And yet, in my most secret of hearts is a different truth.
I’ve kept her alive for me.
“As it should be,” Freya says. She reaches up and strokes the hand of one of her lackeys. “All my girls are of the highest lineage. Annelise, too.” Her tolerant, instructive tone makes her sound like a dog trainer. “We are all family.”
I avert my eyes. This creepy “family” is the last thing Annelise would want.
“One by one,” Freya continues, “I will save the children of my children. I will make them stronger. Mine will be the most powerful coven the world has ever known.”
I struggle to make sense of her intentions. Annelise would rather die than become Vampire.
Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Annelise would want this life.
Loss—the potential of it—clouds my vision for a moment. Need stabs me. I’ve already lost so much. I will lose no more.
I remember all we’ve shared. I think back to the Directorate Challenge. It’d been at the end of her first term here, when she’d faced her nemesis and almost died. Such trials require mental strength as much as physical. I believe in my heart it was partly my support that pulled her through.
I cut my eyes to Carden. The connection I share with Annelise protects her more than any vampire guard dog could. The bond we share is stronger than any chemical reaction.
And yet he claims to love her.
Maybe I don’t know either of them at all. Carden is easy and charming in a way that makes girls want him—in a way I’ve never managed, at least not without relying on my powers. Maybe Annelise’s heart’s desire is to become Vampire and live forever by his side. Maybe.
Or maybe not. It’s a hope that keeps me going.
If I don’t know Annelise’s heart yet, there’s still time to learn.
“I’ll continue your fight in secret,” I say. I’m past nerves, past defiance. All I know is I need to get back. “You have every reason to keep me installed on Eyja næturinnar.”
“No,” Freya says crisply. “I need you here. We muster our forces here. All our forces. Sonja’s massacre of ancients decimated us, but our strength is rebuilding.”
“Please, Mistress Freya.”
She leans forward from the shadows. With her tilted head and narrowed eyes, she considers me as one might a plate of food. I don’t often resort to pleading, and she knows it. She also knows leverage when she sees it.
Suddenly, she sits back with a sharp sniff. “As you wish, Ronan. There is one way I’ll let you leave.”
“Name it,” I say too quickly. Her concession is more than I expected. I have no choice but to comply with her wishes, whatever they may be. Like any good sergeant taking orders from his general, I bow my head and brace for it. “What is my assignment?”
“If you truly wish to return, then it won’t trouble you to kill Alrik Dagursson.”
I peer up, caught off guard. “I beg your pardon?”
“Master Alrik Dagursson,” she says. Her patronizing tone makes it clear I’m trying her patience. “He is your assignment. Or will you refuse this request, too?”
My reaction is instant. Can’t. Won’t.
“It’s decided,” she says calmly. “Promise me you’ll kill Dagursson, and I will allow you to return to that place. To that beloved”—she waves a dismissive hand—“rock of yours.”
“But—”
“There…is…no…but.” Her power fills the cave, surrounding me, like a force pressing on me. It feels as though the air has been sucked from the cave, making my blood roar and my skin buzz. “Unless your plan is to kill Alrik, you are forbidden to leave this island.”
I’m not even certain I understand. I’ve never been asked to assassinate a vampire—and Dagursson isn’t just any vampire. He’s one of the Directorate’s inner circle. He’s ancient. A Viking. Impossibly powerful. Likely invincible. To try to murder him would mean my death.
“You wish me to…kill him?” I repeat, buying time to think. Dying isn’t what bothers me—I know firsthand that there are worse things a man can endure. I refuse to kill Dagursson until I discover what he knows of my family.
“Yes. Kill, Ronan. You remember how to kill. You will dispatch Alrik Dagursson in whichever way you see fit. Slay him. Stake him.” She gives a bored wave of her hand. “Immolation, decapitation, exsanguination…however you wish to do it.” Her eyes meet and hold mine for a long moment. “Does this trouble you?”
