Of course, Charlie’s father’s cooking hadn’t hurt either.
She thought about the old days, and wondered if she was missing out on a normal life because she was the commander of the armed forces.
She smiled to herself at the notion of working in the restaurant once more, of doing homework and chores. Of doing all the things that others had forced on her.
She leaned back, letting the tips of her loose hair brush the concrete step behind her.
“What are you grinning about?” Aron’s voice cut through her reverie, bringing her back to reality.
Brook sat up, leaning her elbows on her knees while Aron took a seat beside her. “Just thinking how nice it is to be here.” It felt strange opening up to him—just being herself—but she was too tired to banter.
“It is good. Strange, but good.”
“Why strange?” Brook wondered, giving Aron a skeptical look.
He shrugged, glancing at her. “I don’t know. I kind of liked it when we were out on the Scablands.”
“Really? What part did you kind of like? The part where we were freezing? Or practically starving? Or was it that we didn’t know where Charlie was?” She shook her head, brushing her hands on the hem of her pants. “Oh, wait, I know, it was the part where there was a killer in our midst. That was kind of thrilling, wasn’t it?”
He chuckled. “You say the weirdest things, Brook.”
She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “Me? You’re the one with the deranged sense of a good time.”
She was about to get up when he stopped her.
And all it took was a sentence. “I meant because we were together,” he stated, his voice quiet but steady.
Brook froze. Goose bumps dusted her skin. What was
he saying? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
“Together?” she repeated, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, too afraid to face him head-on.
Her heart slammed against her chest as she waited for him to say something. Anything.
He didn’t. He touched her instead, brushing his fingertips across her cheek.
She did turn then, her eyes locked with his. She swallowed, if only to convince herself that she could. It was maybe the only thing she was capable of in that single, stationary moment. That, and breathing, which was harder now than it should have been.
She could see it in his eyes, the same thing she’d been feeling for days, maybe even weeks. Hunger, longing . . . conflict. She understood it all too well, and was as uncertain as he seemed to be.
His thumb moved, stroking the skin of her jaw and making her quiver. Unable to resist any longer, she closed her eyes and turned toward his hand, until his thumb reached her lips. She felt a million stars burst inside of her, glittering and spangled and white hot.
When his lips finally touched hers, she thought she might explode as she whimpered softly against the excruciating beauty of it. How could this be happening? She wondered. How could Aron be kissing me?
Yet she was kissing him back. Her mouth opening slowly, achingly, as she silently begged for him to tell her what to do. She’d never been so inhibited and so frenzied at the same time.
She pulled away suddenly, before the kiss had even taken hold. “What are we doing? We can’t do this.” But she was lacing her fingers through his. Everything inside of her was conflicted.
“Brook, stop it. We can, and we are.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer. “Don’t tell me you don’t want this too, because I’ve waited months for you to admit it.”
“Months?” Brook breathed. Had it really been that long? She shook her head.
Aron just nodded, a stupid grin on his face. “Yes, Brooklynn.” He ran the side of his finger from her neck to her chin, and tugged her face up to look at him. And then he said it again. “Yes.”
Before she could argue, he leaned down, letting his lips dispute her unspoken words, and showing her, in no uncertain terms, that she was wrong.
xix
My palms were sweating as I gripped the door handle and slipped inside my sister’s bedroom. She knew I was there—they both did, Angelina and Eden—but there were no sounds from either of them to greet me.
“Angelina,” I whispered into the silent bedroom.
The only answer was the slight rustling of blankets, but it was answer enough.
I crossed the space to Angelina’s bed, glancing up to see her watchful guard appraising me. I could feel the wariness coming off her in waves, and I frowned at her for making me feel like a stranger in my own sister’s bedroom.
Kneeling down, I leaned my elbows on the edge of her mattress, pretending I didn’t know she was trying to avoid me. “Angelina,” I said again, this time not bothering to whisper since we both knew she wasn’t asleep. I moved my hand toward hers, meaning to cup it, to beg forgiveness for whatever wrongdoing—real or imagined—she’d thought I committed. But she flinched from me, drawing not just her hand, but her entire body away from me.
If I hadn’t known better, I’d have sworn I saw her tremble.
My stomach twisted at the thought that I was responsible for making her feel this way. That I was the source of the disgust on her face.
“What is it? What did I do?”
I waited for an answer, each second my heart breaking just a little more.
And then I heard her, her voice so insubstantial it was barely a breath. “Not you . . .” she said, and I wondered if Eden could even hear her now. “Her.”
My eyes widened.
Angelina knew. Angelina who’d always had a sense of who could—and could not—be trusted, knew Sabara was too close to the surface.
I sighed then, understanding her fears, even if I couldn’t explain that she was mistaken, that Sabara couldn’t hurt us. Not now.
I got up on unsteady legs. I wouldn’t—couldn’t—ask for her help again; it was too much for such a little girl. Besides, I doubted it would matter anyway.
I’d made my decision regarding Sabara. I knew now that she couldn’t simply be healed away, and I’d resolved to keep her so she couldn’t harm anyone else.
