Reborn Series Box Set (Books 1-3.5)

by S. L. Stacy

  At other times, it’s a voice that jars me awake. A whisper so close I can almost feel breath on my ear, even though it’s all in my head:

  Siobhan? Siobhan! You must help us, Siobhan…

  Then, other voices start to chime in, too. The impressions they leave in my mind are familiar, yet I can’t tell who’s who.

  Who else is here?

  I am!

  Me!

  Me, too!

  There’s someone else here—I can’t tell who it is. Carly?

  It can’t be Carly, dumbass. We offered her, remember?

  I know, but whoever it is has Carly’s necklace.

  I know who it is. Hey, Siobhan, is that you?

  I sit up straight in the bed, my mind reeling. I had thought I had finally fallen asleep, that I was dreaming. But now I’m pretty sure I’m awake, and I can still hear the voices. I cringe as I pinch my arm as hard as I can. Yep—definitely awake.

  You’re right—it is her. Hey, Siobhan!

  Siobhan!

  Hey!

  Welcome!

  A sound like scraping fingernails across paper—telepathic laughter. Master’s going to be so pleased about this. She’s already one of us, and he didn’t even have to lift a finger!

  You’re one of us now, Siobhan!

  One of us!

  I can’t exactly identify the speakers, but I know who they are: the members of Eric’s army. And even though to me they’re just a jumble of vaguely familiar voices, they seem to be very aware of me.

  I’m not one of you, I try to think back.

  Yes you are, one insists.

  Join us, says another.

  Be one with us.

  “Never.” I whisper it out loud, into the dark. You’re the ones that hurt Carly. I will never be one of you.

  When silence is my only answer, I think I have successfully gotten rid of them, at least for the time being. But then I have to bite back a yelp so that I don’t wake Tanya as something scorches my chest. I look down to find the shield pendant glowing orange, like a hot coal.

  This was even easier than I thought it would be,

  Suddenly Eric’s inside my head, and it’s like I’ve been thrown into the icy cold, tumultuous waters of the sea during a storm, my lungs burning as freezing liquid fills them up. All I can see are blood red dots against the darkness of the room as his telepathic presence invades me, consuming my mind, my entire body.

  As usual, I don’t have to do much, Eric says through a nauseating mental chuckle. I just have to wait, have a bit of patience—which is hard for me, sometimes. But well worth it. People always end up punishing themselves. Any vengeful scheme on my part would just end up getting in the way of the natural progression of things—of the universe’s penchant for chaos. And now, your curiosity has gotten the better of you, and you’ve put on the necklace.

  Or perhaps it’s not merely curiosity. Eric’s voice pauses, and my head spins as he probes it further. It called to you. You coveted it.

  No, I deny. I’m not evil—

  Not evil. Power. Strength. Control. These are what you really want—what the necklace saw in you.

  It’s not alive. It’s just a necklace!

  Nothing molded by Olympian hands is just an anything. Now, just like the others, you belong to me. Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve waited for this, Psyche. You are very special.

  I’ve heard that before—

  You have no idea how special. I feel much safer having you with me than with them. This way I can control you. This way I can take—

  You cannot control me. I give him what ends up being a pretty feeble mental shove. He easily compensates for it, saturating my being even further. I’m not one of your minions. I’ll never do anything you say.

  Oh, really? He sounds calm, amused. Now that’s something I’ve heard before. They always try to push me out, at first. Like not giving in is something heroic. But they almost always cave, in the end, and let me in, eventually forgetting that I’m the one pulling the strings.

  Almost. They almost always cave, I repeat, finding hope and strength in this tiny exception.

  Don’t get your hopes up, butterfly girl. Their resistance never lasts very long. They might be able to keep me at bay, for a time—win the battle, not the war, like the saying goes.

  If only you’d minded your own business, he continues. I didn’t want it to come to this. I even tried to warn you away, once.