I dare not tell her the truth—I won’t share my vulnerability with any vampire. “It’s too great a risk,” is the excuse I use instead. “Dagursson is powerful. If I attempt an assassination and fail, I risk exposing everything we’ve worked for. Perhaps if I were to kill Alcántara instead—”
She waves that away. “Yes, yes, I know your thoughts on Hugo. You suspect he killed your family, et cetera, et cetera. And I tell you Alcántara is just a pawn. A dog, panting for scraps. But Dagursson…” She gives a wolfish smile. “He is the keeper of their lore. He knows much about our history, our lineage. And knowledge is their primary weapon against us—take that away and they have nothing.”
I picture him in Alcántara’s office, bent over an ancient scroll. Knowledge makes him impossibly powerful. He is the keeper of Freya’s bloodline. My own.
The need to know what he knows warps my vision. “Usually I unquestioningly execute your orders, and yet—”
“Then execute Alrik,” she says at once. Power fills the cave even more thickly and robs the air from my lungs. “I have had enough of your impertinence, child.” Though she speaks in barely a whisper, her voice echoes painfully in my skull. “You will kill Alrik Dagursson, or I will kill your Annelise.”
An invisible force seizes my throat—clutching, squeezing, choking. It’s fear. I forgot what it felt like. “I beg your pardon?”
Candlelight catches her yellow hair and gleams. Her smile, too, gleams. She’s amused now, like a bullying schoolgirl—but her fangs, long and shining, remind me she hasn’t been a girl for over a thousand years.
Rather than answer me, she turns to address the female vampires standing at silent attention behind her. “Do you see, my daughters? Do you see how this is perhaps a good idea regardless? If Annelise were dead, then our Ronan wouldn’t want to return to his precious Isle of Night. Annelise would make a worthy vampire, it’s true”—she pauses thoughtfully—“and yet she’d be just as worthy a sacrifice. She strikes me as overly headstrong anyhow. Such a tedious trait in a young woman.” She pauses and nods with exaggerated consideration. “And to think she’s become close with Alcántara.”
“They’re not close,” I dare cut in.
She freezes. “So sure, are you?” Her eyes linger on me for a protracted moment. Finally, she shrugs. “It’s a concern nonetheless. If something happens to make me doubt her, if Annelise finds herself on the wrong side of things and becomes Alcántara’s creature…” She shakes her head in mock remorse. “I’d rather see her dead than watch her fall under the influence of the Directorate.”
I cut my eyes to Carden. Why isn’t he speaking up? But I see no outrage on his face. Does he believe this too? “What say you, McCloud?” I spit his clan name at him. “Are you so blinded by loyalty to your quest that you’d see Annelise as collateral damage?”
“Our quest, lad. Our quest is greater than any one person. It will outlive all of us. Annelise included.”
“Is that what your bloody Scottish honor tells you?”
“Ronan.” Freya gives a stern clap to her hands. “This is not a game. Annelise’s potential is too great—if Alcántara channels it, he’ll become too powerful. She is my flesh and blood—her fate is my decision. And I have decided you will kill Alrik. Or you’ll pay with Annelise’s life.”
Dagursson. He’s the only one who knows how to find my family. The thought consumes me.
I bow my head. Swallow my pain. There is no choice. Annelise needs my protection more than ever. “Consider it done.”
CHAPTER FOUR
<
br /> I squint my eyes, trying to focus on my watch’s glowing LED numbers without breaking my stride. I thought a hard run before class would purge the noise from my head, but instead, each pounding step of my feet is a gunshot blast spiraling thoughts through my brain.
What haven’t I taught Annelise?
What will she need?
What doesn’t she know?
What will keep her alive?
What if I fail to kill Dagursson? What if I’m killed, and Freya comes gunning for her? What if Carden is too preoccupied with his quest to protect Annelise at a critical moment? What if she is alone and needs to escape?
And there is my answer: Navigation. That’s what I’ll teach today.
I check my watch. Bloody hell. My pace has been too brutal—I’m way ahead of schedule. All the snow has melted, leaving mucky gravel in its place, and I skid my feet along the path to slow.
If I arrive too soon, Annelise will approach me. She’ll try to talk.
Her talk unmans me.