That didn’t mean I didn’t have doubts, though. I’d given Sabara far too much control. So much control that I’d been incapable of stopping her from killing Queen Langdon using my own hand.
I felt Sabara, deep down inside, stirring restlessly.
Her, she whispered, and I could feel her mentally sizing up my little sister, weighing her as a possible host.
I staggered backward, falling over my own feet now as I realized Angelina had been right.
She should stay away from me. I was poison to her. I was dangerous.
Maybe deadly.
In the corridor, I crumpled to the floor, ignoring the fact that Zafir was there, as always. He offered no consolation, just stood aside while I clutched my knees to my chest and cried into the hollow space.
“Charlaina,” Niko’s voice tugged at me, drawing me forth. His hand was at my shoulder, his touch urging me from my misery.
I should have shrugged away from him, the same way Angelina had from me, but I didn’t. Instead, I let his fingers move over my back in slow, soothing circles.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, lifting my face to his. “Why are you always around?”
Zafir turned his back to us, affording us all the privacy he could manage.
“I was worried about you, Charlaina. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Stop calling me that,” I insisted, sounding shakier than I wanted to. I ignored the hand he offered me, and got up on my own. “Why don’t you say what you mean?” I kept my voice low so Zafir couldn’t hear us. “Stop pretending it’s me you’re worried about and just say it. Say that it’s Sabara you want to protect. Call me Sabara.”
He reached for my arm, either to stop me from leaving or to steady me, but I ripped it away from him. “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.
He lifted his hands in submission. “Y
ou don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course I’m worried about you. None of this is easy. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, how . . . conflicted you must be. It’s hard on me too.”
I whirled on him. “Oh, is it? Is it hard for you, Niko? Are you losing yourself? Is your identity being compromised?” I thought of Angelina. “Are you losing the people you love?”
“Yes.” His voice broke, and this time I didn’t stop him when he closed the gap. Something in his face, something in his eyes, reminded me—or her, I couldn’t be sure—of the man who’d held his baby daughter, still and lifeless. His hand closed the distance between us, his fingertips brushing against mine. “Yes, I’m losing the person I love.”
“Don’t touch me,” I said again, but even I could hear the longing in my words. I couldn’t blame him for ignoring them.
His hand clamped over mine and he tugged me. He didn’t have to tug hard, though. I took the step toward him of my own accord, until our bodies were just a heartbeat apart.
I shook my head, denying him and hoping to keep him at bay. “I’m telling Max. Everything,” I whispered.
He stilled, as if turned to stone. “You can’t.”
Sabara felt it too, the truth in my statement, and I could feel her panic blooming like a toxic flower. Dread rooted and spread, pricking me with its nettled thorns.
“I have to.”
“Sabara,” he soothed, his voice as golden as his eyes. “Be reasonable.”
My vision blurred and I reached out to steady myself. It was too much, hearing her name on his lips, feeling her tidal wave of sensations, recognizing the sentiment buried in his voice.
I don’t know if he mistook my instability for assent, or if he was simply taking advantage of my momentary lapse. But the moment I felt his lips on mine, Sabara broke free, finding the strength to propel me into his arms.
She coaxed and moved my body. She relished every sensation, every caress, stroke, brush, and touch, regardless of whom it belonged to.
I lost myself in the swirl of sensations.
“Charlie?” It was that voice—Max’s voice, filled with flat accusation—that broke the spell at last. And in that instant, it was just Niko and me. Sabara had retreated.
I was immobilized as I stared into his cool gray eyes, trying to imagine how guilty I must appear.
How guilty I was.
“Max, I—”
But he was already gone.
Together with Zafir, I’d searched the estate grounds long after Zafir had insisted it was too late to be out, that we should call it a night and start again in the morning. But I’d demanded we keep on. I needed to find Max. I needed to explain things to him, so he’d know that it hadn’t been me. That it was Sabara he’d seen with Niko.
I’d hoped I could somehow convince him.
I’d tried to tell Zafir instead.
“Sabara’s alive,” I’d said to him, thinking the words sounded even more absurd out loud than they had when I’d practiced them inside my head.
Zafir hadn’t skipped a beat. He hadn’t even blinked. “You should get to bed, Your Majesty. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m serious, Zafir. She’s in here . . . with me.” I’d signaled that I meant my own body. “She’s been here all along.”
I wasn’t sure he’d even heard me, but I was certain he thought I’d lost my grip on reality. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll have someone else stand guard at your room and I’ll keep looking for Max,” he’d offered, leading me back inside the house. “If I do that, will you go to bed?”
There’d been no point arguing. He had been determined that I needed rest, so I’d let him lead me to my room and position another soldier outside my door as I climbed into bed. I didn’t even remember drifting off to sleep, but when I closed my eyes I was falling.
Falling into nothing.
Falling . . .
I awoke with a spasm, clutching my pillow to my chest. It took me several moments, and several long breaths, to assure myself that I was safe. That I was lying in my bed, and not actually falling. I had to wait for my heart to find its normal rhythm once more.
