by J. J. Dean
"Thoughts like that will only trouble you more and more. Staying positive is the best thing we can do for Novia right now," Zayn says, walking into the room and finding me sitting in the rocking chair in the corner of Novia's room. He sits on the end of Novia's pristine bed, smoothing the comforter out subconsciously. "I know you're scared. I'm petrified right now, too. We all heard what she went through in those five brutal years she was held there. I've seen it, and so have you. My heart feels like it lodges itself in my throat any time I linger on the thoughts of what could possibly be happening to her. And it's gutting me. But lingering on those thoughts won't help. They won't get Novia out of there and home safe with us. She needs us to believe we'll get her out of there. She needs us."
I nod, my elbows leaning on my knees, and my clenched fists holding my head up by my mouth. He's right. I know he is. But just the thought of her hurting at all causes my stomach to roll. Knowing she's at the hands of those merciless bastards again is killing me.
And the guilt that I feel has only grown as the hours pass.
Guilt because I was supposed to be keeping her safe.
Guilt because I didn't protect her well enough.
Guilt because she's back in that hell hole because of me.
"You're not to blame, Spencer," Zayn quietly admonishes. Though he says it with the calm quietness he often uses, there's steel behind his words. "You placed your body in the line of danger for Novia. You couldn’t have known it was a tranquiliser dart. You didn't even know you were seconds away from an ambush. It's no more your fault than it is mine, Nix, or Ezra's. Don't burden yourself with something like that. Don't place that kind of blame on your shoulders when it's certainly not deserved."
The room goes quiet, my mind working tirelessly to accept his words, to believe them, but that guilt won't subside.
"I feel like I failed her when she needed me most," I whisper into my hands.
Zayn looks at me, regarding me intently. He doesn't respond, only watches me, waiting for me to talk to him. To unburden my guilt, laying it on the floor for him to dissect, understand, and make sense of.
"She only had me there to protect her, and I was completely useless. All I managed to do was get shot and knocked unconscious while she was abducted for a second time. I feel like I could have done something different, done something to prevent her being taken. Just, done fucking anything else." My headache grows, the pain increasing at my temples, while the anvil on my chest grows painfully heavy. I know the vampire is right; I didn't know what the hell Novia was being shot with until I'd taken a hit, but it still feels like I should have done something different. It feels like I should have taken better care of her. But I failed.
"You've always been too hard on yourself. In training, you were always the toughest on themselves, always working too hard, striving to be better at all costs. You did your best, Spencer. You protected her to the best of your ability with extremely little insight as to what was even happening. You couldn't have possibly done anything differently," he tells me. "You were ambushed, someone shot at Novia, and you pushed her out of the way. You protected her. It just so happens someone bested us this time."
I keep quiet, not really sure what to say. Sure, I acted on instinct. My arm darted out to move her out of the way before I could even comprehend what I was doing, before I realised I'd been shot with a dart. But what if I’d pulled her to me instead? What if I’d yanked us both out of the way?
Zayn sighs, long and tired. He looks exhausted, likely feeling the same as the rest of us. "What's the point of what ifs, Spence? What good will it do to always ask about what could have happened? It's in the past now, and it can’t be changed. I just need you to realise that what happened couldn't have been prevented, and you reacted just as any of us would have. It wasn't your fault, and the guilt you're carrying will only weigh you down until it buries you."
When I still remain quiet, Zayn says, "I'll let you in on a secret. Nix is beside himself, believing he's an idiot for leaving to get rid of the tracker that was in Novia's arm. He's feeling guilty. Ezra is withdrawn and committed to rescuing Novia because he believes he should have been doing something more than waiting around for my monster to die down. He's feeling guilty. Me? Spencer, I trapped her in the bathroom, frightened her, and then forced her hand into rendering me unconscious. Then I was carried home until I awoke, my monster still simmering at the surface despite my efforts to keep myself grounded. Only then to find out that our little fae has vanished into the wind. And I did nothing but scare her before then. I can assure you, I'm feeling guilty.