I have to keep my focus. It’s too easy to lose myself to dreadful what-ifs. What if Freya had prevented my return, and Annelise had thought I’d simply dropped off the face of the earth? Carden wouldn’t exactly have raced to tell her the truth about me—of that I have no doubt.
I stop completely, bend and stretch and catch my breath. My shirt is nearly soaked through, but no amount of sweat can steal the chill from my bones.
I check my watch again. Class in three. I make the slow walk down the hillside to the beach where I teach a Primitive Skills Intensive to Initiates, the few second-year Acari who remain.
Annelise is down by the shore, squatting and picking at shells. I always feel a shot of relief at the sight of her. She is here. Alive. Safe.
Her head pops up instantly, eyes going straight to me. A smile blooms on her face.
Good Christ, seeing me has done this to her.
Like the sun through parting clouds, a wave of heat rolls through me, melting the knot of ice that’s been lodged in my gut since I stood in Freya’s cave. Annelise and I are here together. We are in this thing, together.
The effort it takes to hide my pleasure is tremendous. Almost impossible. I grit my teeth and focus on the burning in my lungs instead. There’s the ghost of a stitch in my side. I embrace it.
I jerk my attention to the others. Only half a dozen Initiates are left in my class, and I watch them along the rocky shoreline as they poke at some poor creature washed ashore. “It’s time,” I call. Measuring my tone has made it overly harsh. I don’t care. On this island, shows of kindness are deadly. “Class. Now.”
As the Initiates stand and stalk up the beach toward me, the difference between them and their fallen classmates is clear. Lithe and catsuited, they have the grace of predators. They are savagery and hunger, weapons in female form. They are a sight to behold—and their attention is zeroed in on me.
There are men who’d envy my position. Those men are fools.
This time next year, there will be even fewer survivors from this class. While a small fraction of male students successfully transition from Trainees to Vampire, even fewer of the females endure the ascension from Acari to Initiate to Guidon to finally become the cream of the cream, the most elite, a Watcher.
Annelise could make it, I think, and as I do, I feel her appear by my side. “You’re back,” she says under her breath as we wait for the rest of the girls.
“Aye,” I manage. I want to turn, to stand closer, but force myself to ignore her.
I feel her smirk as she says, “You’re doing the secretive thing again.”
“Aye,” I repeat blandly, knowing it’ll coax a laugh from her. It’s unwise, like a stupid, sodding schoolboy, but her laugh warms me even more than her smile.
“Okay, be that way.” She pauses. “I worried you left me,” she says, her tone uneasy. Earlier this term, Carden left her for weeks. She must’ve thought it was my turn.
I let myself look at her, finally. “I’m here,” I say, infusing my voice with a gravity I hope she hears. “I’m not leaving.”
Something eases around her eyes, setting them alight, and I have to look away.
“Good,” she says, perky once more. “They had Otto subbing this Wilderness Workshop of yours”—she shoots me a challenging grin, unable to resist teasing the name of my class—“and it just wasn’t the same. He’s way too metrosexual to be teaching us how to, like, find and treat water. He strikes me as more a how-to-find-and-treat-your-espresso-while-in-Berlin kinda guy.”
I shoot her a scolding look. I didn’t time this right at all. I should’ve slowed my pace sooner than I did. This is way too much time alone with her. Way too much biting my cheek not to smile.
She sidles closer. “I need to talk to you.”
I stiffen. She’s too close. Her hair carries a sweet, clean scent, like pears, and it startles me.
I shift away, but we’ve moved at the same time, and her arm brushes mine. The warmth of her, so near to me, prickles my skin with goose bumps. My muscles seize, my back stiffening. I cup a hand around my mouth to yell down the beach. “Party’s over, ladies. Double time it. Let’s get to work.”
“Seriously, Ronan.” She sounds so urgent, so alone and needy.
I can’t resist it, can’t resist her.
“I heard you,” I say quietly. “Later. We’ll talk in the dining hall.”
“No, it needs to be private.” She edges closer. “Can we walk back together?”
Together. How that would be…
I edge away. “That’s no good.” Too many eyes are watching us.
