Untamed (House of Night, Book 4): A House of Night Novel

by P. C. Cast

  “The owl was the heart of the tree,” I whispered, fighting the insane urge I had to pull him into my arms to comfort him.

  “Yeah, and I killed it.” He looked up and met my eyes then. I thought I’d never seen a gaze so haunted by regret, and as the two animals at his feet comforted him and, at least for Nala, acted way more intuitively than usual, the thought flitted through my mind that Stark might very well have more gifts than just hitting whatever he aimed at, but I used some sense and didn’t say anything. Like he needed more gifts to worry about? Stark kept talking. “See? I’m dangerous, even when I don’t mean to be.”

  “I think I do see,” I said carefully, still trying to calm him with my touch. “Maybe you should put up your bow and arrow, at least until you really have a handle on this gift of yours.”

  “That’s what I should do. I know it is. But if I don’t practice—if I stay away from shooting and try to forget about it—it’s like a part of me is being ripped away. I can feel something inside me dying.” He dropped his hand from mine and stepped back so that we weren’t touching any longer. “You should know this part of it, too; I’m really just a coward because I can’t stand that pain.”

  “It doesn’t make you a coward to want to avoid pain,” I said quickly, following the small voice that whispered in my mind. “It makes you human.”

  “Fledglings aren’t human,” he said.

  “Actually, I’m not too sure about that. I think the best part of everyone is human, whether they’re fledglings or vampyres.”

  “Are you always so optimistic?”

  I laughed. “Oh, hell no!”

  His smile was less sarcastic and more real this time. “You don’t make me think of Debbie Downer, but I haven’t known you for very long.”

  I grinned back at him. “I’m not exactly that pessimistic, or at least I didn’t used to be.” My smile faded. “I guess you could say that recently I haven’t been as upbeat as usual.”

  “What happened recently?”

  I quickly shook my head. “More stuff than I can go into.”

  He met my eyes, and I was surprised by the understanding in his. Then he surprised me even more by stepping close to me again and brushing a strand of my hair back from my face. “I’m a good listener if you need to talk. Sometimes an outsider’s opinion can be a good thing.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather not be an outsider?” I asked, trying not to be too thrown off by the nearness of his body and how easy it seemed for him to get close to me and under my skin.

  He shrugged, and his smile turned sarcastic again. “It’s easier that way. It’s one reason I wasn’t pissed about being moved from my House of Night.”

  “I wanted to ask you about that.” I paused. Pretending I needed to pace to think, I moved away from him a little while my mind hopped from how attracted to him I was to trying to figure out how to frame questions that wouldn’t make him think things he shouldn’t think, especially around Neferet. “So you mind if I ask you something about you coming here?”

  “You can ask me anything, Zoey.”

  I looked up and met his brown eyes and saw way more in his statement than those simple words. “Okay. Well, did they move you because of what happened with Will?”

  “I think so. I don’t know for sure. All the vamps at my old school would say was that the High Priestess here requested my transfer to her House of Night. It happens sometimes when fledglings have special gifts other schools need or want.” His laugh was humorless. “I know for a fact our House of Night has been trying to steal that big-time actor you guys have, what’s his name? Erik Night?”

  “Yeah, Erik Night’s his name. He’s not a fledgling anymore. He’s gone through the Change.” I seriously didn’t want to think about Erik while I was feeling so attracted to Stark.

  “Oh, huh. Anyway, your House wouldn’t let him go, and he didn’t want to leave. My House didn’t fight to keep me. And I didn’t have any reason to stay. So when I found out Tulsa wanted me, I told them I wouldn’t compete again, no matter what. It didn’t seem to make any difference, ’cause they still wanted me, so here I am.” The sarcasm in his expression faded, and for a second he just looked sweet and kinda unsure of himself. “I’m starting to be really glad Tulsa wanted me so bad.”

  “Yeah.” I smiled, totally off balanced by how connected I was feeling to him. “I’m starting to be really glad Tulsa wanted you, too.” And then my mind caught up with everything he’d said, and a terrible premonition washed over me. I had to clear my throat before I asked the next question. “Do all the vamps know how Will died?”

