by April White
“I’ve been wanting to teach an outdoor survival course for quite a while, and now seems like an excellent time for you three in particular to learn some skills.”
That was a condition? That felt more like a reward to me, and I saw Adam’s eyes light up with as much excitement as I felt. We nodded quickly.
“When you do your free-running classes you will check in and out with me. And you’ll provide me with a list of class participants.”
Adam spoke up. “What if the other guys don’t want to be listed?”
“Then they won’t be participating.”
I cut Adam off before he could protest. “No problem. Anything else?”
“I need to know how to find Devereux.”
My heart clenched in my chest. I trusted the Bear more than just about anyone in the world, but I couldn’t give up Archer’s daytime resting place. I’d promised him. Both Adam and Tom watched me warily. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
I could have cut the tension rolling around the room with a knife, but instead of backing down, I dug in and looked each of them straight in the eyes. Tom and Adam looked away first. Good, I was still Alpha on this, but Mr. Shaw held my gaze steadily. Bear Shifters don’t back down from anyone.
Finally, Mr. Shaw gave the slightest nod as if to say ‘later.’ I could live with that.
“Right. Off with you all. We’ll give young Edwards and Miss Elian time to heal, and then we’ll drag you both into the woods with us for a Descendants-only outdoor survival course.”
I pulled myself to my feet with my good arm, and Adam and Tom were already at the door when Adam turned back. “Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” The words clearly surprised the Bear. He and Adam had a tenuous relationship at best, since it was Mr. Shaw’s niece, Alex, that Adam was dating.
“You may still be able to catch the tail end of dinner if you hurry.”
I wrapped my good arm around him in a side hug. “Thanks for fixing my shoulder.”
His voice was gruff. “You’re welcome.”
The other guys raced off to charm some leftovers from the cooks, but I wasn’t hungry. I just wanted to crawl in a hole, nurse my aching shoulder, and sleep. I debated going to the room I shared with Adam’s twin Ava, but I knew she wouldn’t let me rest until she had confirmation of every single thing she’d Seen happen today. Or I could have gone to my mom’s rooms for comfort, or to the Clocker Tower for solitude.
Solitude was my default choice, since I’d been mostly alone my whole life. Even here, at boarding school, I often felt alone in the crowd of Descendant kids with their lifetime of knowing who they were. Except that for the first time in my life I actually had people: my free-running class, affectionately known as my ‘pack of guys,’ my mom, who taught history here now, Mr. Shaw, who was probably in love with her, and Ava and Olivia, the only two girls who didn’t seem to hate me on sight. And I had Archer.
The first time I met Archer was about four months ago. He had already been a Vampire for 125 years and had loved me for all of them, which sounded impossible except that I’m a Clocker who can travel through time – not a normal skill for a seventeen-year-old free-running tagger, but it was useful when I needed to rescue my mom from Jack the Ripper and the nutjob Bishop Wilder, who almost killed her. I met Archer’s human self then, in 1888, when he was a Theology student working for Wilder at King’s College. He was the second son of a Lord, and had some Seer skills he inherited from the mother who died in childbirth. It was Archer who first told me about the Descendants and what I was. We didn’t find out that Wilder was a Monger and a Vampire until just before he killed my dad, a Shifter Lion, and bit Archer, turning him into a Vampire, too.
The fact that I’d fallen in love with Archer-the-human in 1888 messed me up when I came back to the present where Archer-the-Vampire had spent his very long life loving me. It took a little emotional bandaging before I was really able to see the student I’d known in the guy he’d become, not just ‘before’ and ‘after,’ and we’d spent the past three months learning each other. Talking, laughing, free-running in the woods, cuddling, kissing, and more talking.
And tonight, with all that had happened, he was the only person I wanted.
I slipped down to his hidden part of the cellar under the kitchens, even more vigilant about watchers and spies than usual. I wanted comfort, and I wanted to be held. It wasn’t something I did often, maybe once or twice a week. And I’m not even sure it was enough for me, but it’s what I did. It wasn’t by design or agreement, but he was a hunted Vampire, so he didn’t come to me. He waited for me to come to him.
