She was like the blind leading the blind, and it made her want to vomit all the delicious food she’d just eaten. The only thing keeping her dead set on doing this was the fact that there were no other leads left. “Cain, I have to help. Any way I can.”
Nodding, he stood and held out his hand to her. “Then let’s go.”
As if that was the signal everyone had been waiting on, they all stood, moving effortlessly so that they flanked her.
Heart pounding in the back of her throat with each step she took, she fought an internal battle not to have a freak-out of massive proportions. She’d not gotten close to another drone since the day Tamara had nearly blown her to pieces.
They were just about at the trailer now, so close that Flint could see dirt and dried water streaking the darkened windows. Moving like an elite force of trained fighters, Eli, Rhi, and Seth broke ranks and surrounded the trailer, one on each side and the back, while she and Cain approached the only open spot in the front. That was where she knew Cain would stand at the ready should the drone try anything stupid.
Swearing under his breath, Cain pulled her to a stop. His knuckles grazed her cheek.
Lashes fluttering and feeling oddly like her tongue had just swollen to twice its size, she gave him a short nod. “I’ll be fine, really. I can fight now—”
“With a sword, Flint, something you can’t use inside that small space—”
She grinned. “Yeah, but I can run really fast.”
“I think you should try to talk to it through the window.”
She gave him a cross-eyed look because his worrying was only exacerbating her own fears. He’d already suggested this not half an hour ago, to which she’d firmly and staunchly said no. In the vision, the fae had stood right in front of its victim, which meant so would she.
“Cain. Stop for a second and just look at me. Look.”
His jaw clenched, but he did as asked. His hard gaze roved up and down her body twice before his nostrils flared and he gave her a look that said Yeah. And?
“I’m not saying I know everything there is to know about being me.” She sighed. “But I’m not that girl who almost died back at the dance, okay? Now, I’m gonna go in there, and I’m gonna have a nice chat with that bug and see if maybe, just maybe, I can actually be of some help to you guys.” One good thing about getting angry was that she suddenly felt much less nervous.
Cain sucked in a sharp breath, and she knew he was getting ready to give her a list of reasons why it was a bad idea. Reasons she’d heard a million times already. Gently she placed her palm over his mouth.
“Cain, I love you. But you’re not my dad. You don’t get to tell me no. I’m doing this. So you can either stay and guard the front door or you can leave. Up to you, but either way, this is happening.”
A low huff emanated from between his lips, but it quickly turned into a disgruntled chuckle. “You’re killing me. Fine.” He dropped her hands. “I can’t stop you; you’re right. Just, whatever you do, don’t get too close. Don’t let it bait you. Ask what you need to ask and—”
She kissed him.
Hard.
Of course she didn’t want to go in there with a drone that looked as though it hadn’t fed properly in months. But that wasn’t the point. The point was Abel needed any help he could get. And if that meant putting herself in the line of fire, then so be it.
She really did wish she could have her sword though. If it hadn’t been for the memory of the knife nearly severing her toes off, she’d have gone with one of those instead. But at this point, she didn’t quite trust herself not to fumble things.
Cain’s fingers curled gently around her bicep, and a low groan spilled from his throat.
He wanted to ask her to stay, but he got brownie points for keeping that thought to himself.
“Eli?” she called.
The surfer-boy berserker glanced her way, giving the thumbs-up that everything looked good on his end. Rhi did too. She’d have to trust that if something were up on Seth’s side, he’d call out to her.
Giving herself a final mental shake, Flint turned and walked up the steps.
They’d left the drone chained up and bathed in darkness. Flicking on the light switch, Flint felt a moment’s sympathy for the creature when it hissed, squeezing its eyes shut and curling in on itself as though trying to run away from the source of brightness.
