Death Before Daylight

by Shannon A. Thompson

  I pushed open the first door my eyes locked on.

  The first thing I saw was four sets of black horns sticking out from the floor. The heatless fire in the corner was too familiar. Camille. She had died here. I could picture her face in the corner.

  “You won’t find him.”

  I knew it was Darthon before I turned around.

  He was soundless as he walked up to me, stopping only a yard away. His black shirt made his skin glow like an angel in the paintings I studied, but his smile was unlike anything I had seen in art. It was unnatural. His pointed teeth were more like an animal’s than a person’s, and his frozen demeanor was that of a statue.

  I found the words. “I wasn’t looking for him.”

  When he tilted his head, every inch of movement seemed deliberate. “Have you thought about what I said?”

  It had only been hours, three, at most. Knowing what he wanted was impossible to comprehend, let alone contemplate. Even he had to know that, but Fudicia’s words flooded through me. Darthon wasn’t as patient as she was. He didn’t have time. He should’ve been dead, after all, and his empty gaze made him look like he already had died. I wondered what his eyes looked like when he was a human, if I would recognize the expression if I had the chance again.

  My silence was enough of an answer for him.

  Before I could react, his hand snapped up and smacked me across the face. I hit the ground. His fingers wrapped around my hair by the time I started fighting back. I tried to stab him, but his free hand took my only weapon.

  “What don’t you understand?” he hissed against my throat, the same piece of flesh he held a knife to during prom. “I have more power here than you—than him—but you could be better if you just listened to me.”

  I reeled back, kicking at his knees, but it wasn’t enough.

  He slammed me against the wall. “I have other ways of convincing you to give him up.”

  Eric.

  “It isn’t about him,” I screeched as my cheek scraped the wall.

  Darthon’s grip loosened, but only for a moment. “You love the Dark that much?”

  Bracke’s face was the first one I remembered, how his expression had softened over time. When I first met him, he was cold, skeptical about how I wanted to be Eric’s friend, and then, he had smiled at me in the hospital after Eric’s car wreck, and I knew he loved his son more than anyone.

  Pierce’s face was next, and Camille’s followed. I had to fight the image of her death, skin tearing off her bones.

  I twisted, trying to escape Darthon, but he pushed my arm against my back. “If that’s how you’re going to be—” His voice trailed off, but he yanked me off the wall. He hadn’t dragged me three feet before Fudicia came out of a door.

  “Darthon?” Even her eyes were wide. “What are you doing? You can’t hurt her—”

  “I’m not,” he growled, dodging Fudicia as she attempted to pull him off me. “I’m just giving her a new prison.”

  I dug my heels into the ground, but it wasn’t enough. Darthon pulled my hair, and I fell forward. He had his hand wrapped around my wrists in seconds. My skin burned.

  “Let me go,” I screamed, but no amount of fighting stopped him. I was too human.

  He dragged me down the hallway in minutes and kicked open a door as it appeared. He lifted me up only to toss me to the floor. My legs scraped against the ground, so I raised my arms to block him from hitting me, but he didn’t.

  I only moved my arm when his footsteps echoed away. He slammed his fist against the wall. “I’ll kill him, Jess.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I already have.”

  The words slammed against my chest like he had hit me instead of the concrete.

  “See this wall?” His forefinger was white when he pressed the wall. “He’s one wall away from you.” Eric was right next door. “And you will be able to hear him tonight when I kill him again. And again when he comes back to life. And again after that.”

  Eric. He was dying. That was why his heartbeat kept fading and returning. Darthon wasn’t lying. He couldn’t kill him, even when he could.

  “Wait—”

  “I will wait when you become one of us.”

  “I don’t know how,” I shouted back, every part of me burning.

  “Maybe you’ll figure it out,” he said and marched over to the doorway, flicking the knife out so I could see it. “The screaming might help you think.”

  I stood up to chase him, but it was too late. Darthon slammed the door, and I slammed against it, hitting it with all the force I had left. Nothing happened. Nothing but my desperation.

  “Fudicia!” It was the first time I wanted her help. “Darthon!” I shouted their names over and over, but no one responded.

  I ran over to the wall Darthon had hit and hit it myself. “Darthon, stop!”

  A shout was the only response I had.

  Eric’s shout.

  My blood went cold in my veins, and any heat the realm gave me left. Even though he wasn’t speaking, I recognized Eric’s voice as he screamed. The screams were constant, more alive than my breathing.

  I hit the wall until I couldn’t anymore.

  Another scream followed the shattering of what I could only guess was bone. He didn’t scream after that. My tears might as well have been acid rain.

  That was how I remembered the rain, a power that came naturally to me, but one Eric couldn’t control. It was the sign I had been different all along.

  I squeezed my hand and drowned out my breath as I laid my palm out. I waited, urged for it to come, and slowly, just as Eric’s heartbeat began to return, the rain flickered from my fingertips. The purple color didn’t stay purple for long. It burned red and splatted against the ground like blood.

  The door opened.

  Darthon stood there, his hair as wild as his eyes, but I stared at his hands. Eric’s blood was on his fingertips.

