by Kelly Meding
Marcellus's office was four doors down from the playroom, and I walked in that direction, each step sending a spike of fear through my gut. If this didn't work, I was royally fucked and the Frosts were dead.
I stopped outside the closed office door and listened—no voices inside. I checked for my tether to the Break out of habit, in case I needed to teleport out of a bad situation in a hurry—not that I had anywhere to run to, if this did go south. The Break was a comfort, and I let its power wash over me for a moment before I knocked. Two sharp bangs of my knuckles.
"Yes?" came a deep, growly voice.
I pushed the door open, glanced around to be sure no one else was in there, then shut it behind me. Marcellus Dane sat behind his desk, his aged face lined with worry and fatigue, the very image of an older, more mature Marcus. The left wall was decorated with four Japanese swords, placed at different heights. Easy to grab. Probably sharp.
"Ms. Stone," Marcellus said. "I don't recall us having an appointment."
"We don't, Elder," I said.
His copper eyes narrowed. "Then what can I do for you?"
I took a breath that did nothing to calm my racing heart and wished for a weapon of some sort in my hands. "A simple favor."
"From me?"
"Yes, Elder."
He leaned forward and propped his elbows on the wide expanse of his desk—the only thing between us. "And what favor do you require this day?"
I mirrored his stance, placing my palms flat on the desk's smooth surface. "I need you to die."
He moved first, but I was faster.
Chapter Fifteen
Evening
The sucky thing about dying is that you miss everything that happens while you're out of commission. I know this well.
To be fair, I didn't actually die this time around, but a few people helped me fake it so convincingly that everyone believed I had—and that's exactly what I needed. Vale had to believe Marcellus was dead. He also had to believe I was dead. But I'm getting a little ahead of myself.
Unconsciousness is never fun, and it's even less fun when you wake up with a stabbing headache, feeling like you're entire body has been crumpled up and left to dry like that. My abdomen was on fire. I struggled through a haze of fog and achiness, toward awareness, and blinked my eyes open in a totally unfamiliar room. It looked like an office of some kind, with a desk and chairs shoved against a wall to make room for the cot I was on. The place was impersonal, though, and it reeked of an indescribable odor—something scorched and old.
The vomit-inducing smell didn't clue me in until Tybalt walked in the door with a metal urn in his hands, and the pieces fell into place—the Therian-owned crematorium. My supposed final resting place. Because of their short life spans, Therians didn't do elaborate burials or funerals, and they didn't preserve bodies for viewing. Once someone was dead, they got cremated—which meant our deaths had been believable enough to get our "bodies" sent here.
Didn't explain Tybalt's presence, though. No one in the Watchtower except Kismet was supposed to be in on this.
Tybalt sat on the edge of the cot and handed me a glass of water. I sipped at it, glad to sooth my parched lips, but my stomach sloshed with nausea and pain. I didn't dare drink more.
"You?" I said, the first word I could manage.
"I know when Gina's lying," he replied. "We've known each other too long. Plus she was on the other side of town from the Dane mansion, and someone needed to help Demetrius get you two here."
Us two. "He's here?"
"In another room, resting comfortably."
"Thank God."
"You should be thanking God. I can't believe this worked."
"Me, too. My plans usually don't."
"You took a huge risk, Evy. Marcellus could have killed you outright."
"I know."
The look on Marcellus Dane's face when I stood in his office and said "I need you to die" would go down in history as one of the most shocked expressions ever. The shock had lasted only an instant, though, and I'd almost been too slow to knock his phone from his grasp before he could call for security. And then I'd talked faster than I had ever talked in my life, pleading from a child to a parent. He'd needed the entire story before he'd decided that I wasn't a lunatic and put me out of my misery.
Thankfully, he'd understood and agreed to help me.
"Is the Elder awake?" I asked.
"He is, indeed," Marcellus said from the office doorway. He'd changed clothes—which made sense, since the suit he'd been wearing a few hours ago was covered in blood—and seemed oddly relaxed, considering.