“Tonight?”
“There’s something I need to do tonight.” Stake out Dagursson. Maybe even stake Dagursson. I need to get this mission over with. I need to focus. Survive. Make sure I can stay here. Near her.
“Then when, Ronan?” The others are getting closer, and she’s spoken to me in a whisper, her husky voice a quiet murmur at my side. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Ten thousand scenarios shoot through my head, each one a fiery comet of possibility.
“Tomorrow.” My voice has grown cold, but I don’t know any other way. I don’t know how to do this. “Catch me after breakfast tomorrow.”
She shrugs. I feel how tense she is, how anxious and preoccupied, but I can’t let it get to me. Can’t let her get to me, not when I have this suicide mission ahead of me.
I dive into my lecture.
“Orienteering,” I say loudly. “Who knows what it is?” Annelise begins to speak, and I cut her off. “Someone else. Isabella?” I turn to the auburn-haired Initiate who’s been on my blacklist since she and her friend tried to drown Annelise in the surf.
The girl gapes at me with a look of profound boredom. “Isn’t that what you do, like, on the first day of something?”
“You can’t be serious,” Annelise mutters.
“You’re thinking of the word orientation,” I say quickly, before the two have a chance to get into it. “Technically, orienteering is a sport, though it began as a military exercise. Think of it as navigation. How to find your way through rough countryside quickly.”
I spent months turning Annelise into a strong swimmer. I taught her how to use a grappling hook, how to land a fall. I drilled her through one-armed push-ups, wind sprints, and endless kip-ups. And now, if she ever needs to make a quick escape off the island, I want to make sure she’ll know how to find her way.
“Can’t the vamps just give us a GPS like the rest of civilization?” someone asks.
“No GPS,” I say with exaggerated patience. “And what’s more, for our purposes, you won’t have a map or compass either.”
Annelise gives Isabella a broad smile. “Seeing as you have no moral compass, that shouldn’t be a stretch.”
“Acari Drew,” I snap. My affection for her runs deep, but in class I have to treat her as I would any other student…even if the joke was a good one. “I appreciate your wordplay, but please let
me do the lecturing.”
She tips her head, hiding a grin. “Yes, Tracer Ronan.”
Isabella’s eyes narrow on us. The red-haired Acari isn’t exactly the vampires’ pet, but I have seen her chatty with one of Headmaster Fournier’s staff. It’d be the death of me and Annelise both if we presented anything other than the picture of propriety…and I fear we’re not succeeding.
I turn from Annelise. I need to get my head in the game. If I’m going to assassinate a member of the Directorate and live to see the next day, I need total focus.
Which means I need Annelise someplace where she can’t give me her smile.
A solution hits me. I tell the girls, “Tonight you’ll be driven to the far end of the island. You’ll navigate your way home using the stars.”
I feel Annelise’s reaction the instant the words are out of my mouth. Bloody hell. I catch her eye, sending her a flash of sympathy so brief only she’d notice. The assignment would rake up painful memories for her, being so similar to a punishment she’d endured when she’d first arrived on the island. It’d been the thing that bonded her to Emma, her best friend…Emma, whose death she blames on herself.
Our eyes meet, and she gives me the hint of a nod. She’s okay, and of course she is. She’s got a spine of steel. She is resolved. She’s a survivor. She’s my Ann.
I continue my lecture on autopilot. It’s one I’ve given before. And the discussion goes much as it has before. The same questions—some thoughtful, some inane. I can tell by a student’s question whether or not she’ll make it. Whether she’ll survive in a fundamental way. It takes more than savagery to be a skilled Watcher. A Watcher is clever and smart, cool under pressure. She can assemble a homemade weapon as easily as making an omelet. She knows what to say and how to say it—in a variety of languages.
“Take a heading,” I tell them.
“What’s a heading?”
“Find a distant spot in the landscape—a certain rock, there are all kinds of options on this island—and head toward it.”
“Why do you need a heading?”
“You might wander in circles without one.”
Dark Craving: A Watchers Novella Page 4
