by Reinke, Sara
It’s funny, Brandon said. I used to feel so trapped at the farm. All of that land, and I still felt like it was a cage. But here… He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with air as if he couldn’t get enough, and stretched his arms out wide like he meant to embrace the horizon. Here, I feel free.
She smiled. It had been too long since she’d seen Brandon look so genuinely happy. For years at the great house, her twin had lived under a shadow of pervasive melancholia. To watch him now, it was like a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders; for the first time in as long as she could remember, Brandon looked free, happy and comfortable in his own skin.
You know, a few years ago, I overheard Dad thinking, he said. He opened his eyes and glanced to his right, meeting her gaze. He’d been drinking, so his mind was open, unguarded, he said. He didn’t know I could overhear him. He never meant for me to know.
“Know what?” Tessa asked.
Brandon smiled, somewhat wistful and sad. That he wished I’d died the night I was attacked, he said. That he’d prayed for it. He didn’t want me to suffer, to live my life like this.
“Brandon, that’s not true,” Tessa whispered.
Yes, it is, he replied. I told you—I saw it in his mind. He turned his eyes back to the water. I was so hurt, Tessa. I couldn’t even move. I just sat there, frozen solid, thinking at any moment, I was going to bust into tears like some dumb fucking baby and bawl all over the place.
“Brandon…” She touched his sleeve, heartbroken for him. As close as she’d always believed herself to be with Eleanor, Brandon had likewise been endeared with their father. Brandon had pretty much been Sebastian’s shadow as a child, finding comfort and companionship, somebody with whom he felt safe and loved in a house filled with other family members with whom he felt anything but.
He never meant for me to know, he said again. And it would have killed him to realize that I did. I could sense that, too. He smiled again, still mournful. Sometimes you can’t help how you feel. And sometimes you feel all different kinds of things for different people. Like Dad did for me.
His eyes had grown misty, clouded with a light sheen of tears, but he shoved his hands into the hip pockets of his jeans and blinked furiously, as if wanting to hide them from her. Maybe that’s how it was for Grandmother Eleanor and you, too.
“Brandon,” she began. “I told you—”
I know what you said, he cut in. But I’m sorry about what happened last night. I never wanted you to know about that. And I’m sure Grandmother Eleanor didn’t, either.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tessa said.
Yes, it does. Brandon turned to her. Dad never meant for me to know how he felt because he loved me. Just like Grandmother Eleanor loved you, too. I know because she gave you that green sapphire pendant.
“That?” Tessa uttered a sharp bark of laughter. “That necklace was a joke, Brandon. She probably lied to me about the whole thing, that the Grandfather had given it to her—his first gift, she’d told me. All of it was just a sick, cruel joke.” Her voice grew strained, her eyes stinging with tears and she looked away, pressing her lips together. Goddamn it, I’m not going to cry, she thought. Not this time. Not anymore—not about this!
Things were different for us, Brandon said. We had things differently in the great house—you, me, Grandmother Eleanor, all of us because of the Grandfather, because the Nobles were dominant. But you saw how things were in the Davenant house. You always knew how things were in the other clans. Grandmother Eleanor knew, too. She grew up like that, Tessa. That was all she’d ever known until she became a Noble.
He reached out, touching her shoulder. I don’t know why she said those things to me, he said. I don’t know what she felt. But I think she loved you. I don’t think she lied to you about that necklace. I think it was one of the things in this world that meant the most to her, and she gave it to you because she loved you. Because once you were married, once you were part of the Davenant house, she knew how things would be for you and wanted to make it better somehow—because she remembered how it was before she married the Grandfather. Hell, maybe you’re right—maybe he wasn’t always such a son of a bitch. Maybe they were in love.
“If he loved her, why would he kill her?” Tessa shrugged away from him. “Martin told me the Grandfather strangled her.”
Yeah, but you don’t know that, Brandon said. Not for sure. You—
“You’re right. I don’t know that. I don’t know anything for sure. Not anymore.” She turned, walking back toward the mansion. As she tromped across the beach, her tears spilled, leaving hot, damp streaks against her cold cheeks. She pulled her hands from her pockets one at a time to mop them away. The part of her that had loved Eleanor wanted so desperately for what Brandon had said to be true. The other part, which had been wounded to the core, was left torn and bewildered, unsure of how or what to think, feel or believe.