  When did you…I lose the thought as he plucks one of my memories from storage to show me. I’m inside Jasper’s apartment after the Find Your Sister a Mister dance. We’ve just lost ourselves in a passionate kiss, and then I come to my senses, trying to pull away from him, but he won’t let me…

  “Stop…You’re…hurting…me.” In the memory, I wrench away at the same time Jasper releases me, and I go stumbling backwards.

  Jasper blinking as though emerging from a daze. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He didn’t. That was me, says Eric. I just wanted you to stay away from my son—and out of my business. It was the perfect opportunity, too. You two were fighting. You were already starting to see him for the monster he is—

  Jasper’s not the monster. You are—

  But Jasper resisted me. Probably had something to do with some pathetic, sappy shit like his undying love for you. Ah, well. I think I like this better, anyway. I like this much better. Would you like to see what I can do, Siobhan? Where’s that dagger of yours? The one gimpy made?

  The last thing I want to do is leave the safety and comfort of my bed to get the dagger out of its resting place: in the last drawer of my desk, underneath a stash of beauty magazines I have yet to read. Yet no matter how much sweat pours down my brow as I mentally strap myself to the bed, ordering myself not to get up, I still find myself sitting up, legs swinging over the side of the bed. I stand up, walk over to the desk and pull out the drawer as quietly as I can. Soon, my fingers enclose around the cool, bronze hilt of the dagger, the Greek letters of my name emitting a soft glow in response to my touch.

  Now, go out in the hall. We don’t want to wake your roommate up.

  How considerate of you. I tiptoe through the door, closing it softly behind me. The motion-sensitive lights flicker on.

  Stand in front of the mirror. Look at yourself. You are beautiful—I’ll give Eros that much. I’d fuck you, too.

  That’s a nice thing to say about your son’s…lover. I almost said wife.

  Now, he continues as if he hasn’t even heard me, place the blade against your throat. To my horror, my hand brings the dagger obediently to my neck, pressing into the skin there without breaking it. Start cutting.

  I wince as the blade digs into my throat. It feels like a lick of flame—a dragon’s tongue slicing across my skin, leaving a deep, scarlet gash in its wake. Blood seeps from the wound and from where I’m gnawing on my lower lip to keep myself from screaming, to keep myself from throwing up at the sight of my own blood. God, it hurts. Has anything ever hurt this badly? I would do anything to make the pain stop. I’d rather be dead than feel like this.

  Stop.

  Just like that, the blade lifts. My arm falls limply to the side, the dagger spilling from my hand and clattering onto the floor. And, just like that, Eric’s presence withdraws, my mind freed but feeling unclean, impure.

  The cut begins to heal, and I crumple to the floor, cocooning myself in the fetal position, shaking uncontrollably. I grasp the necklace with my fingers, pulling, but not hard enough to rip it from my neck.

  Because, even though I know I have to take it off, or he can invade my mind again—even though I don’t want it anymore—I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.

  Chapter 24

  The next morning, the last thing in the world I want to do is go to World Myths and Legends.

  But I drag myself to class, knowing that if I don’t go, Eric will think he has power over me—think that he’s won.

  I enter the lecture hall thr
ough the back door and sit in the back row. I alternate between watching the seats slowly filling in around me and watching Dr. Mars chatting to a few of my classmates at the front of the room. Something he said has them in stitches of laughter. A broad smile on his face, his head tilts back as he gives his own bark of laughter. He’s so casual, so charming—as though he didn’t spend last night taking over my mind, my body—forcing me to hurt myself.

  “What do you want?” I ask before even looking over at Apate, who has sat down beside me.

  “I can’t even sneak up on you anymore,” she says, pouting. “It’s Friday morning.”

  Reluctantly, I tear my gaze away from Eric to glare at her. “How astute of you.”

  “You’re awfully calm for someone that has less than forty eight hours to free my brother. It wasn’t a joke,” she insists when I just sigh, returning my attention to the front. “We’re running out of time. This is a matter of life and death.”

