by Kristie Cook
“Dayton, I think we need to talk."
Talk? Now, she wanted to talk?
She held out a glass of orange juice, and I backed away. Oh, hell no!
“You tried to kill me!” I whispered.
She moved toward me. I continued to back away. As it had been at the club, her habit was missing. A wrinkled gray t-shirt hung loose over a pair of straight un-adorned blue jeans. Her short blonde hair was wild.
An image of my mother suddenly assaulted me, and I wanted to reach out and make her real. I wanted to feel her long golden hair fall around my face, her Mississippi State sweatshirt against my cheek as I inhaled her scent. She always smelled like Bounce fabric softener. I wanted her to tell me I was going to be okay.
I bit my tongue to dispel the memory and keep the tears at bay. It wasn’t going to be okay. This reality … my reality was the harsh looking woman in front of me. My mother’s sister.
Aunt Kyra closed her eyes briefly and set down the glass she’d offered before running her hand through her hair. The gesture reminded me of Marcas. Marcas.
“No, honey, I didn’t. We really need to talk,” she said again.
I shook my head. No talking. Right now, I needed to get to school. And soon.
“I have to go. I’m supposed to pick up Monroe,” I said, moving evasively toward the front of the Abbey.
She followed and, for once, didn’t fight me. “This afternoon then?”
She reached out to touch me on the shoulder. I pulled away.
“Dayton, please. This is important.”
I looked at her, noted the strain in her face, and nodded. “This afternoon then.”
I walked away. A whole weekend of my life had been taken away from me replaced by nightmares, images of monsters that weren’t supposed to exist, and a betrayal too strong to handle. The prospect of talking seemed like a piece of cake.
Chapter 16
I am watching Them now. They have my rapt attention. They are brothers—Twins—and they are Cursed. One I know well. His name is Damon. The Other I fear. He is now bound to her.
~Bezalial~
For the first time ever I lied to Monroe. I didn’t point blank alter the truth, I just avoided answering her questions. And she had many.
They bubbled out of her as I drove to school. “What happened to you this weekend? I came to the Abbey, but your aunt said you weren’t there. Why didn’t you answer my calls or texts?”
I looked at her quietly. She saw my face and fell silent. Maybe she saw the despair there, the same kind of grief, in a way, that I felt the day my parents had died. Maybe she saw the fear. Maybe she saw the creatures I imagined were inside me, the ones eating a hole in my stomach. My soul was laid bare. Whatever she saw, she didn’t question me further. I was in shock.
“What’s wrong with Dayton?” was mixed with multiple “Happy birthdays” as we arrived at school and moved through the halls. I never heard the answer to the former, and I didn’t give thanks for the latter. I wasn’t feeling thankful.
“Dayton?” Conor called out sometime later that day.
I ran. Maybe I was a coward, but I couldn’t see him today. I couldn’t tell him or Monroe that they had been right. I should have left the Abbey. My stubbornness had caused this defiling. I was thinking like a victim now.
I sat in the bathroom during fourth period. I couldn’t go to philosophy. I couldn’t handle both Mr. James and Conor in the same room knowing one had feelings for me and the other was involved in whatever ritual my aunt had initiated. I was admittedly afraid. The bell rang and the halls became crowded. I edged into them.
Something brushed against me, and I looked up to find Jessie Grey’s face bobbing in the maelstrom of students. Her eyes flashed red. I stared harder. She vanished.
“Dayton!” Monroe called out.
I fought the bodies as I moved into the open doorway of our last period Spanish class. Monroe smiled, and I managed a lopsided grin.
“You okay?” she whispered.
I nodded before moving to my seat. We were in the last fifteen minutes of that same class listening to a tape we were supposed to be translating for extra credit when Monroe suddenly jabbed me from behind.
I fought the urge to yelp as I glared over my shoulder. “What?”
She pointed out the window next to us. “Hottie stage right.”
I shifted to glance across the small expanse of green lawn to the woods beyond. One look and my heart practically stopped beating.