"We're all feeling it for different reasons, but your guilt isn't necessary or even yours to carry. You did what you could with what you had. Quit beating yourself up over it when the three of us are feeling an equal amount of guilt for not doing more or doing better, yet we’re keeping positive for Novia's sake."
My eyes widen as I stare at the vampire who's looking at the wall in front of him. How selfish can I be? It didn't even occur to me that the others would be feeling guilty. It didn't even cross my mind because Novia was in my care when she was taken.
"As I said, you're too hard on yourself. You did your best, and that's all anyone could have asked for. We can't tell the future, so we weren't to know. I know Novia won't hold any blame towards us, especially you, so you shouldn't hold blame towards yourself." He looks over at me with a reassuring smile, though it doesn't reach his eyes.
With a small nod, he stands from the bed, claps me on the shoulder, and turns to leave, allowing me to sit alone and think over all he's told me. Just before he leaves, he says, "We're going to get that little fae back. One way or another, she'll be coming home very soon. I truly hope you can forgive yourself before then. She needs us more than ever."
And then he disappears down the stairs, leaving me sitting in the lifeless room with only my thoughts to plague me. It takes some time, but I finally start understanding what the vampire is saying. Though I still harbour guilt over her capture, I couldn't have prevented what happened. It was an impossible task. But the vampire is right about another thing.
She's coming home very soon.
And then I'm going to chain that woman to the fucking bed, so she never leaves again, by her own accord or not.
Chapter 32
Novia
Ugh . How did I forget how strong my own dust was?
My head is cloudy when I come to, my eyes blurry when I finally manage to peel my lids open. I blink rapidly, trying to gather my wits and work out where the hell I am. I know I'm in the facility, but where? This isn't where I was kept before.
I slowly pull myself up off the floor, sitting up and leaning my back against the wall behind me. This is certainly different than my last prison. Instead of being placed in a cage like I'd expected, I've found myself in a room that looks like a prison cell. The walls are cement, a dark grey, while the floor is only a shade darker. There isn't much light to be had, only a dim lap just outside of the iron bars that are keeping me within the confines of my new cell. Shadows dance in the farthest corner from me, so dark that I can't see anything past where the light fades.
All I can think is that I'm grateful I haven't been stuffed into another cramped cage like before. Grateful. How fucking ridiculous. I'm grateful for a bigger cage, one where I can stretch my legs and not suffer with a strained back from having to crouch constantly.
I shake my head at myself, a little too vigorously when my sight swims dizzily, blurring everything before it slowly comes back into view. I look down briefly, noting I'm in the same clothes I was brought in wearing. That's another abnormality as far as this place goes. For five years of my capture, I was left entirely nude. Not even a scrap of cloth to cover an ounce of my body. I remember all too well the feeling of those metal bars of my cage digging into my flesh, scraping along my skin any time I'd try to move to gain a fraction of the comfort I so much longed for. They’d stripped me of my dignity the moment I arrived five years ago.
<
br /> But not now.
My eyes narrow in confusion. This is too different to last time, but why? What the hell is going on?
Movement in the corner has my eyes snapping to the darkened space, the sound of material scraping along the harsh concrete floor loud in the otherwise silent cell. I still can't see anything past the shadows, but I know I heard something.
Before I can think to move closer to search the corner, sound outside of the bars has my attention snapping in that direction. The sound of footsteps clacking on the floor, three sets from what I can decipher. One a set of high heels, clip clopping on the floor with precise placements. The other is a set of heavy thudding, loudly clambering over the floor, while the third is a softer stepping, assured but light on their feet.
The sound of walking grows louder, and I suddenly hear a whispered, "Pretend to sleep."
I almost think it's in my head, but then I hear the faint shuffling in the shadowy corner again. Seconds before my visitors come into view, the whispered voice says, "Fake it. Just look like you're still unconscious."