  “Your brother’s not going to die,” I say, even though I’m not too sure about that. “You’re virtually unkillable.”

  Her wine red lips curl wickedly. “I wasn’t talking about Dolos.”

  Despite my pang of uneasiness, I choose to ignore her insinuation. She’s just trying to push my buttons, and I won’t let her get to me. We have Victoria, who’s basically the paragon of winning stuff, on our side, and Farrah, who—well, I’m not exactly sure what she’s been good for, except she is a member of the Elder Council. With her own brother incarcerated somewhere, Apate has no one, and nothing but empty threats. I almost feel a little sorry for her.

  “I need to know something,” I tell her. She leans forward attentively, like I’m about to tell her a juicy bit of gossip. “Was it you in that sex tape?”

  She raises her perfect dark eyebrows. “Sex tape?”

  Of course she’d pretend she hasn’t seen it. I pull it up on my phone and hand it to her. As she watches it, her evil grin vanishes.

  “That’s you, right?” She hesitates, then nods slowly. “So you pretended to be Rebecca and seduced one of the Sigma Iotas. Why?”

  “You need to stop asking me that,” she says, giving me the phone back.

  “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to ask him to record it.”

  Her chin trembles slightly. “I didn’t know he was taping it.” She says it almost smugly, eager to prove me wrong. I don’t want to believe her, but the deep frown on her face makes me swallow my comeback.

  Instead, I say, “Stay away from Jimmy.”

  Her frown flips upside down again. “I’m not doing that. I love him.”

  “You people have a warped sense of what love is,” I mutter.

  “I love him so much I’d do anything to make him mine,” she whispers, leaning further into me. My nose and throat fill with her noxious perfume. “Including pretending to be the person he loves to get him to even look at me.” I look away, feeling a guilty blush rising to my cheeks. When I glance back over, her seat is empty.

  Fifty minutes later, I couldn’t even tell you what the lecture was about. I stare straight ahead, seeing Dr. Mars gesture as he talks—his lips still spread into a friendly smile, laughing at his own jokes every once in a while—but, despite his booming voice, the words wash right over me, muted and meaningless. All I can think about is hearing his voice in my mind, the feeling of helplessness as I held the dagger—my gift of protection from Hephaestus—and watched it slice into my throat. And occasionally, I think about Carly floating in the dark, endless void, even more certain now that it’s not really a dream, that it’s really happening and Eric’s army is somehow responsible. I hate myself for not realizing it before. How did we ever think it was the Alpha Rhos?

  If I want to do well in this class, I know I need to rise above all of this and step it up, or else I really should just drop it. Then again, it’s not like World Myths was ever going to be high on my list of priority classes, which looks something like: 1) all of my science classes, 2) this class.

  I gather my belongings, then hang back as the other students file out of the lecture hall. I walk slowly to the front of the room, skirting the table where Dr. Mars’s head is bent over a sheet of notes. I force myself to take my time, part of me wanting him to stop me, to acknowledge what happened last night, the other part hoping he’ll ignore me.

  “You were so easy,” Dr. Mars says when I’m almost out the door. As I turn around, he looks over his shoulder at me. Except for us, the auditorium has emptied out. “You were so easy to control.”

  “Not for long,” I say. “The necklace is coming off.”

  His eyes flick to my throat before returning to his notes. “Yes, I see you got right on that.”

  “Why me?” I go over and stand right in front of the table. Sighing, he lays down his pen and looks up at me. “What you said last night—about wanting me on your side. Why? You don’t need me. I’m not that strong—not ‘army’ material.”

  His chuckle is deep and resonant, like what the Earth might sound like if it could laugh. “So many cultures on so many worlds tend to value physical strength. I myself have always admired the physicality of warfare—the brute force, the violence, the bloodshed. But over the years, as I’ve observed other civilizations slaughter each other, I’ve come to realize that winning a war isn’t all about killing as many of your opponents as you can. It requires strategy, and making sure you’re ready to defend yourself from your enemy on all fronts. That is where you come in. I don’t even think you realize how special you are.”

