by K. A. Tucker
Caden lined the items beside me on the counter. Reaching up, he gently gripped the coat zipper under my chin and unzipped me. His hands slid inside my jacket to my shoulders and pushed off the coat, sending fire to the butterflies already fluttering around in my stomach.
“What’d you get me?” he teased.
I grinned broadly but then winced. “Who says I got you anything?” I wondered if that expensive watch in my inner pocket survived the whole ordeal unscathed.
Caden chuckled as he saturated a cotton ball with antiseptic. He gently dabbed at my cheek and my lip. I winced from the sting and he stopped. “It’s okay, keep going,” I whispered. I watched him silently, gritting my teeth against the bite, distracting myself by visually tracing the lines of his beautiful face. His expression, suddenly more somber, his voice dropping an octave or two.
“I guess Amelie got something for Julian?” There was that tinge of bitterness again.
“Yeah. Does it bother you?”
He shook his head. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” Yes, but not for the reason you think, Caden.
He moistened another cotton pad and began smoothing it over my jawline, down along my throat. It didn’t hurt so much here. It was soothing. “They did a great job on your face,” he muttered.
“I’m collecting scars.”
That earned a small snort, followed by a shake of disapproval. “There,” he whispered, looking down into my eyes and I remembered then, again, how I could lose myself in them. Filling a cup with cold water from the tap and sprinkling some salt into it, he handed it to me. “Rinse.” After I did so, he leaned in and planted the lightest kiss on the unmangled side of my face.
I groaned. “What are we going to do about Bishop?”
His lips curved into a sad smile as his hands dropped to my thighs. “Nothing. Play along.”
Play along? “I can’t!”
“You have to,” Caden urged. “Remember how I had to do the same with Rachel to keep you safe?”
I groaned again, more loudly. Those were the longest days of my life, watching Rachel molest him like a cougar in heat. Before I knew how he felt, I was purely jealous. After … I wanted to rake her eyeballs out. “But it’s not the same! This is Bishop! He’s my friend!”
“Yes,” Caden’s hands lifted to my shoulder, leveling me with a lecturing look. “Your friend who you don’t want to be imprisoned—your friend who you don’t want suffering in silent agony.”
“But …” My rebuttal died on my lips. I had already lost the argument. Caden was right. Still … “Doesn’t it bother you?” I whimpered.
Caden shut his eyes. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You have no idea … I wanted to put my fist through a wall earlier, when he was kissing you. But then I have to remind myself that this guy is not just any guy. He’s Bishop and this is only temporary. Besides, it’s way better than knowing you and Julian …” His voice drifted, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.
I dropped my gaze, another guilty dagger in my heart over my deception. We sat in silence for a moment. “What if I can’t do it?” I asked softly. “What if I accidently mention Fi … her? What if—”
Caden’s hand lifted to the good side of my face. “You won’t,” he whispered. “And you can do it. Sofie and I already talked. We’re going to convince him you need space with all this stuff going on. Something like that. Sofie will take care of it.”
I nodded and stifled a yawn. The poor sleep and the various attacks were wearing me down. “Stay right here,” he whispered and then he disappeared, returning about fifteen seconds later with a bag of frozen peas in his hand. Before I could move, he scooped me into his arms and we were sailing upstairs to my room. I was under the covers in twenty seconds.
“Sleep now.” He pushed the hair off my face. I had to admit, the bed felt especially welcoming at this point, as my muscles relaxed into its softness.
“Stay?” I pleaded softly. He paused and I figured he was deciding how he would deny me this time. But instead, he swung his legs onto the bed to lie beside me. He leaned forward, elbows and hands on either side of my pillow.
Pressing his forehead against mine, he whispered, “Just for a little while.” My breath hitched as his lips grazed mine, first as soft as a feather but then growing with fervor. A little too fervently. I tried not to flinch, but of course, Caden caught it, instantly shifting his mouth to the side of my neck. His nose trailed against my skin behind my ear, tickling me.