Flint tried taking small breaths. The place smelled gross. Like mold and rotted wood. But the odor wasn’t coming from the trailer itself. The drone was dressed in tattered clothing—a blue shirt that was two sizes too large and covered in holes, and jeans that were threadbare at the knees and ankles with loose threads dangling in every direction. Its hair was hacked off right at the ear line and matted with weeds, dirt, and stones. The drone reeked, its washed-out skin obviously peeling from its pending metamorphosis into something far more sinister than it was now.
And even though the trailer was clean, Flint found herself not wanting to touch even the walls lest death infect her too.
Tapping her finger to her bicep, she wondered how to start this interrogation. In the vision, the fae had been standing over the monster, not saying anything really, just sort of glaring at the creature, and it’d wet itself in its haste to do whatever it could to please its captor.
“I told you, I know nothing!” the drone spat in a voice thick with disuse.
The sound of it grated on Flint’s ears, and she cringed to hear it. The thing glared, blinking double-lidded eyes back at her. Heart beating a rapid rhythm in her chest, Flint was overwhelmed by her desire to take a step back, to get closer to the safety of the open door and Cain’s waiting arms.
But she knew if she did it, though they would never judge her for it, they’d never let her in again. She’d talked a big game, now it was time to pony up.
Ignoring the swarm of butterflies in her belly, she notched her chin higher and tried to go for a haughty look; sadly, she was pretty sure she looked like a frightened bunny ready to pee on itself.
Memories of the dance, of what she’d seen Tamara do, kept flashing through her mind.
“I think you...you’re lying.” She wanted to jump into a hole when she heard that stutter fall from her lips.
The drone, immediately sensing Flint’s anxiousness, smiled, a slow curling of lips and exposing of sharp fangs that had her pulse kicking into hyperdrive.
Its insolent, red-eyed gaze took her in, and then, leaning back on the wall with one leg cocked, the drone snorted. “So, I’ve been relegated to this, have I?” It sneered and shook its head, causing the thick mats of hair to swish around its face.
Flint wasn’t sure whether she was more freaked out by the fact that she couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl or that it now suddenly looked a little too excitedly at the pulsing vein in her neck.
Swallowing hard, she curled her fingers so tightly her baby claws gouged into her flesh.
All her life she’d been groomed to perform. That’s what she’d view this as. A performance. Remembering the terrifying rush of adrenaline she’d feel before each show, she took a deep, steadying breath. The first step was always the hardest. Because it was in that first second that fate determined whether you’d rise or fall. So she took that metaphorical step and narrowed her gaze.
“I wouldn’t get too comfortable if I were you.” Her voice had deepened, and this time there was no stutter. A wicked smile curled the edges of her lips.
Its eyes widened, and with a hiss, the drone jerked on its cuffs.
Taking an infinitesimal step closer, Flint pursed her lips. This is a show. This is only a show.
What would Cain say now?
“C’mon, baby drone,” she said, taunting it, “you gonna tell me that you weren’t left behind for us to find you? That you’re not some sort of bait?” She frowned. “Do you really think I’m that stupid?”
It smiled back at her, but the smile was much less sure than it’d been earlier. “I was hungry.”
It really did think she was stupid.
She growled.
Everyone thought she was too naïve. Too human. Too weak. Too weird. Too... whatever. No one gave her the credit she was due. Easily overlooked, easily ignored was Flint DeLuca.
She was sick of it.
Flint gnashed her teeth. Outside, there was the faint rumble of thunder.
“Try again.”
The drone’s eyes flashed, and no longer was it looking at her neck, but now it was staring her in the face, its jaw hanging slack a little.
“What... what are...”
Kneeling, she traced the thick line of chain securing the drone in place. “The queen set up such an elaborate plan at the prom.”
Her mind was instantly calm. But the blood running through her veins felt different. Thicker. Fuller. If she looked down now, she knew her skin would be glowing brighter. The drone’s eyes were wide, and the whites were drowning out the red.
“You expect me to believe that she’d go to all the effort to kidnap Abel, bite me, and that you’re left behind just by chance?” She laughed, and the sound buzzed along her skin like waves of electricity. “What are you reporting back to her?”
