Eternal

by Kristi Cook

  I threw my hands up in frustration. “Ugh. I can’t wrap my head around this. It’s like the whole chicken-or-the-egg argument, only worse.”

  “Well, that’s what you’ve got me for. It’s an honor to serve you,” he said with a grin, obviously trying to be funny.

  “Yeah, lucky me.” Instantly, I regretted my words, my cheeks flushing hotly. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I don’t mean to sound like an ungrateful brat. Seriously. I’m just so freaked out right now. I’m worried about Aidan, and I miss him like crazy.” I stood so abruptly that I nearly knocked over my chair. I steadied it, gripping the back so hard that my knuckles turned white.

  “I know it doesn’t make sense,” I continued. “Not with me being a Sâbbat and all. But I didn’t ask for this. I’m not interested in playing Buffy and ridding the world of vampires. And besides, if you think this is some kind of . . . of honor,” I sputtered, nearly choking on the word, “then I’m never going to be able to make you understand.”

  As calm as always, Matthew stood, holding a hand out to me. “Come here, Violet.”

  I took a deep breath, spent now. I took his hand, allowing him to pull me into an embrace. I choked back a sob, pressing my face against the soft fabric of his shirt. Beneath my cheek, I could feel his heart thumping against his ribs as my tears spilled over.

  “Shh,” he said, patting me on the back. “Go on and cry.”

  “I hate this,” I blubbered, wiping my nose with the back of one hand. “I really, really hate it.”

  “I know you do.”

  I tried to force back the tears, but it took a good two or three minutes before I managed to pull myself together. It felt comfortable there in his arms, I realized. Safe. Which was pretty embarrassing, actually.

  “Sorry about that,” I mumbled, my voice muffled against his chest. I took a step back, my cheeks flaming.

  “You okay?” he asked, peering down at me with drawn brows.

  I nodded, reaching for a tissue. I blew my nose, then dabbed at my damp, swollen eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Tired, that’s all.” On shaky legs, I made my way to the sofa and sat down.

  He followed me, settling onto the far side of the sofa. A nice, safe distance away.

  Warily, I watched him.

  He looked slightly discomposed, his eyes troubled. “For the record, this isn’t all that much fun for me, either. I never understood it—the pressure I felt to excel at school, to graduate early, to do a PhD in record time. Now I know why, of course. I needed to be in the right place at the right time in order to find you—just a two-year window at Winterhaven—but I didn’t know that at the time.”

  I shook my head in amazement. “How did you do it?”

  “I rode myself ragged. I doubled up on courses and gave up any semblance of a social life in order to push myself as hard as possible academically. Do you have any idea what it’s like to go off to college at sixteen? I didn’t have my driver’s license. I’d never even been on a date. Trust me, it sucked.”

  With a start, I realized that he was giving up his social life now, too. After all, he’d spent pretty much every spare moment of the break with me. “Sorry about that,” I muttered.

  He tipped up my chin so that my gaze met his steady brown one. “Don’t be sorry, Violet. This is my purpose. I’ve made peace with it.”

  “How can you accept it like that?”

  He shrugged. “Because it is what it is. I’ve known about the Megvédio since I was twelve. Say what you want, but I’m proud of my heritage. My father made sure I realized what a privilege it would be to find my Sâbbat, how rare and special. I never even imagined . . .” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

  “Never imagined what?” I prodded, an uncomfortable knot in the pit of my stomach.

  Again, his gaze met mine, steady and intense. “It is special,” he said softly. “I would do anything for you.”

  “Oh, man. You realize how weird this is, right? I mean, you shouldn’t be saying this stuff. If people were to hear . . .” I bit my lower lip. “Do you have any idea how skeevy it sounds?”

  “Just know that it’s not like that, okay?” he said, his cheeks reddening. “It’s more . . . I don’t know”—he shook his head—“brotherly or something. I want to protect you; that’s all. I have to protect you. Can you understand that?”