“You should ease up on the Bactine.”
“I had an amateur nursemaid,” I murmured, delighting in his closeness. Why the sudden change in him, I couldn’t say, but I wasn’t about to question it. I wouldn’t utter a word. I would simply enjoy. I slid my arms around his chest and pulled him down to lie on top of me with all the strength I could muster.
“No, no …” Caden chuckled, reaching behind to peel my arms off his torso, much to my protest. “You need to sleep.” He gently flipped me onto my side and slid in to spoon me, snuggling close. A cool hand pushed my matted hair off my face. I felt the lightest kiss near the nape of my neck, igniting my insides. It was extinguished quickly with a bag of frozen peas against my face. The icy chill brought almost instant relief to the throb, numbing it to the point that the pain almost disappeared. And it was like that, held safely in Caden’s arms, that I somehow drifted off to sleep.
Familiar prickles sparked through my body as I struggled to focus—the sign that I was now sharing Veronique’s body with her, seeing the world through her eyes. Fortunately, I had left my mangled face and stitched arm back in France. Unfortunately, Veronique had plenty of injuries to make up for them. My entire body ached right down to the bone, like someone had whipped, burned, and beaten me within an inch of my life.
I wasn’t in a dark, dank cell this time. I wasn’t strapped to a metal table, either. I was now in a quiet little room with dove-gray walls and ethereal curtains. A single bed with a simple crocheted quilt sat to the right of the armchair where I rested. I could see that my tattered, bloodied dress had been replaced by a long white cable-knit sweater and white leggings with lace at the bottoms. Dappled yellow and blue skin peeked out from the cuffs at my wrists. God only knew what lay beneath my sleeves.
Slowly, holding my breath against the twinges of pain, I leaned forward to inspect my feet. A thick layer of white gauze protected them, wrapped around so fully that they looked mummified. I shuddered, memories of that blowtorch sending an icy shiver running along my neck and shoulders.
“Allo … Evangeline?” Veronique’s voice called out, moving my lips.
My short hairs spiked. She knew I was there. I could no longer play the silent observer. “You can tell I’m here?” I asked timidly.
“Oui. I feel tickles.” Her voice sounded much firmer than the last time.
“How are you?” This back and forth feels so strange! For anyone witnessing it, they’d quickly write Veronique off as a mentally disturbed young woman.
“I have been better. One of the witches put a special salve on my burns to help,” she explained. “They say they can’t heal my feet. I don’t know why …”
I know why, Veronique. But I’m not sure I want to tell you just yet.
Would she transform into Walking Death as well? Maybe not. Maybe she’d be like Julian. “It sounds like they’re treating you better,” I said instead, forcing the disturbing questions from my head, thanking God that we didn’t share our thoughts like we shared her body.
“Yes … they brought me up to this room and gave me food and water. And they’ve left me alone for some reason.”
An inkling of suspicion pricked me. Why would a group of witches hell-bent on setting fire to her to get her to speak just a day ago now feed and care for her? Especially when they knew they had an occasional intruder coming to watch? Something didn’t make sense.
What are you up to now, Cruella? I swallowed. “What have you told them?”
/> A pause. “Everything I know, which isn’t much. But everything.”
A painful lump detonated in my throat. “What exactly is everything?”
“How the vampires had no venom and how Sofie was trying to fix it.”
I sighed heavily. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big one.” Now the Sentinel and the witches knew. They knew they needed to strike while the vampires’ numbers were low. My eyes roamed the room again. “So you’re still in the same place?”
“I guess so … I’m not sure. I was unconscious for a while after …” Her voice choked off. No matter. I knew what she was referring to. “Why hasn’t Sofie come yet?”
Chunks of my heart tumbled, hearing her shaky voice, rank with the belief that her sister had abandoned her to this, that she was allowing this. I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t lie. Not about this. I took a deep breath. “Because she doesn’t know you’re out, Veronique,” I answered softly.
“What?”