It doesn’t matter anyway, she told herself. Not what she said or what she meant or why she gave me that goddamn necklace. Monica took it. It’s gone now and I’ll never get it back.
Tessa… Brandon thought and she heard the crunch of his shoes in the sandy gravel as he followed her. Tessa, wait.
But she didn’t want to wait. She’d told him over breakfast she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but he’d pushed the subject anyway. Damn it, Brandon, she thought, closing her mind to him, her brows furrowing with the conscientious effort to block him. It was turning out to be such a nice day, too. Couldn’t you have just left it alone?
Tessa—stop! Brandon snapped, his voice punching into her mind despite her best attempts to keep him out, sharp enough with concern that she paused.
“What is it?” All at once, she felt what had so alarmed her brother—a creeping, prickling sensation within her mind, raising the hairs along the nape of her neck.
Someone is here, Brandon said, but she already knew. She could sense it, too.
She turned and her breath cut abruptly short as she caught sight of a woman on the beach, striding briskly from the direction of a fishing pier jutting out over the water to the north. She was tall and reed-slender, dressed head to toe in a cream-colored blouse and slacks. There was no mistaking the fine sheaf of auburn hair that fluttered about her face in the wind, no mistaking her, but because there was no way Monica Davenant could be in California, much less on the same scrap of earth as the twins, Tessa simply stood there for a shocked, bewildered moment, frozen in place.
Oh, God, it wasn’t just a dream, she thought in horror. Last night when I saw her climbing through that window…grabbing that little girl…it wasn’t a dream at all! Oh, God, I was sensing her somehow!
Tessa, run! Brandon apparently didn’t need any introductions to Martin’s first wife. If he didn’t recognize her face, given what had been their limited acquaintance in Kentucky, he knew her by sensation alone—and knew she wasn’t there to extend either of them the welcome wagon. He turned to face Monica, positioning his body deliberately between her and Tessa. His hands folded into light, wary fists and Tessa watched his entire body tense.
Monica didn’t slow her pace in the least. “Where is Martin?” she asked, directing the question to Tessa, speaking as though Brandon wasn’t even there at all, like she was oblivious to his presence. She’d glutted herself on the little girl Tessa had dreamed about, and her body was still endowed from this, her strength heightened, her reflexes superhuman, nearly to the point where she would be impervious to pain. Her eyes were black and featureless beneath her furrowed brows, in stark and ghoulish contrast to her alabaster skin. Her fangs had almost fully descended. “You fucking bitch, what have you done to my husband?”
Tessa, run, Brandon said again, shooting her an urgent, frantic glance over his shoulder. Get out of here! Go!
When he stepped directly in Monica’s path, as if he meant to run into her headlong, she cut her icy glare in his direction. “You!” she spat, as if noticing who he was for the first time.
S
he might have said something else, more than this, but Brandon hooked his left fist around, smashing his knuckles into the side of her face. The force of the blow snapped her head toward her shoulder and nearly knocked her off her feet. She stumbled, regaining her footing, and pressed her hand to her cheek. “Bastard,” she hissed, her brows furrowing more deeply. Blood dribbled in a thin line from her left nostril as she spoke; she turned her head and spat more out against the grass. “You little bastard!”
She marched toward him and Brandon swung at her again, a swift punch aimed expertly for her nose. Monica whipped her head to one side, raising her hand, catching Brandon’s fist squarely against her palm. Tessa heard the sharp, startled intake of his breath and then Monica threw him by the arm, wrenching him off his feet and sending him sailing like a rag doll tossed by a toddler in the throes of a tantrum.
“Brandon!” Tessa cried.
He landed hard, slamming to the ground and tumbling down to the water’s edge, where he lay facedown and still for a long, breathless, stunned moment. Tessa… He raised his head, his dazed eyes finding hers. For God’s sake…run!