The door slammed shut, trapping them inside.
The drone gasped. Outside, the wind howled and cries rang out from her friends. But it was like trying to listen to sound through a bubble. She could hear them, but it was just white noise. A distraction she easily shut out.
“I... I...”
Feeling a fire surge up through her heels and race to the crown of her head, she wet her lips.
When had she gotten close enough to touch it? Somehow, and without her even realizing it, she’d wound up within a hairsbreadth of the thing. So close their noses practically rubbed together.
And it no longer smelled just like mold or rot or death. There was an odor, a bitter one—like an unripened tomato—laced along its flesh, so faint that only a bloodhound should have picked it up.
It was a scent Flint hadn’t smelled in years. One she’d almost forgotten, except for the fact that the smell instantly brought back her mother screaming at her to drop the weed, run indoors, and wash her hands.
The weed had been nightshade.
And this drone smelled powerfully of it.
Flint gripped its chin, digging her claws into it just enough to pinch, and smiled broadly when it quivered beneath her touch. The drone was grunting, gasping, and shifting as though trying to get away from her.
Her claw pushed into its flesh just an inch. “Tell me now. Or I’ll kill you.”
She didn’t know where the words had come from. Didn’t know why she was saying what she was saying, only that she had to. That she had to do it. Had to end this... this... filth.
Jagged bolts of lightning struck just outside the door, filling the trailer with ozone. A powerful burst of air slammed against the trailer, causing it to jerk wildly. Fists were pounding on the walls now, Cain’s voice, Adam’s, Rhi’s, even Eli’s. They were all crying out to her.
It crossed her mind that they should have easily been able to get inside and yet... they weren’t.
“I don’t—” It gasped when she crushed down, stabbing the very tips of her nails through its skin but not yet bleeding it.
“God save the queen,” she said in a voice that was eerily deeper and no longer really her own.
“They were supposed to kill me. To release the poison in my blood. But I wasn’t the only bait.” It sneered. “You were also a distraction,” it yelled. “You did what you were supposed to do. You made them all leave. You made them all scatter. And now you’re weak.”
The queen had told Flint that she’d still had a purpose. In the end, Adam had chosen to disband the circus, but not entirely because of her either.
She sniffed, instinct warring with intellect. Snap its neck. Kill it. End it. Flint fought the strange compulsion, trembling violently as her fingers dug in deeper.
It hissed in pain.
“Does she know what I am?”
It didn’t answer.
“Answer me!” she screamed, slapping its cheek, barely suppressing the fury riding her.
Justice shrieked in her head.
“We aren’t... we aren’t sure.” It whimpered as a trickle of blood spilled from its now-split lip.
“What does she think I am?”
“Some form of fae.”
Layla did know. Black ice shivered down Flint’s spine. “What kind of fae?”
The screams outside were growing louder. The world rang with the strains of madness and the sounds of war. The trailer pitched again, knocking her into the drone’s chest, but she moved so much quicker than it could.
Punching her hand into its throat, she shoved it against the wall.
“What kind of fae!” she asked again.
“Sprite. Woodland. Something soft. Weak.” Tears streamed from its eyes as it blubbered, and she knew why.
Her grin turned menacing. “Do you think I’m soft, drone?” She ran a claw down the side of its face. “Do you think I’m weak?”
But before it could answer, she squeezed its neck even tighter. It was pumped full of nightshade. No blood could be spilled. But she could snap its neck. There were other forms of death.
Even as she thought this, a vague sense of unease slithered through her gut. She was forgetting to ask something. Forgetting someone. Forgetting...
But the madness, it was so strong, so powerful. It was crashing into her mind like a tsunami. Flint hadn’t been prepared for this.
“I’m not this,” she grunted, fighting the demons tearing at her mind. “This isn’t me. This isn’t me. Flint. I’m Flint. Abel,” she gasped, finally remembering. “Where is Abel?”
