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 stabbed 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.
And why couldn’t she seem to stop shaking? Why was it so hard to catch a breath?
“Ohmygod. Oh my Go—”
“She’s in shock.” Cain wrapped one arm beneath her legs and braced the other against her back, then stood. His words were cold and authoritative as he snapped at the three. “Make sure that thing is secure. I’m taking Flint to her trailer.”
She clutched at his chest, feeling like a rag doll as he turned on his booted heel and made for the safety of her trailer.
Once inside, he placed her gently on her feet, then closed and locked the door.
“Get dressed, Flint,” he said in a voice still thick with power.
Frowning, she stared down at herself. Somehow the clothes she’d been wearing looked as though they’d come face-to-face with a werewolf’s claws and the werewolf had won.
“I don’t know—” She lifted the hem of her shirt, staring at it stupidly. Her bra was showing, and her jeans were shredded, barely hanging on her slip hips. “Almost naked. Who did this to me?”
Was she in shock?
Was this what shock felt like?
Numb?
Empty?
Cold?
Placing his hands gently on her shoulders, he turned her around. “Clothes, Flint.”
His voice was so gentle. And his body was no longer brimming with power. Cain was looking at her tenderly. Like she was fragile. Like he was worried.
He should be worried. She’d almost killed someone. And the worst of it was, she’d really, really wanted to.
“Princess.” His fingers dug in just a little bit harder, enough to make her glance at his blue, blue eyes. “You’re okay now. You’re okay. I promise. Go change into your nightgown. You need sleep. I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
Moving in a dreamlike state, she snatched a shirt out of her drawer, turned around, and quickly shucked the one she’d been wearing off—it’d been one of Cain’s. She missed its warmth immediately.
There was a quick inhalation of breath behind her. “You could have warned me you were going to change.”
His voice sounded slightly muffled, and when she peeked over her shoulder, it was to spot him with his back turned toward her.
She yanked on a shirt, kicked off the jeans she’d never wear again, then grabbed a soft, slightly ragged pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. Oddly enough, doing something as mundane as dressing herself made her feel slightly more focused.
She was a monster. She’d known that already. She’d known it for days. Because of her, Dad had been forced out and the carnival had disbanded. She could dream walk. She could call a sword to her from thin air; she could punch with the force of an elephant. She wasn’t human. And she knew she hadn’t been for quite a while now.
So why was she freaking out about this?
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her brow as an ache began to center in her skull. “I’m not exactly thinking right. And why did you lock my door?”
When he turned, it was with some relief that she realized he’d gone back to just being regular Cain again.
“Because I wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn’t want anyone else in here until you were ready for it.”
Plopping down onto the corner of the bed, she closed her eyes, dropping her hands between her thighs. “Why aren’t you freaking out about me?”
Tracing a thumb gently across her cheek, he sighed. “Flint, for the past few years of
my life, I’ve had to hide who I am from almost everybody. I know what it feels like to lose yourself to what you are. And the mere fact that the drone is still alive says something about who you are.”
“Who I am.” She gave a choked sound. “I wanted to kill it. There was a voice in my head, and it just kept telling me to end it. To make it scream.” She snorted. “And all because it wasn’t worthy. Not because it was evil. Or because it smelled like death. But because it wasn’t worthy to be in my presence. What kind of person am I?”
She hated the stupid tears forming in her eyes again and blew an irritated breath upward to dry them.
Cain didn’t answer at first, simply pulled her in for a quick hug. His hands were so soft, so gentle on her back, that she felt herself going limp in his arms, lost to his touch, the voices in her head receding like a distant, foggy memory.
“A good one. But you are different. Just like me. And what we are”—his thumbs rubbed her cheekbones—“it’s not fun or easy to deal with some days. But it’s who we are, princess.”
“You don’t hate me?” Her words echoed with the drowning weight of fear.
“Did you hate me when you learned who I was?” he asked her right back.
She remembered the day she’d learned about him. When she’d first met him and begun to put the pieces of the puzzle together, her brain had thought vampire, which had terrified her—she wasn’t gonna lie—and then she’d discovered it was actually so much worse than vampire. That he was actually part demon. Demon. As in big and bad and red and Hell and fiery pits, sulfur, and all that jazz.
But then she’d looked into his eyes, and she hadn’t seen a villain with cloven hooves and a pitchfork tail, but a sexy, good-hearted—though he never wanted to admit it—guy with a couple of anger-issue problems he was constantly working hard to overcome.
His eyes were broody and had a hint of red at their center, letting her know he was still emotionally volatile.
“Never,” she said softly and slipped her fingers through his, holding them to her cheeks still. “So what happened to me, the voices in my head and all that, that wasn’t just a psycho fae thing?”
“Do you know what happens to me when I rage?”
The Complete Tempted Series Page 55
