by Anna Rezes
“Emily!”
I open my eyes and jerk my head to look behind me. The man in black is gone, replaced by a dimly lit theatre. I turn back to find Patrick’s dark glare upon me. Leftover tension from my dream swirls through my body. Bewildered, I straighten my shoulders trying to orient myself. People on stage are acting out a scene I don’t understand. A few patrons are scattered through the theatre, but the seats close to us are vacant. I feel a nudge, and when I look up, Patrick is still glaring at me.
“Out!” he insists, pointing toward the door.
I scoot out of my seat and make my way quietly to the door with him on my heels. The sky is darker now than when we entered, and I wonder how long I was sleeping. As soon as we exit, Patrick’s hand closes tight on my shoulder. He whips me around so quickly, I stumble.
“What the . . .” I start but am silenced by his clenched jaw and furious eyes. Anger shines between the cracks of his typical infallible poise.
“Your blood is poison,” he breathes.
“What?” I swallow, instinctively moving away.
He grabs my wrist and drags me back toward campus. I have no idea what brought on his volatile temperament. I attempt to pull away from him as he pulls me along, but his grip is unforgiving. Finally, he brings us to a halt on an isolated path next to campus parking. He drops my wrist and looms over me, so I have to tilt my chin up to see him.
“You are Valla blood. I always thought the Olvasho exaggerated the stories of Valla’s descendants, but they’re true, aren’t they?”
“No.” My breath catches in my throat and I look away. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” I feign ignorance, but my heart plummets in my chest. I concentrate on keeping him out of my mind while simultaneously looking unaffected by his startling accusation.
He cups my chin in his hand and tilts my face up to his. “Look at those emerald-green eyes.” His words are feather soft, almost a purr, giving the illusion of seduction, but his purr has the grace of a ravenous lion. His fingers tighten painfully on my jaw before he drops my face and turns his back to me. “That power you hold is unimaginable.” He takes a leisurely step away. I think he’s fighting to regain his composure. “Furthermore, your mother died five years ago,” he says in a deceivingly smooth voice. “The last Valla died five years ago. I doubt that’s a coincidence.”
I swallow my fear allowing anger to take its place. At the same time, Patrick’s veil of pristine calm slips, showing real emotion as his hands clench into fists.
“Are you going to hit me?” I take a step toward him, daring him to swing.
He pivots, and I get a glimpse of confusion before his hands relax. “Why ever would I hit you, love?” His voice is a lethal combination of sugary disgust. “If I were to hit you, well, if you are truly what they say then you would execute my entire extended family as retribution, because that’s just the sort of thing Valla blood would do.”
“You’re acting like you don’t even know me, Patrick. You just spent days combing through my head. I don’t know what brought this on, but I haven’t done anything to warrant this reaction!”
“Yet! You haven’t done anything, yet,” he says, “but you will. It’s only a matter of time.”
I throw my arms out to the sides. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Patrick?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything. We’re simply reviewing the facts. If you’re the last Valla, then you’ll kill everyone you love. That’s who you are. It’s in your Valla nature.” There is an internal struggle going on behind those eyes. “I really didn’t want it to be true.”
“How dare you! I am not a killer, Patrick! And I love the people in my life too much to hurt them!”
“I loved the people in my life, too,” he says with sadness, looking down for a moment. When his eyes lift to mine, hatred burns in their depths. “That was the last time I saw my dad, or did you already know that?”
I’ve lost track of the conversation. His dad? Then it clicks, and I say, “My dream?”
“Don’t play stupid!”
“I honestly don’t know why you’re so upset with me.”
“Let me in!” He raises an eyebrow and explains, “In your head. Let me in.”
“No!” I shake my head, baffled he’d even ask.
“Let me in, so I can see if you’re lying.”
“How stupid do you think I am? Honestly, Patrick?”
“I’ll get the information regardless. I’m asking more as a courtesy than a request.”
Acting out confidence I don’t feel, I take a step toward him, but he doesn’t back away. “I almost took you out on that boat,” I remind him.
“You could’ve killed me in the boat, but you didn’t. You should’ve killed me in the boat. Go ahead, try to kill me now.” He steps even closer.