I do as I'm told for reasons I can't pinpoint. Just as the footsteps come to a halt right outside the iron bars, I snap my eyes shut and slouch against the wall, feigning unconsciousness. My head drops to my chest, lolling as lifelessly as I can manage, and I make sure to keep my breathing as even as possible.
"She's still unconscious. How much did you give her, you idiot? I told you to give her a small amount, so she'd be awake in 6 hours. It's been eight, and she looks no closer to waking up." Dr. Gates’ voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It goes right through me, and I'm forced to make a conscious effort not to react to the sharp bite in her words.
"I gave her the measured amount I was given, boss. The vial was already full when it was handed to me. I only administered what I was offered," the voice I'm beginning to recognise easily answers. His voice is monotone and emotionless, giving nothing away.
Dr. Gates growls her frustration. "You're to wait here until she regains consciousness. I'm to be informed the moment her eyes open. Understand?"
"Yes, boss."
"You. Follow me," she says before her heels clatter away, followed by the heavier set of thudding boots against concrete. So, Quinn was the light walker. Why I'm cataloguing that information when I'm trapped in a cell with someone or something else isn't something I understand, but I do it nonetheless.
As soon as the two pairs of footsteps fade to nothing, my eyes slowly peel open, and my head turns to find Quinn standing outside the bars, his back to me while he watches the outside of my cell.
When he doesn't make a move to turn around or to acknowledge me at all, I turn my head, only for my eyes to meet a deep set of purple ones. I flinch back against the hard wall I'm leaning against, my head bumping the unforgiving concrete when I jerk back from the sight of Quinn crouching right in front of me. My eyes widen as I lift my hand to rub against the sore spot on my head. My eyes dart to the figure standing outside my cell and back to the man in front of me. How the hell is he doing that?
"Sorry," he whispers, looking genuinely regretful for causing me to hurt myself. I blink at him, and then blink again. I move my gaze to the man outside my cell and back to Quinn twice before my eyes settle entirely on the man who's watching me warily, eyes concerned.
"How are you doing that?" I whisper, my voice raspy and dry. When was the last time I had something to drink? My throat feels raw, and I sound as though I've smoked several cigarettes a day for years. I swallow a couple of times, trying to soothe the pain.
There's suddenly a bottle of water under my nose, and I eagerly snatch it from the hands of the man before me. I take several gulps of water before capping the bottle and hiding it behind my back, keeping it out of view from anyone who should walk by.
With a less tender throat, I ask again, “How are you doing that?
Quinn smiles at me, his dimples poking out just beneath his beard, and he turns his head a fraction to the side. He raises his hat slightly, revealing his ear to me. My mind is slow to realise what’s going on, but when my eyes find the pointed tips of the ears that belong to the man in front of me, my jaw drops, and I inhale a shocked gust of air.
He’s a fae.
What? How? Why the hell is he working for the humans?
“I’m sure you have about a million questions right now, but I still need you to trust me, Novia. Okay?” he asks, his mouth still turned up in a more respectful smile.
I blink a couple of times, but I nod. He drops his black hat back over his ears and faces me again. My mind is reeling from learning I'm not the last fae alive. Knowing at least one of my kind survived has hot tears filling my eyes with overwhelming emotion. How is this even possible? Does this mean the prophecy is wrong? It spoke of the last fae, but one crouches right in front of me. Is the book a fable we bought into too soon?
"You're going to have a lot more questions soon, but we need to focus on one thing at a time right now. You paying attention, Dusty?" he asks quietly. I nod again, seeming to have lost my voice with his revelation. "Alright. I need your help. We're going to get out of here together, but we need a plan."
I clear my throat. "What's the plan? How do we get out of here? It took me five years to escape the last time, and it was by pure chance."
He nods while his eyes fill with a sadness I feel to my very bones, but he answers with determination. "This time you're not alone, Dusty. We're going to help each other. I've got you, okay?"