  “Not really,” I said with a grimace, even though deep down I felt it too—the bond. I’d never admit it, not in a million years. Not to him, not to anyone. My feelings for Matthew were . . . complicated. But somehow it felt right when he was by my side. I felt complete. At least, as complete as possible without Aidan in my life.

  “I know it’s crazy, this whole Sâbbat-Megvéd thing. I’m not saying it isn’t. I mean, you’re just a kid.”

  “I am not a kid,” I argued. “I’m almost eighteen.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted with the hint of a smile. “You can’t have it both ways. Either it’s skeevy because you’re a kid, or you’re not a kid and therefore it’s not all that skeevy. Choose one.”

  I decided to change the subject. “My birthday’s in March, by the way. The twenty-seventh. Are you going to take me to get my tattoo? It seems like you should get the honors, right?”

  “What tattoo?”

  “You know, my ‘mark.’ A stake, on the inside of my right wrist,” I explained, describing it just as I’d seen it in my mind. “With a butterfly resting on it.”

  “Why a butterfly?”

  I let out my breath in a huff. “I have no idea. Maybe because my transformation will be complete?” It popped into my head, just like that. “I’m having to figure this out as I go along, you know. You’re lucky you had your dad to explain it all to you. I have one page from some ancient book, and that’s it.”

  A shadow flickered across his face. “What book? You never mentioned a book to me.”

  I hadn’t, I realized. “Hold on and I’ll go get it.”

  3 ~ Phantom Pains

  I hurried to my room, digging out the book from where I’d stashed it in the dark recesses of my closet, away from prying eyes. A minute later, I was back in the living room, trying not to sneeze as I flipped through the dusty pages until I found the folded page with Luc’s translation.

  I unfolded it and handed it to Matthew. “There isn’t much, really. You probably know it all already.”

  I chewed on my thumbnail while he read.

  “Yeah, not much new here,” he said at last, handing the page back to me.

  “What about this?” I tapped my finger against a line that made me particularly uncomfortable.

  If she fails in her quest and her blood runs through a vampire’s veins, the Megvéd’s life is extinguished.

  “What do you make of that?” I asked, my breath catching. “It doesn’t mean what I think it means, does it?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it does.” He rubbed his jaw with the palm of one hand. “Basically, if a vampire gets you instead of the other way around, then it’s lights-out for me.”

  “B-but,” I stammered, “does that mean the vampire has to kill me? Or just drink my blood?”

  “Does it matter? Oh, wait. Right,” he said sarcastically, his features hardening. “Your boyfriend’s a vampire, which puts a whole new spin on it, doesn’t it?”

  My mouth was suddenly dry. “Because, uh, well . . . he kind of bit me just before break, remember?” I reached a hand up to my neck, rubbing the pads of my fingers across the spot where Aidan’s teeth had pierced the fragile flesh. “It wasn’t a big deal. I swear. Just, you know . . . a nip. And then he healed it right away.” Please, please don’t say you’re going to die because of it.

  Matthew’s eyes widened. “Christ, I’d forgotten about that. He broke the skin?”

  “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t drink my blood. It was more like a scratch, that’s all.” A scratch—okay, maybe a small puncture wound—and then his saliva doing that thing it did. I squirmed in my seat, rememberin
g. Nope, I wasn’t going to mention that.

  “Well, your blood doesn’t run through his veins, right? So I guess I’m safe. For now, at least,” he added.

  “For always,” I said, my voice thick as a wave of hopelessness washed over me. “He’s gone, remember? He’s not coming back.”

  A sharp, fiery pain shot through my shoulders—both of them at once. With a cry, I pitched forward, doubling over in agony.

  In an instant, Matthew was by my side, one hand on my back. “What happened?”

  “I—I don’t know,” I sputtered, trying to catch my breath. “It’s my shoulders.” Hot, searing pain continued to radiate down toward my elbows.

  “What can I do? Do you need ice or something?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” I forced myself to sit up straight and unzip my hoodie, exposing the tank top I wore beneath. I examined one shoulder, then the other, not quite sure what I was looking for. Considering the magnitude of pain I was experiencing, I half expected to find torn, ragged flesh, broken bones. Instead, everything looked perfectly normal, my skin unblemished.