I sat up with Tybalt's help. The cot creaked dangerously, and I half-expected it to fold me in half as some sort of sick cosmic joke. My head still throbbed and my stomach felt woozy, but those things would fade quickly. The burning ache from my belly to my breastbone would take longer. The bandages beneath my baggy t-shirt itched where the tape pulled. "Thank you for trusting me, Elder Dane," I said.
He inclined his head in what looked like a nod. "My grandchildren trust you, Ms. Stone, and while we don't always see eye to eye, I trust their judgment."
Wow. Probably the only time I'd ever heard him praise Astrid and Marcus. God, this must be killing them right now, mourning a grandfather who wasn't actually dead, killed by a supposed friend.
"I was also impressed by your courage," Marcellus continued. "It takes a strong heart to risk what you did, not knowing my answer to your proposal."
"They're my parents." The words slipped out without conscious thought, surprising me as much as they surprised Tybalt. "I couldn't let Vale murder them."
"I understand. Family is…complicated." He glanced at Tybalt, then returned his intense gaze to me. "How long will you hide here under the guise of being deceased?"
"Depends on what's happening in the outside world." To Tybalt I said, "You wanna fill me in on what I missed?"
"So far, everyone seems to be buying the setup," Tybalt said. "It's getting out that you entered the Elder's office and stabbed him in the heart with one of his swords. Before you could escape, his guard Demetrius walked in and killed you."
My hand went to the painful wound on my stomach. "And Demetrius is keeping his mouth shut?"
"He's loyal," Marcellus said. "It's why I chose him to assist us."
The Felia don't rely on modern forensics the way humans do, which gave us an advantage in creating this illusion. The only thing I'd brought with me to the Dane compound had been two vials of a serum that I'd procured from an apothecary shop run by an actual mage. It had cost every bit of cash I had to purchase the Juliet Potion, as well as the mage's promise to tell no one I'd been there. Once Marcellus and I swallowed the serum, it only took a few minutes to slow our heart rates and breathing to almost nothing—enough to fool anyone not looking extra close.
Actually stabbing Marcellus in the chest had been harder than I expected. Measuring my stroke so it caused blood loss without permanent damage had been nerve-wracking. I didn't like wounding allies on purpose, or causing pain to someone who wasn't an enemy. Demetrius hadn't been so tentative when he sliced me open from breasts to belly, deep enough to bleed heavily, but not deep enough to hit internal organs and kill me. My healing ability had once again proved itself immensely useful—and a serious pain.
A literal fucking pain.
Tybalt finished catching us up on the events immediately after our "deaths" with a surprising, "Do you remember Aurora being there, Evy?"
I blinked, horror turning my insides to ice. "No. Fuck, tell me she didn't see me like that."
"She was still holding your hand when I got there with Astrid."
No, no, no, no. After our conversation about Phineas, after finding out Joseph was dying, this would tear Aurora's delicate heart to pieces. I squeezed my eyes shut against bitter tears. I'd been too focused on saving the Frosts to see all of the collateral damage this plan would cause.
"Don't take this the wrong way, Evy," Tybalt said, "but
her grief is what will convince everyone, now that there's no body."
I didn't reply. I didn't trust my voice.
"Gina told me to keep my ears open, so I was with Astrid when she got the call about the Elder's murder. I volunteered to drive her to the compound. You both really looked dead, you know." Something in his eyes told me that the sight had affected him on some level. I wasn't as close to Tybalt as I was to Milo, but he was still a good friend.
"I'm sorry," I said. I had a feeling I'd be saying that a lot, and to a crap-ton of people, in the near future.
Tybalt shrugged. "Part of the plan, right? Astrid was beyond pissed, thinking you'd gone nuts and murdered Elder Dane, so convincing her to have your body brought here was pretty easy. I told her I'd accompany Demetrius with the bodies, and then take your ashes back to the Watchtower."
"How long ago?"
"A few hours. I have to go soon, or someone's going to wonder."