But during that struggle, she’d loosened her grip just a little. Just a very little.
But it was enough for the thing to slam a palm to her breast and knock the air from her lungs. That jolt of pain had the horrible voices inside her head roaring back to life, consuming her whole.
Power.
She was a conduit for it. From the very earth itself it rose up, slipping into her flesh, her blood, her bones. Filling her head with visions of violence, with visions of death. The creature was unworthy to be in the in the presence of a fae.
Unworthy to live past the dawn.
Unworthy.
“Unworthy,” she snarled, lost to the ageless and timeless voices of the land and her people, her true people, singing through her skull.
The world outside raged, and inside the trailer, Flint did too.
The drone shook its head. “No. No. I don’t know where he’s at, I don’t kn—”
“Death.” She said it softly but with a wide smile. “You have been judged, creature.”
“Flint!” Cain’s cry punctured her jagged thoughts. “Open the door! Stop. We can’t get in. What are you doing? Open this damn door!”
There were heavy thumps, as though someone was trying to kick the door down.
With a sharp cry, Flint jumped back, rolling away from the drone, staring at it in horror, at the shredded grooves in its jaw from her claws. At the way this ugly, horrific creature stared at her as though she were the true monster.
Shocked, she could only look at her hands.
With a cry of terror, she turned and ripped the door open, nearly bowling Cain over in her haste to get away from the drone and the voices in her head still screaming at her to end its life.
He caught up with her quickly, yanking her to a stop and spinning her around.
“Flint, what happened?” everyone asked at once.
She’d never even noticed the others till now.
But she couldn’t answer, could barely see thanks to the thick stream of tears running down her cheeks. Needing some space, some quiet, she snatched her hand out of Cain’s and tried to run again, but she stumbled over thick roots that hadn’t been in front of the trailer before and then cried out as something wickedly hard and large stabbe
d her toe.
She landed face-first on the ground with a heavy oomph. Immediately Cain was holding her, wrapping his strong arms around her and bringing her tight to his side, his entire body trembling as though with fear.
“You can’t be scared of me.” She groaned. “I’m me. I’m not a monster. I’m not a monster.”
She clutched at his shirt, vaguely aware of the fact that he’d almost completely shifted to berserker mode. His body was enlarged, thick with muscle. His voice was deep and powerful.
Gasping, all she could do was shake her head and watch in awe and dawning horror as the wind that’d whistled like a banshee’s wail slowly died down, as the trees that’d groaned and shook settled back into place. The thunder and lightning ceased with one final blast. And then, finally, calm. The air was sweet, the night cool, and her world had just shifted on its axis.
“You. You did that.” Rhiannon’s voice was a sharp, terrible whisper.
Flint couldn’t seem to stop the tears from burning her eyes as four sets of eyes stared at her in shock, wonder, and even with a slight edge of fear.
Swallowing hard, she looked at the sea of dead brambles littering the ground, black thorns the thickness of a man’s palm hooking dangerously upward.
Mind trying to make sense of what it was she was seeing, she looked back at her friends, only now spotting the slashes in their skin, the thin, dark trails of blood on their cheeks and hands.
Cain’s were the worst of all.
Grabbing his palm, she frowned at the painful-looking wounds. Several of his fingers had the thorns hooked deeply through them.
“I’m sorry. I’m...” She shook her head. What had she done? Why had that happened to her? Before she could get up, get away, run away so that she didn’t have to face any of what they’d just witnessed her do, she was held firmly in place by Cain, who was still halfway between man and berserker.
“No. You stay. You’re fine. We’re fine. It’s okay, Flint. It’s okay.”
“How can you say this is okay?” she snapped, lifting a palm to encompass the night. No wonder it’d sounded like war outside—that’s exactly what she’d brought to them.
“I’m not normal.” She didn’t mean to say the words, but she did.
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