  I shook my head as the pain receded, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “It’s gone now.”

  “Something to do with that old fencing injury?”

  “No. This was both shoulders. And the pain was totally different—like I was being stabbed or something. Like my skin was tearing.”

  “That’s odd. They look fine.” He was examining me now, his brow knitted with concern. “Maybe you should have it checked out.”

  “Maybe I’m losing my mind,” I countered.

  “What about Sophie? Can you call her, ask her to come over and check it out?”

  I nodded. “That’s a good idea. She just got back from Saint Bart’s last night.”

  “Perfect,” he said, pulling out his phone and glancing at the time. “I’m supposed to be somewhere in a little bit anyway.”

  “Let me text her and see what she says.” Maybe I’d ask her to sleep over. I hurried to my room and grabbed my phone, quickly typing out the message and hitting send. She answered before I’d even made my way back to the living room.

  “She’s on her way,” I called out.

  “Great. I’ll stay till she gets here, and then I’ve got to run.”

  “You really don’t have to stick around,” I said, wanting to avoid the awkwardness of a Sophie/Dr. Byrne meet-and-greet. “Seriously, she’ll be here in half an hour. I think I can survive on my own till then.”

  He just glared at me, unmoved.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Wow, you really take this whole ‘protector’ thing seriously, don’t you?”

  His phone began to buzz, the name “Charlie” emblazoned across the screen. “Sorry,” he said, rising and moving toward the window. “I’ve got to take this.”

  “No problem,” I said with a shrug. Hurrying over to the dining table, I busied myself with the remains of our dinner, closing up the containers of food and moving everything into the kitchen.

  He kept his voice low, but I couldn’t help overhearing little bits and pieces of his conversation. “I know . . . didn’t forget . . . I told you, it’s complicated. Just give me a half hour, okay?”

  “Sorry about that,” he said at last, looking a little discomposed as he followed me into the kitchen.

  “Everything okay with him?”

  “With who?”

  “Your friend,” I clarified. “Charlie. Sorry. I saw the name on the screen.”

  “Oh, right.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, she’s fine.”

  She’s fine?

  “Her apartment’s around the corner,” he continued. “I can wait for Sophie. I want to see what she has to say about your shoulders.”

  “Suit yourself,” I muttered, my cheeks flushing hotly as I fought back unwelcome stirrings of jealousy. Who was this Charlie, and what did she mean to my Megvéd?

  And more to the point, why did I care?

  * * *

  “Okay, that was kind of weird, right?” Sophie said as soon as the front door closed behind Matthew.

  “Welcome to my world.” I collapsed onto the sofa, frustrated. Matthew had made Sophie check my shoulders the minute she’d walked through the door, but she hadn’t found anything that would explain the pain I’d experienced. Apparently, the joints were free of inflammation, the muscles and tendons perfectly normally.

  Which meant it was all in my head. I really was losing my mind. “Thanks for coming over,” I said, scooting over to make room for her beside me.

  She kicked off her shoes and sat, folding her legs beneath her. “Hey, no problem. Trust me, I’ve had just about enough of my parents.”

  “How was Saint Bart’s?”

  “Nice. The weather was great. Anyway, where’s Aidan? I thought you two were supposed to stick together over break?”

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself. I hadn’t called her to tell her what had happened. I couldn’t. After all, I knew that she genuinely liked Aidan. They all did, my friends, but Sophie most of all.

  And, okay, there was more—the more people I told, the more real it seemed. Besides, I had hoped to have some answers before I told them that Aidan was the Vampire Stalker. Instead I had nothing.

  “What’s going on, Violet?” Sophie asked, her brow knitted. “You just went ten shades of pale. Is Aidan okay?”

  I shook my head, my windpipe constricting painfully. “I don’t know. He’s at the Tribunal right now. For all I know, they might have destroyed him.” But they hadn’t—couldn’t have. I would have felt it. I was sure of that.