"And you actually have ashes to present?"
"Yep. " He pointed at the urn he'd placed on the floor. "Demetrius called in a favor with the Therian who owns this place."
"That is really fucking creepy."
"How is your wound?" Marcellus asked, thankfully changing the subject.
"Hurts, but it'll heal," I said. The itch-ache all along my abdomen was starting to make me crazy. "How's yours?"
"The same. My worry now is for Riley."
"The Assembly knows the whole story," Tybalt said. "Kismet showed them the video Vale sent. They know that Evy killed Marcellus on Vale's orders, because of his two human hostages. Once that got out, the Clans got pissed."
"Because I tried to kill Marcellus?" I asked.
"No—well, yes, but more pissed because Vale involved humans in Pride politics and ordered a sitting Elder assassinated." He shrugged. "It's complicated."
"No shit."
Tybalt's phone rang. He held it up so I saw Kismet's name on the display, then answered. "Yeah?" After a brief pause, he smiled. "I'll tell her. Thanks."
"Tell me what?" I said before he could properly hang up.
"About thirty minutes ago the Watchtower received an anonymous call about the Frosts, supposedly their location. Nevada took a team to check it out."
My heart jumped. "And?"
"They're alive and well and on their way to the Watchtower."
Relief nearly knocked me over backward. Vale, that son of a bitch, had actually kept up his end of the bargain. He wasn't much of a criminal mastermind, but at least he kept his word—not that he had much of a choice, since the entire Assembly (and Watchtower, too, I imagined) knew he had them. "The Frosts aren't hurt? I heard Lori screaming on the phone."
"Bumps and bruises, as far as I know."
"So your gambit has paid off," Marcellus said.
"In more ways than one," I said. "The Frosts are safe, the Clans are turning against Vale for hiding behind humans and ordering your death, and neither of us is actually dead."
"For now."
I almost asked the Elder what he meant, but fortunately my brain caught up before my mouth went off. I'd forgotten he had the Shadow. He was dying, and he would likely die within the month. The Shadow was incredibly fast-acting once it took hold. We'd only delayed the inevitable for him.
"I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help, Elder," I said.
"You've given a dying old man some small measure of peace, Ms. Stone. From the moment I learned of my illness, I feared for Riley. I knew some weak coward would make an attempt on his life before the challenge was met, and I feared he would be assassinated. Now I can rest easy in my final days."
"How's that?"
"Because the position of Elder to the Felia Clan is in the hands of the Assembly. Riley's interest is known, and he's likely to be named, but we have removed the target from his back. With everything that has surfaced about Vale and the Bengals, if Riley receives so much as a wood splinter, the Clans will roar in protest. An attempt on his life would be suicide for anyone associated with the Tuck family."
Good news for Riley, but—"But you're not really dead, Elder. Won't the Assembly simply reinstate you so you can name your successor?"
"A house divided cannot stand."
"Huh?"
"I have never been silent in my disapproval of the choices made by Astrid and Marcus. They have both eschewed tradition and chosen their own desires above duty to their family." Before I could get riled up and defend Astrid and Marcus, Marcellus kept talking. "However, the steps they have taken with the Watchtower Initiative shows a strong desire to protect our Clan, as well as the interests of the Assembly. If they had listened to me and done as I asked, perhaps the Watchtower would not exist."
So fucking true. Up until a few months ago, Marcus and Astrid had both been Assembly enforcers (think CIA but for shapeshifters), their only connection to the human world a tenuous friendship with Tybalt. A lot of factors had to be considered, but it had been the Dane siblings who brought the Clans to the table when the Watchtower formed.
They had also saved Wyatt from himself once, while I was held captive and tortured for nearly three weeks. They gave him an enemy to fight while he mourned my second death. It was a debt I could never repay.
Wyatt.
Oh crap.
"If the Assembly votes for Riley, then so be it," Marcellus said. "If not, then there will be a change. The Danes have held sole power for too long, as both Alpha and Elder. It's time we relinquish some of that control."