"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!" I thought to myself, cringing inwardly at my own choice of words. If I had doubted any of last night’s events, the "hottie" just made them reality.
“Marcas,” I murmured.
I stared at the tall, black-haired guy leaning casually against the trunk of an ancient oak tree. His arms were crossed, pulling his black tee snugly against his broad chest as his full length leather jacket flapped gently against his dark jeans. His eyes met mine as his name slowly exited my lips. Last night slammed into me once again. My head spun and every bruise on my body suddenly throbbed.
“Hot, huh?” Monroe asked from behind me.
I fought not to wince. “Sure, I guess."
Monroe smirked. “You guess? Are you blind! I wonder what lucky girl he’s waiting on?”
She draped heart shaped fingers against her chest and began to thump.
“It’s fifth period. Has to be a senior,” Stefanie Davies suddenly stated from in front of us. “If only it were me."
I rolled my eyes. What guy wouldn’t be thrilled to have Stefanie? She had a delegation of men following continuously in her blonde model-like wake. Maybe it was the body, but most of us figured it was because of her "daddy" and all his cash and cars. Amazing how much money you could make if you owned the oil rights to a property riddled with black gold.
“I don’t know. He looks dangerous,” Lita remarked from beside us.
I glanced around the room.
“I’ll be Lauren Bacall to his Humphrey Bogart,” Monroe murmured, and I shushed them before glancing once more out the window.
Was he here to kill me? He had certainly failed before. But it was daylight now.
Daylight! What did this mean for my whole vampire theory? Maybe I had dreamed up that part. It still didn’t explain why he was here.
“May I be excused?” I asked suddenly, my voice wavering.
I stood too quickly and stumbled.
Monroe reached up from behind me. “What’s up with you today, Day?” she asked.
Mrs. Gomez peered up sleepily from behind her desk.
I couldn’t stand it anymore! I stumbled again, and Mrs. Gomez’s eyes widened at the sight of my pale face and shaking hands.
She rose and moved down the aisle. “Are you okay, Senorita Blainey?”
I headed for the door. “I think I need to see the nurse.”
I think she may have asked me if I needed help, may have even tried to send a student after me, but at this point, I had broken into a run. And I had no intention of getting caught.
“Come and get me, you freak!” I hissed as I exited the school.
A few freshman students glanced at me wildly from the sidewalk in front.
I ignored them, my feet carrying me to the parking lot.
“Freak?” a smooth, low voice asked calmly from behind me just as I reached my beat up old ’86 Pontiac. My hand froze on the door handle.
“You sure do know how to make an impression, Ms. Blainey. But you’re not the first one to call me a freak. Try again.”
“Murderer, stalker, monster,” I bit out coldly.
Looking down at my white, clenched hand on the handle made it easier to stay calm and unaffected. As long as I didn’t give his voice a face, I could stay angry. Angry was better than afraid.
“Those aren’t new either,” he said before moving into my peripheral vision. I fought not to turn toward him.
“Quit pretending I’m the problem, Blainey!” he commented wryl
y.
My face flushed red. Who did he think he was? How did he know who I was?
“You don’t know me!” I shouted.
Swinging open my door, I finally glanced at him as I scooted inside.
The light on his face made me pause. The pale skin I had thought belonged to him the night before was more tan than white, his eyes a deep blue so dark they shone like midnight, and he stood a good twelve inches taller than me. His hair was the only thing that remained the same, so black it could only be described as ebony. He didn’t seem pale or unhealthy in the least. If anything, he seemed flushed. My vampire theory was finally crushed even if I was fairly sure he had drunk some of my blood the night before. My face heated.
“But, au contraire, my sweet, I know you more than you or I would like. Go home. Talk to your aunt. But don’t trust any of them. I am not your enemy, but neither am I your friend,” Marcas spoke quickly, his gaze moving over me before he turned away. “I’m not the one who threw us together. I like it even less than you do."
I cranked my noisy engine to drown him out. I didn’t trust anyone right now. And I didn’t know this man. I drew out my phone, texted Monroe to find out if she could hitch a ride with Conor, and then looked out the window. He was gone.