The sun had long since set, and I half-expected to see him at the chess table, a new game ready for me, or by the electric fire with a book he’d marked with quotes I might like. I didn’t want to think how often he waited like that when I chose a night of hanging out with Ava or solitude with my paints instead of going to his cellar.
I didn’t want to leave him waiting tonight.
So, I pushed open the door and slipped inside Archer’s lair. I smelled his scent, warm and spicy, lingering in the cold cellar, with only a dim table lamp to light the empty space.
He was out. Hunting maybe. Or to London. I might have cried if I’d had the energy, but the pity-party tanks were dry.
The ice-pack had melted a wet stain on my hoodie, so I pulled off the sling, unwrapped the bandage, and dropped everything on a chair. I draped the hoodie over the back of it and snagged my favorite silk t-shirt from Archer’s wardrobe to replace my wet one. Then I took off my boots, the best I could manage one-handed, curled up on his bed, and pulled an expensive fake fur blanket over me to combat the shivers.
It wasn’t his arms, but it was his, and I drifted off to sleep.
Archer
This time I expected the plunge and closed my mouth. The man ‘olding my ‘ead underwater was wicked strong, and I knew ‘twas pointless to fight.
“Stop! You’ll kill him!” The fear in ‘er voice wasn’t helpin’ my situation, even as ‘e hauled me up from the cistern. The bastard loved power, and makin’ a Lady beg for a thief’s life ‘ad to top the list of good times for the man. It didn’t matter that she knew naught ‘bout me. ‘E did.
It meant I was good as dead.
“What is his life worth to you, my Lady?” One eye was blurry and ‘urt like ‘ell, but I had enough vision to see ‘er flinch from the fist in ‘is voice. ‘Er skin was transparent, and I knew it was all she could do not to shake with the effort of standin’. But she was strong. And a fighter.
“It is a life. That is enough. Remove your hands from him at once!”
“Tell me what you See, my Lady. Tell me how this will end, and I’ll end it.”
She glared at ‘im like a fishmonger’s wife. I was proud of ‘er for it.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
The bastard sighed. “I can do this all night, my Lady.” And like that, my ‘ead went into the cistern again. Things got dark ‘round the edges as my brain starved of air. When the bastard’s ‘ands finally dragged me up, I couldn’t ‘ardly take a breath.
Somewhere, from very far away, ‘er whisper drifted across the room and into my brain.
“Fated for one, born to another
The child must seek to claim the Mother
The Stream will split and branches will fight
Death will divide, and lovers unite
The child of opposites will be the one
To heal the Dream that War’s undone.”
The bastard went completely still. The iron grip ‘oldin’ me was ‘abit more’n anythin’ else since ‘e was like a moth to a flame wi’ her.
“It is not the prophecy I seek, it’s the answer.”
She glared at ‘im, fierce. “You asked for the end. I gave it to you. Now release him.”
I could practice that tone if I ever got out o’ this. The edge of it was razor sharp and would cut most mortals. Sadly, the bastard was inhuman and unimpressed. And
‘twas me goin’ t’ pay.
Just then ‘e yanked me from the cistern and ‘auled me over to the guard who ‘ad brought the Lady to this place. ‘E was big and ugly and looked like somethin’ bloodthirsty gnawed at ‘im. “Watch the thief.” The bastard shoved me to my knees and turned on the Lady.
“Do you know what I have in my possession, my Lady?” ‘E stalked across the stone floor and pulled a wooden seat up off of a stone bench. A shite hidin’ place. I’d ‘ave found it in my first sweep. ‘E lifted out a small chest and opened it, removin’ a rolled up scroll which ‘e untied and ‘eld up for her to see. I couldn’t make out the words, but the Lady could, and she trembled.
“You’ll notice the traitor’s signature at the bottom. Yes, that is, in fact, blood in which he signed. His own, of course, which will no doubt impress the queen.”
The Lady was outraged. A bit o’ spirit that made me grin. “These are nothing but lies!”