His explanation made sense. I just wasn't used to hearing a man in power willing to give some of it up. "A house divided cannot stand" made more sense. The Felia was divided. The Bengals versus the Jaguars. Tuck versus Dane. Enemies and allies within the same community. If a change in Elder helped bring the Felia back together, Marcellus thought it was worth it.
"How long do you plan on staying dead?" I asked.
"Until after the vote."
"And how long does that usually take?"
"A maximum of three days."
Fantastic. Three days. I hated that number. Almost as much as I hated dying on my friends—again—and what it was doing to them. Hated that I would once again be proved alive and hurt them with my lie. But more than hurting Milo and Marcus and Rufus and Kyle, I was hurting Wyatt.
God, Wyatt, I'm so sorry.
"Where's Wyatt?" I asked Tybalt.
The only person I'd wanted involved in this cover-up was the one person whose help I couldn't have. More than anyone, Wyatt's reaction to my death would convince everyone else of the validity of it. His grief would be proof that I was dead. My second death had almost killed him.
I didn't know if he'd be able to forgive me a third death.
Tears stung my eyes, choking me, and Tybalt hadn't even answered yet.
"Gina said he was freaking out," Tybalt said. "Demanding to see your body for himself, that the photos weren't good enough. Aurora's words weren't enough. He's been threatening to kill Demetrius for touching you, snarling at every Watchtower Felia who gets near him."
"Fuck." I wanted to hit something really, really hard, and Tybalt wasn't saying something. "Spit it out, Leftie."
"He was losing control of his Lupa side, so Dr. Vansis sedated him."
Shitshitshitshitshit.
He needed me and I couldn't go to him. Some fucking mate I was, allowing him to believe I was dead and lose control, when he was still coming to understand his dual nature. I was a failure as a girlfriend and a failure as a mate—suddenly all of the positive things my fake death had reaped seemed small and insignificant next to Wyatt's pain.
"Can he be brought here?" I asked. "Wyatt needs to know the truth before it breaks him."
Tybalt squeezed my hand. "I'll call Gina and see what we can do. But Evy, don't forget. Vale still has the elf scroll and the vampire cure. If he suspects you backstabbed him, he might destroy them both before he tries to bargain with them."
Why did it always come down to a choice between my love life and
my duty to the bigger picture? I was really starting to hate the fucking view. My head told me that Tybalt was right, but my heart decided to step up and tell logic to take a flying fuck. "I need him to see that I'm alive, Tybalt. It needs to happen today, before he does something he can't take back."
"Okay, I'll make the call."
I had him show me where the bathroom was before he made the call, because I had to pee and generally felt gross. The bathroom was functionally boring, just like the office had been—sink, toilet, paper towels, soap dispenser. I splashed some water on my face, then contemplated taking a look at the gash on my stomach. It itched like a son of a bitch, so I knew it was healing.
A grocery bag of items rested on the floor by the sink. I bent far enough to snag it with the tips of my fingers. Cheap toothbrushes, toothpaste, some generic soap and dry shampoo. Plastic comb. At the bottom of the bag was a second bag, and its contents surprised me—box of hair dye, black eyeliner, an eye shadow compact, burgundy lipstick, and a pair of scissors.
"Gina dropped off that stuff," Tybalt said from the doorway, which startled the shit out of me.
I held up the lipstick. "Tell her it isn't her color."
"For you, Stone."
"Me?"
"You're going to want to leave here and go after Vale. You figure now that you're dead, he won't be expecting you and you can use that to your advantage to find him and the vampire cure."
"How—?"
"We know you better than you think. Plus it's what me and Gina would have done in your place."
"So she wants me to hit the streets done up like a hooker?"
"I think she was going for emo goth."
"Fantastic. Wyatt?"
"He'll be unconscious for another hour yet, Gina said. Once he comes around, she'll try to get him here."
"Good, okay." I studied the box of dye. "You know, I've never actually done this before."
"Don't ask me."