  Pain flashed through his eyes again, and I was sorry I’d had to ask. “Probably. All the vamps at my old school knew, and you know how they are—it’s hard to keep anything from any of them.”

  “Yeah, I know how they are,” I said softly.

  “Hey, did I catch a weird vibe between you and Neferet?”

  I blinked in surprise. “Uh, what do you mean?”

  “It just felt tense between the two of you. Is there anything I should know about her?”

  “She’s powerful,” I said carefully.

  “Yeah, I got that. All High Priestesses are powerful.”

  I paused. “How about I say she’s also not exactly what she appears to be, and that you should be careful around her, and leave it at that for right now. Oh, and she’s majorly intuitive—practically psychic.”

  “Good to know. I’ll be careful.”

  Deciding to beat a hasty retreat before this new kid, who on one hand seemed all intense and confident, and on the other was obviously vulnerable and completely and utterly fascinating me and making me want to forget that I’d sworn off sex. Sex!? I meant guys. I’d sworn off guys. And sex. With them. Oh, jeesh. “I better get going. I have a horse waiting to be groomed,” I blurted.

  “Better not keep an animal waiting—they can be pretty demanding.” He smiled down at Duchess and ruffled her ears. As I started to turn to leave, he caught my wrist and let his hand slide down so that his fingers twined through mine. “Hey,” he said softly. “Thanks for not freaking about what I just told you.”

  I smiled up at him. “Sadly, with the kind of week I’ve been having, your weird gift seems almost normal.”

  “Sadly, that’s good to hear.” And then he lifted my hand and kissed it. Just like that. Just like he kissed girls’ hands every day. I didn’t know what to say. What’s the protocol when a guy kisses your hand? Did one say thanks? I kinda wanted to kiss him back, and I was thinking about how I shouldn’t be thinking that and staring into his brown eyes when he said, “Are you going to tell everyone about me?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No, not unless you have to.”

  “Then I won’t tell unless I have to,” I said.

  “Thanks, Zoey,” he said. He squeezed my hand, smiled, and then let me go.

  I stood there for a second watching him pick up his bow and walk back to where the quiver of arrows were sitting in their leather holder. Without looking at me again, he took an arrow from the quiver, sighted, and let it fly free to the exact center of the target again. Seriously, he was totally and completely mysterious and sexy, and I was soooo out of there. I turned and, telling myself that I really needed to get a handle on my hormones, was almost out the door when I heard his first cough. I froze, hoping that if I just paused for a second, he’d clear his throat like before and then the next sound I’d hear would be another arrow hitting the bull’s-eye.

  Stark coughed again. This time I could hear the horrible liquid rattle in the back of his throat. And then the smell hit me—the beautiful, terrible smell of fresh blood. I gritted my teeth against my disgusting desire.

  I didn’t want to turn around. I wanted to run out of the building, call someone to help him, and never, ever come back. I didn’t want to witness what I knew was going to come next.

  “Zoey!” My name was filled with liquid and fear when it came from his mouth.

  I fo
rced myself to turn around.

  Stark had already fallen to his knees. He was bent over at the waist, and I could see that he was puking up fresh blood onto the smooth, golden sand of the field house floor. Duchess was whining terribly, and even though he was choking on blood, Stark put one hand out to stroke the big dog. I could hear him whispering to her between coughs that it would be okay.

  I ran back to him.

  He fell as I reached him, and I was just able to grab him and pull him onto my lap. I yanked off his sweatshirt, ripping it down the middle so that he lay there only in his T-shirt and jeans. I used the sweatshirt to wipe at the blood that was pouring from his eyes and nose and mouth.

  “No! I don’t want this to happen now.” He paused, coughing up more blood that I kept wiping away. “I just found you—I don’t want to leave you so soon.”

  “I’ve got you. You’re not alone.” I tried to sound calm and soothing, but I was breaking apart inside. Please don’t take him! Please save him! my mind screamed.