***
The three-level, grey stone Abbey looked ominous to me as I pulled up, and I cringed. Homes were supposed to look welcoming. So much for that.
Yanking my keys out of the ignition, I moved toward the door.
“Aunt Kyra!” I called out as I walked inside, keeping my voice level and confident. She didn’t answer.
I moved deeper into the Abbey. Most of the lights were off to save on power. The philosophy was, "If the room wasn’t in use, then the lights shouldn’t be either."
“Aunt Kyra?”
A noise made me spin, and I looked toward the kitchens. What the hell?
“What’s this all supposed to mean, Damon?” I heard my aunt ask as I moved stealthily toward the door across from the refectory.
Damon? The recruiter? The one that looked like Marcas? Maybe coming home early wasn’t such a bad idea.
“She’s been linked to him, Kyra. Now we wait,” Damon answered.
I shivered. I knew his voice now, and it scared me.
“You didn’t tell me it would change her!” my aunt insisted, her voice rising.
I moved deeper into my corner. Change?
Someone moved, and a crash resounded against the wall where I crouched. I clamped my hand over my mouth.
“Do you doubt me, Kyra?” Damon asked.
My aunt gasped, as if her windpipe couldn’t take in enough air. I struggled to sit still.
“No,” she ground out.
There was a thud and Aunt Ky began wheezing desperately. “I don’t doubt you!” she coughed. “I’m just trying to understand—"
“Understand this. Without your niece, we would be nowhere right now.”
“But the link? You didn’t tell me it would be so strong!” Ky argued. “It could kill her!”
The kitchen grew quiet. My heart sped up. Kill?
“It’s a chance we have to take,” Damon said flatly.
Ky let out a shuddering breath. “Then it could kill her? You admit it!”
Damon didn’t answer. Ky hiccupped.
“And it’s worth it?” she asked.
Still, Damon remained silent. After a moment, I heard Aunt Ky walk across the kitchen, her shoes thudding softly against the stone floor. The door leading outside creaked.
“This is what you meant by sacrifice,” she breathed.
“It’s worth the risk, Kyra. It could end a war,” Damon finally said as he too moved across the kitchen. His stride was longer, and the sound his shoes made quieted as he moved outside.
“Why are you really helping us?” Aunt Kyra asked.
I fought not to peer around the corner.
If Damon answered, I didn’t hear it. The door closed firmly behind him, the latch sliding into place. Braving a peek around the doorway, I saw Aunt Ky slide down the wood of the door wearily before hitting the floor, her head coming to rest in her hands.
I moved to stand in the empty entryway. The stainless steel kitchen prep table lay on its side on the floor, and I focused on it a moment in silence.
Sacrifice. A sudden wave of nausea swept over me. It took everything I had not to puke. Swallowing the bile working its way up into my throat, I forced myself to face the defeated woman on the floor.
“What have you done?” I asked.
The question made its way through the room like an arrow. It found its mark, and Kyra’s head shot up. Shadows haunted her eyes and her hair stood up haphazardly. Around her neck, bruises were forming. My eyes widened.
“Dayton,” Kyra whispered.
She pushed herself off the floor.
I backed away. “You said we needed to talk."
Aunt Kyra sighed and bent to pick up the table. I helped her.
“Who’s Damon?” I asked.
She reached for one of the kitchen chairs, lifting it before handing it to me.
Sitting on one side of the table, she murmured, “A Demon.”
My heart stopped, my mind replaying the night before in Amber’s room. My sister had mentioned Demons. But she had talked about protecting people against Demons, not working with them. I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.
“Please sit, Dayton,” Ky begged.
I watched her, her eyes staring up into mine, and I realized she was scared. This didn’t comfort me. But I sat.
“I don’t understand."
My back was rigid against the wooden chair. Relaxing just didn’t feel the right thing to do. It felt like relenting.
“He’s a Demon,” Aunt Kyra repeated.