It had only been a dream. There was a time when those words would have been enough to soothe me. But things had changed. Now things that couldn’t possibly exist, things that shouldn’t be able to hurt me, had found a way out of their world and into mine.
I’d been damaged by them. By her.
I settled back down again, telling myself it didn’t matter. That in the morning I’d right the things that had been wronged by telling Max, and anyone else who would listen, just exactly what I’d become.
For now, I stayed in my bed, listening to the sounds around me, and trying to acclimate to the noises of this house: the scraping of branches against my window, the night animals that called to one another, the creaks and groans of the foundation and roof. None of the noises were strange in and of themselves; they were just unfamiliar to my ears, making it hard to let them fall into the background of my thoughts.
And then there was a sound that wouldn’t have been usual . . . in any household.
I bolted upright once more, my ears pricked as I strained to hear it. It was there again, a muffled shout from somewhere outside. I threw back my covers and climbed out from beneath them, dropping to the wooden floor beneath my bare toes.
My heart stuttered, and I wished my room wasn’t so far from my parents. So far from Angelina’s.
I moved cautiously, unsure where to step in order to avoid making noises of my own. Yet I continued to tell myself that my worry was for nothing; surely these were only the sounds of a different household.
Still, I couldn’t help but recall the reason we were here in the first place: Someone was trying to kill me.
I didn’t bother to cover myself as I eased toward the door. Pressing my ear to it, I strained to hear, but there was nothing coming from the other side. I turned the knob and tested the hinges for squeaks. The door slid open noiselessly, and relief swelled in my chest.
Until I saw what was waiting for me on the other side.
The guard, the one Zafir had stationed there, was slumped down on the floor in a heap. But it was the blood that stopped me cold.
Splattered on the floor and on the walls.
Puddled around the guard’s body.
I dropped to the ground beside him and leaned over, my cheek hovering above his mouth. There was no breath, not that I’d expected it. His skin was already gray and mottled.
I stood again, clutching the wall to steady myself. This was my fault. I’d brought this upon the guard. I’d brought this into the place where my family was meant to be safe.
I had to find them. I had to warn someone that we were in danger.
I struggled to recall the way to Angelina’s room, and in my haste, I stumbled. But I got up again quickly, my feet as silent as my breath was ragged.
I passed another guard, also dead and bloodied, and I wondered if I was heading right toward them—those who wanted me dead. I wondered, too, where Max was. And Xander and Zafir. I hoped I wouldn’t find their bodies littered among the rest, casualties of the changes I’d tried to make in my country.
If I were braver—as strong as the warrior I’d always wanted to be—I’d have called out for them. Instead I was a coward and my throat squeezed around the words, trapping them inside me.
I passed two more bodies, one guard and one member of the house staff, and I followed the trail of blood that seemed to lead me toward Angelina’s room. Each step was measured by fear as I did my best not to step in the blood, but it was impossible to avoid altogether.
I felt it, more than once, slick between my toes, and I recoiled against the sickening sensation that I was somehow standing in death.
When I finally reached Angelina’s room, the door stood open, and my heart skipped several beats.
“Eden,” I pled, my voice entirely too quiet. Entirely too shaky.
Eden was nowhere and th
e room stood quiet.
I stepped inside, terrified of what I might find. Terrified that I was already too late, and that Angelina, too, would be added to the body count that had amassed inside these walls.
I approached the bed with courage I hadn’t realized I possessed, silently willing my sister to be there. Silently praying I could simply scoop her sleeping form into my arms, and together we’d escape into the forest to hide.
But my prayers were met by deaf ears.
It would have been impossible to miss the crimson spray that mottled the snow-white sheets, and the blood that splattered my little sister’s rag doll, Muffin.
The bed itself was empty.
I reached for the doll and clutched it to my chest. “No,” I gasped, and then I was on my knees. “No!” I shouted, rocking forward.
I didn’t stay there long, though, because somehow I knew: Angelina wasn’t dead.
And that meant she needed me.
It was the strangest thing, I was no longer afraid.
I had feelings, sure. Anger. Outrage. A sudden new sense of boldness. Did that count as a feeling?
It didn’t matter. Something had broken in me the moment I’d seen Angelina’s bed, empty and bloodied. Something inside of me had been liberated, and now I was a warrior.
Now I had a mission.
“Angelina!” I shouted. “Angelina! Eden!” I didn’t care about the others. I didn’t care who heard me. Only one thing mattered to me now.
I stepped in pools of blood and left footprints of my own. I no longer grimaced. I barely noticed.
Moving with determination, I followed my instincts.
“Angelina!” I shouted again and again and again, stepping over bodies and daring those responsible to show themselves.
The estate was large, nearly palatial, and they could have been hiding anywhere. I hadn’t come across Brook or Aron or anyone else who could have helped me. Instead, I turned corner after corner, and I reached one dead end and then another. I choked on my own frustration until it nearly replaced the fury that spurred me on.
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