“ I’m not one to let the truth get in the way of my plans. And we both know that your life is forfeit the moment your sister receives this letter.”
“Do what you will to me, sir. My fate has been foretold.”
The bastard stared at the Lady as ‘e rolled up the parchment and closed it back up into the bench. “It is not your fate that interests me. It is mine.” Then ‘e stalked across the room and ‘auled me to my feet. ‘E dragged me to the darkest corner of the room. The evil-lookin’ guard at the door grinned like ‘e knew what for, and the Lady couldn’t move for starin’.
The bastard ‘eld my ‘ead over the stinkin’ privy and forced me to my knees. The maw of filth and ‘orror winked evilly at me and in a moment of madness, I pushed back. ‘Twas a mistake to fight ‘cause the next instant the bastard shoved me deep into the stew.
‘Twere no time to hold my breath, and vomit filled my mouth. But to release the sour retch was to let the filth in. Madness threatened with the choice. The bastard ‘auled me up again, and I spewed vomit and filth from my mouth.
“Tell me something then; who is the one in the prophecy? Who is this child?” The bastard’s casual tone was at odds with ‘is punishing ‘ands.
The Lady looked faint, and ‘er whisper had all the substance of a ghost. “I know not.”
The iron grip on me let go, and I dropped to the floor. The bastard slid a sword from the guard’s scabbard. I struggled to my feet, cursin’ me shakin’ legs. The Lady clutched the table behind her for support as the fear in her eyes screamed at me. The bastard moved like an animal and ‘is eyes glinted with the steel of the blade ‘e raised under my chin. Its point pierced the skin at my throat, and I knew I was a second away from being run through. ‘E licked ‘is lips.
And I spit in ‘is face.
Shock lit up Bishop Wilder’s eyes, and ‘e slid the tip of ‘is sword down from my neck to the base of my ribs, leavin’ a slashed tunic and a thin red line to mark the passage.
“Shall we continue, Lady Elizabeth? I believe your lad, Ringo, can take more.” The sudden grin on the bishop’s face made my knees give way. The bishop pulled ‘is sword back to grab for me ‘fore I could hit the floor. Then ‘e turned my ‘ead and pressed me down toward the privy.
Bishop Wilder’s voice in my ear chilled me to my stones. “Rest assured, young Ringo. I will have the name of the child, and then I will make your lady bleed.”
“Ringo!”
I sat bolt upright and gasped at the fire in my shoulder. I jumped again at the body next to mine.
It was Archer, curled up around me. His eyes were locked on my face.
“That was Wilder with him! What’s he doing with Ringo?” I struggled as the image faded from my mind and finally loosened its stranglehold on my breath.
Archer’s voice was deep and soothing. “You were dreaming.”
“You Saw it too, and I don’t get dreams from you.” My words were clipped and angry. I didn’t like not knowing.
He sat up. “But you get my visions?”
I nodded. “Well, you are a Seer. And when you were sick, before …” Before you became a Vampire. I didn’t say it, but he saw it on my face. He’d had a long time to get over being turned, but my brain was still laced with guilt, since it was my journey back in time that caused it. “I saw your vision of where Wilder kept my mom in the Bedlam cellar. Where he bled her.”
Archer’s proper British accent was at odds with his bed-tousled hair. “But even if it was a vision, I can’t see what’s already happened. Only the future.”
“So maybe it hasn’t happened yet.”
He stared at me. “The clothes … the sword. And Ringo? That wasn’t 1888. And who was the girl?”
“I don’t know. A noblewoman, I guess. Some sort of Seer.”
Archer frowned. “It wasn’t real. Visions don’t generally come to Seers in first person. At least not ones about other people. Dreams do that.”
“I guess you’re right.” Ava and Adam could See through each other’s eyes in visions, but I thought that was a twin thing. The last time I saw Ringo was three months ago. He was sixteen, and the year was 1888. I missed my friend with the suddenness of a punch to the gut, and Archer was the only person in the world who could understand it, because I knew he did too.
On impulse, I kissed Archer’s cheek.