  “Good,” he gasped, and coughed again, sending fresh rivulets of blood from his nose and mouth. “I’m glad it’s you. If it has to happen, I’m glad it’s you here with me.”

  “Sssh,” I said. “I’ll call for help.” I closed my eyes and did the first thing that popped into my mind. I called Damien. Thinking hard about air and wind and sweet, beautiful summer breezes, I suddenly felt a warm, questioning wind against my face. Get Damien here and have him bring help! I commanded the wind. It whirled around me, tornado-like, once, and then was gone.

  “Zoey!” Stark called my name and then coughed again and again.

  “Don’t talk. Save your strength,” I said, holding him tightly with one arm and brushing the wet hair gently back from his damp face with my free hand.

  “You’re crying,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

  “I—I can’t help it,” I said.

  “I should have kissed more than your hand . . . thought I’d have more time,” he whispered between liquid, panting breaths. “. . . too late now.”

  I looked into his eyes and completely forgot the rest of the world. In that moment, all I knew was that I was holding Stark in my arms, and I was going to lose him very, very soon.

  “It’s not too late,” I told him. I bent and pressed my lips to his. Stark’s arms went around me, still strong enough to hold me tight. My tears mixed with his blood, and the kiss was absolutely wonderful and terrible and over too soon.

  He broke his lips from mine, turned his head, and coughed his life’s blood onto the ground.

  “Shhh,” I soothed as tears washed down my face. I held him close and murmured, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

  Duchess whined pitifully and lay down close to her master, staring with obvious fear into his bleeding face. “Zoey, listen before I’m gone.”

  “Okay, okay. Don’t worry. I’m listening to you.”

  “Promise me two things,” he said weakly. He coughed and had to lean away from me again. I supported his shoulders, and when he lay back in my arms he was trembling and so white, he looked almost transparent.

  “Yes, anything,” I said.

  One bloody hand reached up and touched my cheek. “Promise that you won’t forget me.”

  “I promise,” I said, turning my cheek into his hand. His thumb shakily tried to wipe at my tears, which made me cry even harder. “I couldn’t forget you.”

  “And promise you’ll take care of Duchess.”

  “A dog? But I—”

  “Promise!” his voice was suddenly filled with strength. “Don’t let them send her to strangers. At least she knows you and can tell I care about you.”

  “Okay! Yes, I promise. Don’t worry,” I said.

  Stark seemed to crumple in on himself with my last promise. “Thanks. I just wish we . . .” His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes. He turned his head into my lap and put his arm around my waist. Red tears silently washed his face, and he became utterly still. The only part of him that still moved was his fluttering chest as he tried to breathe around the blood that was filling his lungs.

  Then I remembered and I felt a rush of hope. Even if I was wrong, Stark had to know.

  “Stark, listen to me.” He showed no sign of hearing me, and I shook his shoulders. “Stark!”

  His eyelids opened halfway.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Stark’s nod was barely perceptible. His bloody lips tilted up in a ghost of his sarcastic, cocky smile. “Kiss me again, Zoey,” he whispered.

  “You have to listen to me.” I bent my head down so that I could speak right into his ear. “This might not be the end for you. At this House of Night, fledglings die, and then they are reborn to another kind of Change.”

  His eyes opened farther. “I—I might not die?”

  “Not for good. Fledglings have been coming back. My best friend did.”

  “Keep Duch safe for me. If I can, I’ll come back for her, and for you—” His words ran out in a red river of blood hemorrhaging from his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears.

  He couldn’t talk anymore, and all I could do was hold him in my arms as his life drained away. It was as he was taking his last, gasping breath that Damien, followed by Dragon Lankford, Aphrodite, and the Twins, burst into the field house.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Aphrodite reached me first. She helped me to my feet as Stark’s dead body slid heavily from my lap. “There’s blood on your mouth,” she whispered, handing me a tissue from her purse.

  I wiped my lips and then my eyes, right before Damien ran up to me.