I got that much. It suddenly made sense why Marcas had been able to walk around in the daylight. He wasn’t a vampire. What I didn’t get was …
“What the hell?” I gasped.
Ky looked at me, her eyes narrowed. I wasn’t apologizing for my language. What a joke!
“Your sister found it hard to believe at first too ..."
She thought I was upset by the revelation. I almost laughed. It wasn’t hard to believe. If I had thought it was, I didn’t after sharing my blood with one. At least I knew what they were now. Damon and Marcas. Demons. They looked identical except for the scar. What I found hard to believe was the Abbess cozying up to one.
“What does he want?” I whispered.
Aunt Kyra grew pale. She reached for my hands across the table, but I leaned away, her trembling hands falling between us. She had never tried to soothe me before.
“Oh, Dayton."
I covered my face with my hands. “Why didn’t I know about any of this? Why didn’t I know about Amber?”
Ky tried moving closer. I scooted the chair back.
“I won’t apologize,” Kyra muttered.
I let my hands drop.
She was staring at the wall above my shoulder, her eyes distant. “I met Damon after your parents passed,” Kyra said, her gaze meeting mine. “Keep in mind; we are at war, at war with all Demons. We still are. I had just taken over the Abbey. We are not your typical religious institution. We run the same way, in many ways, but we have a higher purpose. We are warriors." She pulled her shoulders up tight, erect, stubborn. “Your dad was a part of the Abbey, you know. Not by birth or choice, but because of your mother. He adored my sister. But your father was different. He … He …”
Kyra paused and stood. My gaze followed her as she paced before moving to the coffee pot in the corner of the kitchen. I wanted to shake the story out of her, but I kept quiet.
She took down a filter and the Folgers can, and I sniffed the air as she scooped coffee. The smell was a familiar, comfortable one. I think Aunt Ky was looking for something to do with her hands. They still shook.
The coffee started dripping and Aunt Ky paced back to the table.
“Your dad didn’t approve of my ideas
. I had radical views about the war, this is true, but they were effective. We were making a lot of progress. But your dad …” She moved from the table once again to stand next to the coffee pot. "He was judgmental, his tall, red-haired demeanor looming over us all. He didn’t understand. He—"
"He was an amazing father," I interrupted, images of my dad’s strong presence and deep, melodious voice more than clear in my memory.
I wasn’t going to put up with parental criticism from a woman who’d turned her back on her own niece, who’d tried to kill her. My parents were better than that.
Aunt Kyra let the subject drop. Facing me, she looked down at the floor. “When your parents passed, I found strange notes scribbled everywhere in your dad’s study. They were mad! Talk of Demons, their hierarchies, leaders … it astounded me. It was stuff I should have known.” Kyra shook her head. “One of the names he’d written down several times was Damon. There were notes about him coming to see your father, discussions they’d had, things Damon had propositioned to your father. It was all there. I took it upon myself to contact him."
Aunt Kyra poured a cup of coffee. She held it out to me, but I shook my head. My palms were too sweaty to hold a cup, and my stomach hurt.
What did Damon want with dad?” I whispered.
Kyra’s hand shook so badly coffee leaked over the side of the cup. She placed it on the bar beside her.
“He didn’t want your dad. He wanted one of his children."
I froze, my throat constricting, my pulse beating rapidly in my neck. “Why?”
Kyra’s gaze pierced mine. “Because he said your dad’s blood held the key to redemption. That his children would end the torment placed on his kind. You or Amber could be the key to preserving humankind.”
Something wasn’t right.
“What went wrong?” I asked, my head throbbing.
Kyra looked up. “You were the one. Damon said he smelled it in your blood. You were supposed to lure him to us, not be sacrificed to his kind. No one ever said anything about you becoming his."
I forgot to breathe. “Marcas?” I asked.
“Marcas is his enemy. It went differently than I planned but the mission is still the same, Dayton,” Kyra whispered. Her gaze was distant, and I knew the conversation was over. I still didn’t know what it had to do with me. I was left more confused than I had been before. Nothing felt right.