  “You called?” he snarled. “Or are you just distracting me?”

  The red power I had was theirs—the Light’s—and it was also mine. I knew how to become one of them, and it rested in my veins. The purple powers would have to die, but I clutched onto it.

  “If you leave him alone, I’ll—”

  Darthon marched over. “I didn’t come to bargain, Jess.” He spat on my face when he grabbed me, but this time, his grip slipped. From the blood.

  My stomach twisted before I threw up again.

  Darthon didn’t even notice. He dragged me straight through it, and my vision blurred as he pulled me down the hallway and into the room. Eric’s room.

  Darthon let go of me then.

  “This is your fault,” he said.

  Eric’s body was mangled, torn and bloody. His muscles were shredded, his skin was ripped, and his limbs were shattered. The only sign of life he had was the sickening wheezing that escaped his lungs. His chest inched up as he breathed.

  “Eric.” I scrambled across the room on my knees until I was by his side.

  His face was barely recognizable. I lifted my hands to touch him only to move away. “Eric.” “Can you hear me?”

  “Get away from him,” Darthon ordered.

  I didn’t move. I only searched Eric’s body, struck by how his injuries healed, how his human body reconnected, how the slice on his abdomen was closing. He was coming back to life only for Darthon to kill him again, only for Darthon to continue to torture the both of us—until one of us broke and the Dark died. I couldn’t let the Dark die.

  The knife lay by Eric’s ribcage.

  I grabbed it.

  Darthon chuckled. “We already know how bad your aim is.”

  “I’m not aiming for you,” I spat.

  “Don’t,” Darthon screamed as he shot forward, but it was too late.

  I plunged it into my chest.

  17

  Eric

  When I woke up, Darthon was waiting, but he was quiet. He was never quiet.

  I glanced around
the room, half-expecting the half-breed to be ready to attack me, but no one was there. We were alone, and Darthon lingered in silence. When I looked at him, his eyes focused on the ground near me. My blood had dried against it, a reminder of how much I hadn’t healed. I had only just come back to life. My chest was cut. As I moved, I sensed my ribs were broken. I stopped moving out of the fear of puncturing a lung.

  “The deal,” Darthon finally spoke, “I want you to take it, and I want you to take it today.”

  Be my slave. I remembered his proposition, even though I wanted to forget it.

  Darthon looked at me, but it was the first time I had seen his complexion so pale. “If you take it, I’ll let you both go right now.”

  Jessica.

  In my delirium, I had heard her speak my name. But her voice hadn’t sounded peaceful. She had screamed. It was worse than the death I succumbed to.

  I stared at the ceiling. “How is she?”

  “Alive.”

  His tone made my veins twist.

  I only looked back at him to search his face, expecting to see a threatening glare escape him, but nothing came. He was frozen. But he didn’t have an injury on his skin. If he had hurt her, he would’ve been hurt, but he wasn’t, even though he talked like they both were.

  “Just take the deal, Welborn.”

  “I’m not going to be your slave—”

  “If you don’t take the deal, she’ll die.”

  “You can’t hurt her.”

  “She’ll die.”

  It was the look in his face—the way his jaw popped into place as he locked it, the way his eyes wrinkled with his brow, the way he didn’t look away from me.

  “I don’t see how it will work—”

  He shifted as if he had to move to loosen his jaw. “It’s a spell.”

  “An illusion,” I corrected, knowing how their powers worked. “And if that’s the case, I can break it.”

  “Then, take that chance,” Darthon said.

  My fingertips pushed against the ground as I forced myself to sit up. “Why would you want to control me?”

  He laid his chin on his hands. “Because I need you to leave her.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, Welborn,” he said. “Stay away from her, and she’ll be just fine, and if you break the illusion, then, fine. I just need time, and as long as she has you, she’ll believe in the Dark—”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” I snapped. “She isn’t fighting for me. She’s fighting for the Dark. It doesn’t matter if I leave her—”

  “Then, take the deal.”

  I was silenced.

  Darthon’s hands dropped to his knees, and he leaned forward. “If you’re that confident in her, then, listen to me, and do as I say,” his growl echoed. “Take the deal.”

  I had to look away.

  Leave Jessica? Stay away from her all over again? I had done it before and failed. I had failed everything, giving up when I thought she was dead. But she hadn’t given up on the Dark or me. She came through, and she fought. She always would. I knew that. And if it meant our escape, I would have to rely on that. Our destiny was only a shadow of the bigger picture. Even if our destiny died, the Dark wouldn’t. The Dark was what mattered. Jessica had proven that to me when I told her I gave up. It was my chance to do the same for her.

  “I still don’t see how this will work,” I managed, unable to tell him I agreed.

  “I’ll put the spell—”

  “The illusion,” I corrected again, “that I will break.”

  “Fine.” Darthon still agreed.

  Something was wrong.

  “I’ll put the illusion on you,” he said, “and you will listen to my orders when I come to you,” he explained. “You won’t be able to tell her about our little deal either. You won’t be able to tell anyone anything.”