  “Everyone keeps telling me that, but no one will tell me why or how,” I say, gritting my teeth.

  “I don’t know the answers you seek. Only that you are. And that you will be the reason I am defeated, if I can’t find a way to take control of my fate—by taking control of you. Oh, yes,” he says, seeing my bravado crumbling, “a seer on Olympus told me that I was going to fail because of you—something your little friend has, to her own ruin, confirmed.”

  “Vanessa’s prophecy could have meant anything,” I protest, even though no alternative interpretation is jumping to my mind right now.

  “You know what they say: Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” He gets to his feet, planting his large hands on the table and towering over me. “Well, this is as close as I can get you, Siobhan. And I intend to keep you.”

  I stand my ground, holding Eric’s dark gaze. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it won’t work. I’m not afraid of you. I’m angry. All you’ve done is hurt the people I care about. My sorority. Your own son. Not to mention you’re destroying my best friend’s life.”

  “Your best friend…you mean Anna,” he realizes, then gives a short laugh. “I’d hardly say I was destroying it.”

  “You’ve gotten her hooked on ambrosia,” I continue. Eric crosses his arms, his brow furrowed. “She overdosed and had to go to the hospital. Did you even go and see her? You probably don’t even care!”

  Eric takes one of his hands and rakes it through his hair. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before saying, “I…I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t know Anna was addicted to ambrosia?”

  “I know she has a problem. I didn’t know she was in the hospital…she never told me…” He trails off as he starts rummaging through his briefcase for something. When he can’t find what he’s looking for, he dumps the contents onto the table, pushing it around with his hands. “Damn it!” he erupts. “It’s not here!” He picks up the brief case and hurls it. I jump as it smacks the wall. “She found it! I should have known.”

  “Found…found what?” I ask quietly, regretting that I brought it up in the first place.

  “I hid my last bottle of ambrosia in here to cut her off. But she found it anyway.” A vigorous swipe of his hand across the table sends papers flying and pens clattering to the floor.

  “You mean you didn’t…you’re not…”

  “No, I’m not giving Anna a steady supply of ambrosia, if that’s wha
t you mean. I care about her, and I want to help her. I just…don’t know how.” He throws his hands in the air. The helpless gesture looks unnatural on him. I don’t like the twist our conversation has taken. It’s a lot easier to stand up to Big, Bad Eric than Concerned Boyfriend Eric.

  “Maybe we could…help her,” I tell him, the suggestion leaving an unpleasant taste on my tongue. “You know, togeth—”

  I’m relieved when Eric’s barking laughter cuts me off. “Anna’s not going to be the one to bring us together. Despite her other issues, Anna’s made it pretty clear to me that she’s picked a side—my side.”

  The softness in Eric’s gaze reserved solely for Anna—that glimmer of worry—has vanished. He’s shaken off the sheep’s clothing, his eyes once again thirsting for murder, for blood. It’s a more fitting look for him—as natural and familiar as his rich black hair and wolfish smile.

  I take a small, reflexive step back. “That’s what you think,” I say through a gulp. “Anna’s my best friend. She would never—”

  “From what I understand, you hadn’t spoken to her in years until a few weeks ago. I don’t think you know your ‘best friend’ as well as you think you do. Anna is on my side, and you are the enemy. Good day, Miss Elliot,” Eric says with finality.

  “This isn’t over.” My warning comes out as a pathetic, shaky whisper. If Eric hears me, he gives no indication as he starts picking up the papers scattered on the floor.

  Head held high, I walk slowly from the room. It’s only when I’m out the door that I bolt down the hall like a scared rabbit.

  ***

  I race all the way across campus, only stopping when I reach the street. My feet shuffle impatiently as I look both ways, waiting for traffic to clear so that I can cross over to the Greek Quad.

  “Excuse me,” a clear, pleasant voice says off to my right. “Do you know where the Gamma Lambda Phi house is?”