Tessa turned and bolted toward the house. She had no intention of abandoning her brother, especially not with Monica fully imbued with the power of the bloodlust. But she knew she had to get the woman away from Brandon. She’ll kill him—kill us both. My only chance is to lose her in the woods, double back, grab Brandon and get to the car.
Rene had kept his Sig Sauer in the glove box of the Audi. Had he moved it to the Jaguar or was it back at the motel? She didn’t know, and cursed herself now for not having grabbed the other pistol he’d left out on the nightstand that morning.
She heard Monica following, her footsteps quick in the grass. At a loud, unexpected crash and a grunt for breath, she wheeled about. Brandon had clambered to his feet and given chase; he’d tackled Monica and pinned her against the lawn by straddling her waist, holding her wrists in his hands. Monica thrashed wildly beneath him and as he struggled to hold her down, he looked up at Tessa again.
Go! he yelled in her mind.
Not without you! she cried back, rushing toward him. She didn’t know what she meant to do, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave him.
Tessa, goddamn it, I said—! Brandon began, and then Monica rammed her knee brutally into his crotch.
“Brandon!” Tessa cried. He uttered a choked gasp, the wind and fight effectively plowed from him. He collapsed helplessly onto his side, his face was twisted and flushed with pain, his entire body shuddering as Monica wiggled out from beneath him. She stumbled to her feet and kicked him hard, driving the pointed toe of her shoe into the small of his back.
Brandon had only fed twice before; he was still unfamiliar with the bloodlust, uncertain of how to use it, but it had been years since Tessa’s bloodletting and she had fed many, many times. At the sight of her brother writhing in pain against the grass, Tessa felt it surge within her like something alive and electric. The world grew bright, dazzling and glaring as her pupils expanded, flooding her corneas. She tasted a coppery rush of saliva in her mouth, felt a sudden, throbbing ache as her canine teeth dropped. As she marched across the lawn toward Monica and Brandon, her hands closed into fierce fists, her stride broad and brisk, and she shook her head, listening to the dull, moist pop as her lower jaw snapped loose of its hinges.
“Keep your”—she caught Monica by the shoulder as the older woman reached down, meaning to grab Brandon by the scruff of his collar and haul him to his feet.—“fucking hands off him.”
Monica’s eyes flew wide as Tessa wheeled her about. She grabbed Monica by the throat and heaved mightily, hurling her skyward. Monica flew ass over elbows across the beach, slamming facefirst into the broad trunk of a pine tree and crashing in a heap to the ground. Tessa didn’t give her a moment to recover; she crouched low to the ground, then sprang into the air, her long legs unfurling as she leapt, catlike. For a moment, she seemed to hang suspended in the air, the way a hummingbird will be caught in limbo between momentum and stillness as it hovers at a feeder, and then, just as Monica began to sit up, her red hair tangled in her face, Tessa plowed into her, knocking her back into the dirt.
“Gunnnnnngh!” Tessa landed hard against Monica’s back and grunted as Monica snapped her elbow back, smashing into her chin, stunning her. Monica bucked, heaving herself onto her hands and knees, and Tessa pitched sideways, sprawling against a heavy carpet of fallen pine needles.
“You bitch—” Monica began, her brows furrowed, then Tessa drove the heel of her shoe into her face, mashing her lips into her teeth and rocking her head back on her neck.
“Go fuck yourself, Monica,” Tessa seethed, but when she drew her leg back to punt again, Monica grabbed her suddenly, furiously by the ankle.
“I’m going to enjoy making you bleed, you little cunt,” Monica said, and Tessa yelped as she flung her, hoisting her effortlessly from the ground and sending her careening across the yard. Low-hanging pine boughs slapped against her face, tugging at her hair, and then she crashed to the ground.
The baby! Tessa thought in bright alarm, curling herself into a ball the split second before impact, trying to shield her belly from the brunt of the blow. She rolled against the grass, barking her hip and shoulder painfully, knocking the wind momentarily from herself.
She struggled to rise, forcing herself to move, to get her feet beneath her. She couldn’t fight Monica, not face-to-face or hand to hand, not if she meant to protect the baby. There was no way. She fed just last night—she’s too strong, she realized.
