saw horrible things and thought violence and retribution was the way to make it right.” He frowned before he looked away.

  For the first time since I met Quell, I understood his fascination with being a vampire. They didn’t have a standard of humane and inhumane behavior. There wasn’t that constant need to stay in the lines of acceptable ethical behavior, because that didn’t have any they adhered to. Vampires operated on a pleasure principle. Whatever made them happy was the right thing to do.

  Quell had lost hope in humanity. He held them to the same standard that he held himself, and when he failed—he removed himself from it. So many had fallen short in adhering to the standards he set for humans, leaving him in a constant state of revulsion over the nature of humanity. I wasn’t sure if I accepted that devolution was the norm or if his standards were too high.

  My hand covered his; he stared at it and eventually slid his from under mine. Before I could say anything—he had vanished.

  I hated when he did that.

  CHAPTER 14

  Claudia never looked surprised to see me, and when I showed up at the gallery just minutes after it opened wasn’t an exception. The gentle smile that always graced her lips remained as she said goodbye to the first patron. Her warmth was a pleasant distraction. Nothing seemed to shock Claudia; it was probably from years of selling art that would otherwise make most people flinch. Instead, she welcomed me with an air kiss near my cheek. “As usual, it is a pleasure,” she said with a courteous smile before she informed her assistant that she was going to her office for a meeting.

  “What brings you by?” she asked, waving me forward to follow her into her office.

  “I need to talk.” I needed to do more than just to talk; I needed a favor. Claudia was more than what she’d presented and had connections that I needed. I knew that, but I didn’t know the extent of her reach and capability. Could she help me retrieve the Aufero from Marcia? At this point, desperation made whatever slim chance it was a viable option.

  Once in her office, she slipped off the jacket of her pale blue suit and laid it across the wingback chair in her office. Her office was a reflection of her personality. The desk was cherry wood, antique with a matching a credenza, and an inkwell in the corner. It was a unique look of old world enhanced by the art that covered the walls and the beautiful sculptures that decorated the large room. The hardwood floors looked recently buffed and the brass handles on the drawers and windows were shiny and spotless.

  Her expression had changed. The smile fizzled, now a businesslike expression, her lips a thin line, eyes expressionless. She moved to the corner and began to make tea. It was a lot more formal. “How do you take your tea?” she asked.

  “Just milk, please,” I said.

  She placed the teapot between us and poured the tea. When she sat down with me, she gave me a small appreciative smile as though she had tamed the savage. I like coffee, usually black, and I didn’t like tea. During our first “afternoon tea” she had stared in disgust as I dumped four cubes into it, then started to drink from the cup with the colored sweet water with the spoon still in it. The look of vapid umbrage remained frozen on her face. And when I dipped the biscotti into the tea before eating it, I halfway expected her to press her hand against her forehead as she fell back from a fainting spell, like in one of those old melodramatic black and white films.

  Now I sat across from her. I stirred my tea, placed it on the table, my napkin already placed in my lap as I took a small bite of the biscuit before taking a sip of my tea while I wished for coffee.

  After she had taken several sips of her tea, she sat back in her chair. “Kelly, is she Ethan’s?” she asked.

  The question nearly made me spit out my tea. His? What was wrong with this woman? Step into the twenty-first century please. The first time she met me, she had asked Ethan and Josh whose I was.

  “No, she’s Sebastian’s,” I blurted out, then backtracked quickly in order to explain. “Ethan requested the favor on Sebastian’s behalf because she is one that the pack’s protected,” I rushed out before tipping the cup to my lips.

  She nodded her head slowly. Something was off and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. This was the first time I didn’t see her as the nice woman, with the broad smile and extensive knowledge of art. Her demeanor was so formal and businesslike. In the past, I felt like I was sitting with a mentor, maybe even an older friend. At this moment, I was sitting with the woman that owned the largest and most successful art gallery in the city. The person that bought and negotiated paintings that could go as high as seven figures. This was a woman that had made unknowns into celebrated and revered contemporary artists in the city. The dynamics had shifted into obscurity and I didn’t like it.

  “In any other pack, Ethan would be the Alpha,” she asserted, “but he seems to be content with his position as a Beta. I guess that is where the strength of your pack truly lies: in the benefit of having two Alphas.”

  She was quiet for a long time, and then she stood, pacing lithely in front of me. Her thoughts preoccupied her more than I had ever witnessed. The little lines on her forehead hadn’t relaxed for a while. “Most packs destroy thems
elves from within,” she said, smoothing the hairs in her tight bun. “I guess it is a hard predicament for one to be in when your second in command, the one you should be able to count on, is vying for your position the moment you show weakness.”

  She exhaled a breath, and her pellucid eyes watched me carefully. “Sebastian is a good leader. I like him. Most struggle with trying to attain power and doing what is necessary to maintain it without letting it consume them until they have lost themselves in the pursuit. He is ruthless enough to do the unscrupulous things necessary, but endearing enough for the pack to care and trust him. In his seventeen years of leadership, I’ve witnessed a substantial change in the Midwest. They are the strongest they have ever been.” Her voice was low, just a mere whisper as she assessed the state of the pack.

  Listening to someone’s perception as an outsider was different. Claudia was part of this world, but considerably removed from it.

  I would never consider the feelings that the pack had for Sebastian endearment. The pack was full of people that reaped the benefits of his strong and successful leadership. I wasn’t sure if it was him that they loved or the rewards. “He is a good Alpha,” I had to admit.

  She stopped pacing, her gaze bearing into me hard. “Are they friends? Ethan and Sebastian, are they friends?”

  This question was not as simple as it seemed. It wasn’t inquiring whether they might go out for beer with each other, catch a game, call each other occasionally to say “what’s up.” She was asking whether they were close enough to die for each other. I didn’t know how to answer that. When I first encountered them, they had a fight, and if Winter hadn’t intervened I wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t have ended in a violent challenge with one of them dead. But I remember the concerned way Sebastian had looked upon Ethan when we were in Elysian. And then there was him inciting a civil war among the elves: was it done just to weaken them for the heck of it, or to ensure Ethan and Josh’s safety? Was that his agenda? Gideon in power was their hope to end the covenant that had forced them to kill off dark elves.