Feeling like a damn bobble head, I nod again. I believe him entirely. I don’t know why, but I simply do. It's as though I know deep in the caverns of my chest that this man will keep his word. It's a startling realisation to find that I trust this man to the extent that I do, but it's no less true. Not to mention that he's likely the only person I know that has even the smallest chance of helping me get out of here.
"Okay. What did you have in mind?" I ask him, keeping my voice low enough for only his ears to hear.
Quinn rises and moves around until he's kneeling to the right of me, making sure to face the bars. His eyes scan the outside of my cell before he focuses on me. Keeping his voice to an almost whisper, he says, "We're going to need to use some of your abilities. Your glamour is a lot stronger than any fae I've met, and we can use that. I know about the dusting that will come in handy, but I also saw..."
He pauses and watches me intently. I catch on quickly. "You also saw me phasing."
He nods, his mouth pulling up in a small smile. His eyes hold a look of pride that confuses me, but then he distracts me. "I saw a fae do the impossible."
My heart stutters. With widened eyes, I watch as his mouth draws into a bigger smile. I'm not entirely comfortable with the effect that smile is having on me, but I can't help the way my chest warms and a sense of comfort wraps around me like the softest blanket.
While I continue to stare at him with a face that resembles a guppy, he says, "And something tells me you're capable of a lot more. I know about the prophecy, Dusty. I know you're more than just any ordinary fae. I need to know what you can do, so I can form a solid plan."
I bite my lip, but the dread that should be sinking in my gut doesn't come. He knows, but I don't feel myself panicking. It's almost a relief. The same way I felt when I told my guys.
Taking a leap of faith, I tell him, "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, but that prophecy doesn’t make sense anymore. The prophecy mentioned the last fae. There seems to be two left."
"We’ll work it out later. Think you can trust me enough to share your abilities with me? I promise I'm on your side, Novia. I swear. But we don’t have a lot of time here." He says it so earnestly that I almost feel compelled to believe him. It's my ability to tell truth from lies that takes my breath away when all I can feel is the honest truth in his words.
It's all I need to trust him completely.
"My fae abilities are the dusting, and I can decipher lies." He nods, and his eyes shine with understanding. "The rest of my
abilities are that of a spirit."
Quinn's eyebrows draw down in confusion for a brief moment before his eyes widen. With a distracted whisper, he mutters, "Born of life and death."
I nod. "That's a long story, but suffice it to say I'm both fae and spirit. More fae than Spirit, obviously. I just have the abilities a spirit possesses."
"Holy shit," he whispers, watching me with renewed interest. There's the faintest tugging in my chest, but I smother it down in lieu of sharing just what I'm capable of in hopes that it'll help get us out of this hell hole.
"Holy shit is right. Phasing is one of my abilities-"
He cuts me off to ask a question before I can share further. "Can you only phase yourself? Can you phase others?"
The urgency in his tone has me answering quickly. "I can phase others. We had a run in with Davis not too long ago, and I managed to phase my guys to the car before they were hurt or caught."
I'm not sure if I'm seeing things or not, but I could have sworn I saw a flash of something akin to jealousy cross his violet gaze, but it's gone just as fast. He nods instead, his head tilting slightly to the right before returning to me. "What other tricks do you have, Dusty?"
"I can't die of natural causes. Diseases or illnesses don't affect me. I can create small globes of lights when I need to. They're-"
"Will-o'-the-wisps."
"Yeah. But they only come mainly when my heartbeat lowers enough for them to appear," I tell him.
His head cocks to the side. "What do you mean?"
I bite my lip before explaining. "Another one of my abilities. I have control of my heartbeats. I can slow my heart until it almost stops. It's dangerous, but that's the only time my wisps have appeared. The last time, I almost died, but my wisps drew the guys to me."
Quinn nods, looking thoughtful as he brushes a hand over his trimmed beard. "Okay, we'll try to avoid that one. What's the last one?"