I had no idea how to explain. Where to begin? What to tell her? I didn’t even know how much time I had. Likely only minutes, in which case I needed to get as much information as I could from her. Carefully, though … I couldn’t tell her anything that could harm us if the witches decided to have another run at torture. She had already proven easily persuaded to divulge information.
“Listen, Veronique,” I began, “we probably don’t have a lot of time and I need some information from you. I’m going to get you out of here, I promise.” If we can figure out where you are! “But I need to know a few things.”
She paused hesitantly. “Okay …”
“Okay … how many witches and Sentinel have you seen?”
“Oh … I don’t know,” she answered, thinking. “Hundreds, maybe.”
Wow. “Okay. Do you know how people are getting in and out?”
“Uh … I don’t know, Evangeline. I’m sorry. I’ve been locked up the entire time.”
I sighed. Tortured prisoners didn’t make good insiders. “Do you know who that dark-haired one is?”
“Oui!” she answered quickly, excited to have an answer. “Her name is Imogen. She is not nice.”
That’s an understatement. I could see how everyone took Veronique for a sweetheart. “Has she said anything … interesting? Given you clues of any sort?”
I felt my brow crease as Veronique gave it some thought. “No …,” she answered slowly. “But she talks into a little gray box a lot. It makes a funny sound. Like ringing.”
Little gray thing … little gray thing … I scowled, with frustration. What could she be … her cell phone! Veronique had never seen a cell phone!
“Does it sound like she’s talking to someone here, in the building, or somewhere else?”
She nodded. “Definitely far. She said something about flying to England. What did she mean, ‘fly,’ Evangeline?”
Despite the dire situation, Veronique’s innocent questions made me chuckle. “In a plane.” This was crazy! “I’ll explain later. There’s so much to learn. For now, stay safe and try not to tell them anything.”
“Wait! Don’t go yet!” I heard the desperation in her voice.
“I can’t help how long I stay, Veronique. It just happens. But I’m still here for now.”
A pause. “How long was I in that statue for? The world has changed so much, from the little I have seen.”
“About a hundred and twenty years.” I felt like I was delivering a fatal diagnosis.
With a strangled gasp, Veronique’s hands flew to cover her mouth. I said nothing, allowing her to absorb the news that she had essentially woken up from a one-hundred-and twenty-year-long coma.
“And Mortimer and Viggo? Have they moved on? How are they?”
I snorted. “They are still your number-one fans.” I hesitated. “They’re fine. They don’t know you’re out, either.”
“You must think horribly of me … in love with two men,” she said and I felt heat creep into my face with her embarrassment.
It was such a genuinely sweet reaction to the situation, I couldn’t help but instantly like her. Except for her poor taste in mates.
“No, I don’t, Veronique, but …” What do I say? You’re in love with a psychopath who would slaughter newborn babies if he felt so inclined? I couldn’t say that, and yet, I had to say something … what if she chose him over Mortimer? I swallowed my fear. She had to know. There was no sugar-coating this. “Don’t trust Viggo, Veronique.”
A prickle of wariness tickled my neck. Veronique’s neck. “What? That’s silly!” she exclaimed, a little too loudly. She gasped and looked at the door, waiting. When no one entered, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why would you say that?”
Let it out, Evangeline. Tell her … tell her the truth, a part of me screamed. A selfish, spiteful side that longed for the ultimate triumph for all the misery Viggo had inflicted upon me, upon Sofie, upon Mortimer, upon Max … upon mankind.
“Because he murdered my mother, Veronique, for no other reason than he was mad at Sofie.” My voice was low and cool as I delivered my revenge. “Because he murdered Lilly’s mother. Because he has tortured and would have killed your sister a million times. Because he was ready to kill me.”
Her head shook side to side, her brow furrowed so tightly, it pained my facial injuries. “Non … You must be mistaken. Surely.”
“I would not make a mistake like this, Veronique. Please believe me. You must choose Mortimer.” My voice was surprisingly calm and steady—strong even.
“I don’t know who you are or why you are here. You are telling me lies. Maybe you are the reason I am locked up in here with these witches.”