Brandon, get to the car, she thought, stumbling upright. We have to get out of here. I’m going to try and lose her in the woods. Meet me at the—
She felt a hand close suddenly, firmly against her sleeve, jerking her about, and she balled her hand into a fist and let it fly, using the momentum as she pivoted to her advantage. Her knuckles plowed into Monica’s cheek, snapping her head to the side and sent her stumbling, her fingers loosening from Tessa’s coat. She cut her eyes to Tessa, her black, featureless, furious gaze, and when Tessa moved to backhand her, she caught her by the fist. “You”—she seethed, reaching out with her free hand and seizing Tessa by the collar of her ski parka.—“aren’t going…anywhere!”
Tessa yelped as Monica threw her again, sending her sailing into the air. Her voice ripped up into a scream as she crashed through one of the large picture windows on the second story of the house. Glass exploded all around her, slicing into her face, scalp and hands as she desperately tried to shield herself from the stinging spray. She sailed across the breadth of the room, smashing into a doorway and slamming to the floor, splintering a decorative wooden beam hanging above the threshold as she went. The impact knocked the breath from her and she lay crumpled against the floor, surrounded by thousands of glass shards, gulping for air.
Oh, God…the baby!
Her hand darted for her stomach and she opened her mind, straining to feel the soft glow of the child’s presence within her. After a long, seemingly endless moment in which she couldn’t seem to breathe, she felt it, dim but apparent, still nestled safely inside of her womb. For now, anyway, she thought, closing her eyes and heaving a relieved sigh. I’ve got to get out of here, away from Monica.
Tessa! she heard Brandon cry, his voice shrill with frantic alarm.
Brandon, get to the car, she thought again. Blood streamed down her face in countless thin rivulets and a rainfall of glass pieces spilled from her hair and shoulders as she sat up. Run toward the trees and…and double back…lose Monica if you can. She looked around, pressing the heel of her hand to her aching head, struggling dazedly to find the nearest doorway. She…she’s too strong…don’t try to fight her. Just run. I’ll meet you at the car.
Vikingsholm had been built with classical Norse architecture in mind, and she found herself blinking down at the remnants of the crossbeam she’d smashed into; a Nordic-inspired carved wooden snake or dragon of some sort that had been suspended by two
iron chains from the exposed beams of the ceiling, its mouth agape, its tongue protruding to form the shape of a rudimentary trident.
She looked back toward the shattered window and shrank in surprise as Monica crawled into view, hauling herself up and over the broken windowsill. She’d climbed up the exterior of the house as nimbly as any squirrel, by hooking her fingertips and the pointed toes of her Jimmy Choo stiletto heels into the mortar nooks and crannies along the mansion’s stone façade. Now her French manicured nails were ragged, her fingers scraped or torn raw and bloody in places.
She shambled toward Tessa, teetering on her spiked heels, splinters of glass crunching beneath her. “Tell me where Martin is!” Her words lisped around the unhinged maw of her mouth.
Tessa snatched the nearest weapon she could find—a heavy, sharp-tipped fireplace poker from a stand beside a nearby fireplace—and whirled, grasping the handle between her palms, swinging it like a baseball bat. The iron hook caught Monica squarely in the cheek, snapping her head sideways toward her shoulder and ripping back a broad flap of skin and meat from her face. There was a sickening, moist crunch as bone splintered at the impact and Monica crumpled to her hands and knees.
“Bitch…!” she wheezed, glaring up at Tessa, her flesh flapping freely against her face like some kind of grisly, half-assed mask. There was blood in her hair now, blood in her teeth, smeared into her scalp and down the front of her shirt.
Tessa reared the poker back in her hands like a golf club to swing again, but Monica leaped up, surprising her with a forceful tackle that sent them both crashing to the floor. The poker flew from Tessa’s fingers; Monica landed heavily against her, crushing the air from her lungs. They grappled together, struggling and thrashing, and Monica coiled her fingers in Tessa’s hair, grasping her above either ear.