He touched the corner of my mouth. “God, you’re beautiful.” This, coming from the handsomest guy I’d ever met, with his dark blue eyes, strong jaw, and nearly black hair that made me feel practically monochromatic. My hair and skin were vaguely honey gold, and the lack of sun in England wasn’t doing me any favors. I had a jaw that I’d probably like when I was old and wrinkled, but for now it just added to all the angles I sported instead of curves.
I wanted to melt into his touch. Wanted to lie back down and let myself surrender to the whisper of his fingers on my face. But I was suddenly aware that I’d broken my own rules about falling asleep in Archer’s hideaway and looked around at the clock. “What time is it? I should go.”
He touched my arm. “Saira, we need to talk.”
I flinched. I didn’t want to talk, not about us. But I couldn’t slip around, slide under, or dodge this like any other obstacle in a free-runner’s way. So I waited.
Archer ran his hands through his hair. “Do you know where I was tonight?”
“Hunting?” I winced at the mental image.
“Yes, I was hunting. But not for sustenance. I’ve been hunting for Wilder’s genealogy.”
The book in question was one Archer had been compiling back in 1888 for his boss, Bishop Wilder. The genealogy contained the family bloodlines of all the Immortal Descendants going back hundreds of years, and my least favorite Monger, Seth Walters, had stolen it from a church at King’s College a few months ago. Archer figured it could be used to track mixed-bloods. Like me.
I opened my mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. “I’ve been doing it for nearly three months, ever since you came back, but you wouldn’t know that because I only go when I’m sure you won’t visit me here. Or after you’re gone.”
I could feel the tightness begin in my chest as Archer continued quietly. “I didn’t wait tonight. I didn’t think you’d come.”
I couldn’t speak. The words got lost in the nest of guilt that rats had been building in my guts. Archer searched my eyes, then looked away sadly and climbed off the bed. The movement jarred my shoulder, and I bit my lip against the pain so he wouldn’t see.
He pulled a jacket off the back of a chair and noticed my discarded sling and ice-pack. He finally met my eyes again. “What’s this?”
Crap.
“I hurt my shoulder free-running with the guys.”
Not technically a lie, but definitely not the whole truth. And he knew it instantly. His eyes narrowed, and I wished I could take the words back.
So then facts tumbled from me in a rush, like telling it fast would make up for trying to hide it.
Archer watched me wordlessly as I told him about Boris and the Monger
s, about their threat against my mom, and the fact they were hunting him. And I told him how the guys had rescued me, and that Mr. Shaw treated our wounds and knew the whole story. His expression didn’t change once, and the look in his eyes was unreadable.
He picked up the sling and came over to where I sat on his bed.
“I didn’t tell you right away because I knew …” What did I know? He was worried about me, tried to protect me, got angry at himself for having to sleep during the day. “I knew you’d feel bad that you weren’t there to stop them. I was fine though. Adam and Tom were there. Even Connor fought a full-grown Were and came out of it with just a small bite.”
Archer’s expression was like ice, and guilt twisted in my stomach, making me defensive and mad. He reached for my shoulder and tried to help me with the sling, but I flinched away. “I can do it.”
His gaze locked on mine. “So Adam can help you, but I can’t?”
I stiffened. “What’s wrong with Adam? He’s my friend.”
Archer’s voice somehow combined anger and seduction. “You and I were friends, Saira. And I knew from the moment I saw you that I could never love anyone else.” I think my heart stopped beating when he narrowed his eyes. “But you put your friends first. And I wait here, wondering if this is the night you’ll come, if this night you’ll choose me. I can’t live like that, and I won’t stand by while your friend looks at you as he does.”
My heart pounded. He took a step back and I felt the absence of him like sudden shiver. “I’ve been hoarding moments with you, and I’ve hidden here too long.” I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat when Archer took my face in his hands with painful tenderness. “You are the woman of my dreams, but a dream isn’t enough. I want more.”
Ever since my mother began Clocking out when I was twelve, I vowed no one else would have that power over me. That leaving power. I thought I’d protected myself, thought I’d held him just far enough away that I could love him without risking the pain.