  So, it was a sensory spell. Luthicer had explained them in training. The Light couldn’t physically control someone’s movements, but they could control parts of the mind, trick them into thinking they couldn’t speak or hear or see certain things. It was how they could attack in broad daylight without anyone seeing.

  As much as I hated it, it was a relief. I was expecting something more powerful, something that wouldn’t be easy to break, but I reminded myself it was Darthon’s illusion. He wouldn’t make it simple to destroy.

  “Why wait for me to agree to it?” I asked, trying to understand as much as I could so I could relay it to Luthicer in the future. He would know what to do. “Why not just do it?”

  Darthon’s eyes searched mine like he knew what I was thinking. “It’s more powerful if you agree.” Darthon might have been the most honest person I had ever met, and I hated him for it as much as it fascinated me. “It also means that you will live—Jess will live—and if you don’t agree, one of you won’t,” he paused. “By that, I mean Jess.”

  “Is the only rule to stay away from her?” I interrupted, refusing to talk about her death. It wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t lose anyone else.

  Darthon’s lip twitched like he wanted to smile. “Of course not.”

  “What are the others?”

  “You can’t talk to her, touch her, telepathically communicate, or anything like that. It’s forbidden.” With every statement, my stomach churned. “But, most of all, I can change the rules whenever I want to.”

  “So, you control me.”

  “Like a pawn.”

  “This isn’t a game, Darthon.”

  “I never said it was,” he retorted, “but you’re stuck with me for now.”

  I forced a smile back at him, wanting him to see that I could remain positive despite his conditions. If he were like me, mental torture would be the best way to fight him. “Being stuck with you hasn’t been that bad.”

  He flinched.

  “If I agree—”

  “Which you should if you want to leave here alive,” he added.

  “Sure. Sure. Life and all that.” I waved him away. “How do I know you’ll free Jessica?”

  “You don’t.”

  I swallowed and focused on my face, refusing to let the muscles budge a centimeter. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing my hesitation. I didn’t know what he would do, but I knew what Jessica would do. Even if he kept her, she would escape and be loyal to the Dark no matter what. She could handle herself, and our relationship was only a slice of the Dark’s power. We weren’t the only ones fighting Darthon, but he had forgotten that. There was only one problem.

  “How will I know who you are?” I asked, knowing he couldn’t order me around in the human realm in his light form. Someone would sense him, probably Pierce.

  Darthon’s smile stretched. “You’ll know my identity soon enough.”

  It was the last thing I expected to hear.

  “And you won’t be able to tell anyone about that either.”

  “I could kill you,” I pointed out.

  “You won’t be able to attack me.”

  My stomach sank. “Another rule?”

  He nodded.

  “You can’t control my physical movements.”

  “Not unless you have reason to hold back,” he said and tapped his head. “Don’t forget, the Light knows who Jess is.”

  He didn’t have to explain. If I attacked him, they would attack her. I understood his upper hand now.

  “Unless you don’t care about her life,” he continued, “then, by all means, come after me.”

  “I’ll find a loophole,” I promised.

  He raised his brow. “Are you really threatening me right now? When I’m giving you a chance to escape, to go talk to your father, to learn about your bloodline?”

  “You’re only letting me go because you can’t kill me here,” I snapped, refusing to let his words mess with my memories again.

  “That’s a part of it,” he agreed, “but I need to sever your connection with her first. Then, I’ll kill you.”

  “I could find a loophole be
fore then.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You don’t know Jessica or me,” I said. “We aren’t as vulnerable in the human world as we are here.”

  His face hardened. “Is it a deal or not?”

  “Deal.”

  It wasn’t like I had a choice, but that wasn’t new to me. I never had choices. It was how I lived my life, and I was perfectly comfortable finding a way around it.

  “Great,” Darthon said as he stood up, crossed the room, and knelt by my side. He grabbed my neck, and my skin scorched like it was on fire. When I squirmed, he held me down, and my vision blurred. The only part I could make out was Darthon’s face as the skin peeled over, as his black eyes lightened to brown, as his skin washed out and his hair thickened.

  “When you wake up, you’ll be home—safe and sound.” Robb McLain promised right before I blacked out.

  18

  Jessica

  My eyelids were as heavy as the rest of my body. When I woke up, I struggled to move anything, but I had woken up. I was alive.

  The breath that filled my lungs felt foreign, a momentum of destruction as my heartbeat slammed into my ribs over and over again. My sternum hurt. That was the first thing I felt with my fingertips. It was hot and bumpy. When I looked down, I saw the scar.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Darthon’s voice was the last thing I wanted to hear, but it was the first thing I computed.

  “How—” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

  “I don’t know.” He was sitting at the edge of the bed in a room I had never seen before. Unlike the rest of the red rooms, this one was black, only lit from the single flame on top of a lampstand. Kerosene. I could smell it.

  I touched my chest, the place where I had plunged the knife. It had healed, not completely, not like I was a shade, but it had healed. Eric wasn’t alone. I couldn’t die either. But now, I couldn’t kill Darthon in the same way Darthon couldn’t kill Eric. Whatever was happening was beyond any theory I could fathom.