  Sophie’s eyes went wide, the color visibly draining from her face. “Destroyed him? What? Why?”

  I swallowed hard. “Tyler was right. Aidan is . . . he was the Stalker.”

  “No way.” Sophie shook her head. “Not Aidan.”

  “He had no idea what he was doing, Soph. It was the serum he was working on, doing something awful to him. He was in a trance, completely disassociated. It was Aidan, but it wasn’t.”

  She covered her mouth with the palm of one hand. When she let it fall, I saw that her fingers were trembling. “How do you know? I mean, are you sure?”

  “I had a vision last fall. I thought it was a dream, since I wasn’t able to replay it. But on the last day of school, it happened just like I saw it. He went after my friend Whitney in Central Park. Matthew and I got there just in time. I was able to stop him, but”—I shook my head—“but yeah, I’m sure. He left that night to turn himself in to the Tribunal. He’s not coming back,” I choked out, tears welling in my eyes. “Not in this lifetime.”

  Sophie scooted closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “And you didn’t call me? You’ve been here all by yourself?”

  I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand. “Matthew’s been around. A lot,” I added.

  Releasing me, she shot me a glare. “I still can’t believe you didn’t call me, even if you did have Dr. Hottie hanging around.”

  “There wasn’t anything you could do. Anyway, I didn’t want to ruin your vacation.”

  “Well, what about Cece? Does she know?”

  I nodded. “She’s been trying to project to Mrs. G. Cece thinks she must have some sort of shield around herself, around Aidan, too. I’ve got to find her, though. I need to tell her about my vision. I think I saw something that might clear Aidan.”

  “Okay, slow down.” She held out a hand. “What vision?”

  “One I had just before break. I saw something in the lab, but I didn’t realize what it meant at the time. I think someone was tampering with Aidan’s serum. Mrs. Girard needs to know that it wasn’t Aidan’s fault, that someone did this to him. Intentionally.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “No. I couldn’t see anything but hands. At the time, I thought they were Aidan’s. I wasn’t really paying much attention. It was just boring, everyday science stuff, as far as I could tell.”

  “So you can
just replay the vision, right? Look for clues this time.”

  “Matthew’s been trying to talk me through it, but so far, nothing. I don’t know . . .” I shook my head. “What if he’s the one who tampered with the serum? I think that’s why I’m having such a hard time with the replay.”

  “Do you need him to talk you through it? Or can you do it on your own?”

  “It’s easier with him, but sometimes I can do it on my own.”

  Sophie scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Okay, let’s do this. What do you need?”

  I sat up straight, looking around the apartment. “I wish we had an old-fashioned clock here. You know, one that ticks really loud.”

  A slow smile spread across Sophie’s face as she reached into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. “There’s an app for that. Hold on a sec.” She started tapping her screen. “It’s got all kinds of sounds that are supposed to be relaxing. Okay, check this out.” She tapped an icon that looked like an antique grandfather clock, and there it was—ticktock, ticktock.

  “That’s perfect!” I cried, closing my eyes and settling myself back against the cushions. Ticktock, ticktock. “Okay, just stay really quiet and let me focus. I can do this.”

  A deep breath, in through my nose, out through my mouth—once, twice. I emptied my mind of extraneous thoughts, hyperfocusing on the sound of the clock. Seconds passed, a minute, maybe two. And then the room fell away.

  I was in the lab back at Winterhaven. Just like before, microscopes lined the far wall, a Bunsen burner on one of the black-topped tables. I saw the hands, holding a dropper, extracting a liquid from a small vial and dropping it into a test tube. One drop. Two. Three. Then the vial was capped and put into a little wooden rack. As the hands reached for a second vial, I forced myself to pull back, to look around the room. The clock on the wall read five forty-five; one long, rectangular fluorescent light was flickering, making a faint buzzing sound. I pulled back farther, mentally moving myself toward the door. Turning my head to the left, I found him—the owner of the hands. His back was to me, but I could tell he was tall. Blond. Familiar. He capped a second vial, placing it in the rack, turning slightly so that I could just make out his profile . . .