“You know what? You’re right! I am the reason you’re in there. But it’s not for any reason you could guess. I can’t tell you anything else because it’s too risky. What I can say is that you know your sister, Veronique. She will either get herself killed coming to save you or she’ll start a war that will end in ruin. So as appalling as it is, know that for every day she doesn’t know you’re out of your statue, you’re saving lives. Countless lives.”
As the words rolled out, I felt an internal scale tip. I was doing the right thing.
Silence cast an inescapable shadow within the room. Silence, sadness, and doom. And that is exactly how I left Veronique, that hollow ache coming back with me to my own tumultuous life.
I found myself back in my room at the chateau, a presence lying behind me. He stayed! Excited, I rolled over.
“I thought you’d be—” My words ended in a croak.
“Good nap?” Bishop asked, grinning as he reached to brush a strand of hair caught in my lashes.
“I … I …” I couldn’t form two words, so startled, the muscles in my neck tightening into hard balls of tension. What the hell was Bishop doing in my bed? Sofie was supposed to convince Bishop to give me space. This wasn’t space! This was alone in my bedroom! This was as far from space as we could get! Sparks of rage swirled in my gut.
Insecurity in Bishop’s eyes quickly doused them. I forced myself to smile. “You’ve been acting strange since you came back, Evie … is everything all right? You know, between us?”
Still, that fake smile held, even as horrid wrongness twisted and danced inside me. Between us? There is no “between us.”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean …” I fumbled over my words, swallowing several times.
“Well, then …” His body leaned forward until his arm stretched over me and his giant muscular torso pressed up against my chest. Dipping his head, I felt the softest caress of his lips against my collarbone. It was hesitant and gentle and it stirred feelings that I shouldn’t have.
I slipped my arm in between our chests to break the contact and then, with a forceful push, I rolled away and scampered to a sitting position. Pressing my hands to my belly, I searched for Max who had mastered the art of intrusion. My disappointment swelled. He was nowhere in sight.
What was I supposed to do now? How would I convince Bishop
that “we” did not exist without hurting his feelings? That was the last thing I wanted to do! Sliding off the bed, I walked over to the mirror and peered at my face, partly as a stalling tactic, partly because I wondered if my jaw had improved at all. To my pleasant surprise, the swelling had decreased. It hurt like hell, but at least it wasn’t too unsightly. I guess the frozen peas did the trick.
I turned back to find Bishop stretched out on his back across my bed, his intense gaze boring into me. Had it not been for Caden—and Fiona—I had to admit that I may have fallen for Bishop. I mean, there was nothing about him not to swoon over. From his thick mane of blond hair to his wide, full lips, always parted in a grin, no one could argue that he wasn’t appealing. If his looks weren’t enough, his easy charm that lit up rooms, that made people want to tail after him, surely was.
But he wasn’t Caden.
I swallowed. “Bishop,” I began. He bolted upright, flinching as he watched me intently. “Nothing’s wrong. I just … I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Tell me how I can fix it. Let me fix it.”
“You can’t fix this …” I interjected softly. “With this Tribe magic coursing through me, I’m feeling weird. Not myself at all.” I was grasping at straws. “Something’s changing inside me …”
Pain flickered in Bishop’s eyes. “For me? Your feelings for me?”
My head was shaking furiously, my heart throbbing as I continued the lie. How many times could a person’s heart break in one day? “My feelings for you have not changed.” That was the truth. They just weren’t the feelings he thought I should have. And then it hit me. I did have the perfect excuse. The truth. “Any day, any moment, my touch will kill you.” I delivered it with such clarity, with such conviction, without a waver or a stutter, there was no way he could think it was anything but real.
His face twisted. “What? Why?”
“Do you remember the Tribes?”
“Yeah, I remember them,” he said. I struggled to keep the surprise from my face. What exactly did he remember?
It took me a minute to gain my composure. “I’m changing. Morphing. Can’t you sense it?”