  “Just come with us. We’ll get you back to the dorm so you can change your clothes,” Damien said. He moved to one side of me, taking my elbow firmly in one of his hands. Aphrodite was on my other side and had another viselike grip on my other elbow. The Twins had their arms wrapped around each other’s waists, trying hard not to cry.

  Some of the Sons of Erebus had arrived with a dark stretcher and a blanket. Aphrodite and Damien were trying to pull me from the building, but I resisted them. Instead I watched, crying silently as the warriors gently picked up Stark’s blood-soaked body and laid it on the stretcher. Then they covered him with the blanket, pulling it over his face.

  It was then that Duchess lifted her muzzle to the sky and started to howl.

  The sound was horrible. Duchess filled the blood-soaked night with sorrow and loneliness and loss. The Twins immediately burst into tears. I heard Aphrodite say, “Oh, goddess, that’s so terrible.” Damien whispered, “Poor girl . . . ,” and then he, too, began to cry softly. Nala had crouched close to the grief-stricken dog and was watching her with big, sad eyes as if she wasn’t sure what to do.

  I didn’t know what to do, either. I felt weirdly numb, even though I couldn’t stop crying, but I was getting ready to pull free of my friends and go to Duchess to try to figure the impossible out, when Jack rushed into the field house. He skidded to a stop. His mouth fell open in shock. One hand went to his throat, and the other pressed against his mouth, futilely trying to stop his gasp of horror. He stared from the shrouded body on the stretcher, to the bloody sand, to the mourning dog. Sniffling, Damien squeezed my arm and then let go of me to start toward his boyfriend when Jack, ignoring everyone and everything else, ran over to Duchess and dropped to his knees in front of her.

  “Oh, honey! My heart is just broken for you!” he told the dog.

  Duchess dropped her muzzle and looked long and steadily at Jack. I didn’t know dogs could cry, but I promise you Duchess was crying. Tears were leaving dark, wet streaks from the corners of her eyes down her face and muzzle.

  Jack was crying, too, but his voice sounded sweet and steady when he told Duchess, “If you come with me, I won’t let you be alone.”

  The big blond Lab stepped forward slowly, as if she’d aged decades in the past few minutes, and laid her head against Jack’s shoulder.

  Through my tears, I watched Dragon Lankford touch Jack’s back gently. “Take her to y
our room. I’ll call the vet and get something that will help her sleep. Stay close to her—she is grieving just like a cat will who loses her vampyre. She’s a loyal girl,” Dragon continued sadly. “His loss will be hard for her.”

  “I—I’ll stay with her,” Jack said, wiping his face with one hand and petting Duchess with his other. Then Jack wrapped both arms around the big dog’s neck as the warriors carried Stark’s body from the field house.

  It was only as they left the building that Neferet showed up. She was looking flushed and breathless. “Oh, no! Who is it?”

  “It is the new fledgling, James Stark,” Dragon said.

  Neferet moved to the gurney and folded the blanket back. Everyone else was looking at Stark, but I couldn’t make myself see his dead face, so I didn’t take my eyes from Neferet. I was the only one who saw the flash of triumph and pure, undisguisable joy that radiated from her face. Then she drew a deep breath and turned back into a concerned High Priestess, saddened by the loss of a fledgling.

  I thought I might throw up.

  “Bring him to the morgue. I will see that he is properly tended,” Neferet said. Without looking at me, she snapped, “Zoey, be sure the boy’s dog is cared for.” Then she motioned for the warriors to proceed and followed them from the field house.

  For a second I couldn’t speak. Her heartlessness mixed with Stark’s death had cut me badly. I guess some little part of me, especially at a time like this when something unspeakably awful had just happened, still wished that she was the woman I’d believed her to be when I first met her—the mother who would love me for who I am.

  I watched them carry Stark’s body out and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. There were people who needed me. People I’d made promises to. It was time I faced the fact that Neferet had gone bad and stopped being so damn weak.

  I turned to Damien. “Stay close to Jack tonight. He needs your help more than I do.”

  “You’ll be okay?” Damien asked me.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Aphrodite said.