I want to prove I’m not weak, that I can defeat him, but then I remember him hollow and broken in the boat, and I know there is no way I would hurt him. I’m not the monster he thinks I am.
“Patrick, I’m not going to hurt you. Why would I?” I whisper at a loss, letting go of my false bravado and showing him a vulnerability, I hope I won’t regret.
“Damn it!” he shouts, startling me, all swagger washed away. “You’re a Valla. That’s why!”
“Whatever you think you know about Valla blood is wrong! I’m not who you think I am.”
“You are!”
“Fine!” As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I feel my mind open to him. I will prove to him that I am not a monster. A shiver runs down my spine. Maybe it’s stupid to trust him.
“It’s stupid to trust anyone,” he says bitterly, already reading my thoughts.
“It can be lonely not to,” I whisper.
“Why were you prying through my mind?”
“I wasn’t prying. It was a dream.”
He laughs as realization dawns on him. “You really don’t know. I don’t know what to do with you. I don’t know whether to be frightened, angry, or turned on.” His fingers grip through his hair as he silently deliberates. “That wasn’t just a dream you had,” he says, letting go of his hair and dropping his arms. “It’s the last memory I have of my father.”
I recall the beautiful little boy in my dream screaming for his daddy. My stomach churns as I make the connection.
Patrick continues, “That’s a part of me I don’t let anyone see, ever. I’ve worked hard to conceal that memory.” He steps closer to me. “Yet you slipped right in. And you didn’t even mean to. You didn’t even know what you were doing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, as his fingers glide over my cheek.
“Nobody but a Valla could’ve done what you’ve done to me. Twice! Nobody but a Valla has those green eyes . . .”
“Lots of people have green eyes,” I say when his sentence falls, but he’s not listening.
“Nobody who wants to live helps a Valla,” he finishes in a whisper, dropping his head to avoid my eyes.
“I’m not a killer, Patrick.
His fingers press into my lips, his anger entirely gone, replaced by a look filled with sympathy and acceptance. “You will be.”
I take a step back, offended he’s calling me a killer, yet more disturbed he’s speaking as if resigned to the idea like he would expect nothing less from me, a Valla blood.
“My mother died,” he says suddenly.
“So, you know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”
“I lost everyone. My dad disappeared and my mother died in my arms.” He turns his face to the dark sky.
“I’m sorry,” I empathize, reliving my own painful memory. I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. I feel my future hanging in the balance.
He’s perfectly still, but eventually, his blue eyes find mine, and he breaks the excruciating silence by accusing, “You don’t know how dangerous you are.”
“I do know, and it scares me knowing what I could become, knowing others will fear me. But nobody gets to tel
l me who I am! Only I decide that and all I know for sure is that I’m a human being with human blood pumping through my human veins with all of my human parts. Isn’t that what you said? Anyone can be dangerous given the right circumstances. I don’t want to be a monster like the people who hunted my mom or the dozens before her just because of a name. Those who hunt and kill us are evil, yet they label us as the demon spawn. How do they justify slaughtering innocent lives because of a label they invented?”
He winces.
“I am Emily Burk, and the only thing you do by adding Valla to my name is put me in danger.” My emotions come bubbling to the surface, and I turn to leave before I cry in front of him. I head back toward the parking lot.
“You can’t walk away from me! Especially now!”
I stop mid-stride and turn. “Why? My instincts were right! You are trouble. I knew it the second I laid eyes on you.”
“I’m your best chance. I can protect you.”
“You think I’m a killer!” I throw my hands out. “Why would I trust you, Patrick?”
He steps forward. “Have I done anything to harm you? I’ve done nothing but help you, love. I even gambled my life to help you discover who you are. Does that sound like someone who wants to hurt you?”
I recall the boat ride, the night around the fire and the closeness. He held me together when I was falling apart, yet I don’t think it’s enough.
“I don’t want your help, Patrick.”
“You do if you want to remain yourself.”
“What does that even mean? No, you know, I’m fine. You should walk away. Protect yourself. I’m dangerous! Remember?” I turn away and begin walking in the direction of my car.
“I’m not leaving,” he says, only a few steps behind.
“You said yourself, those who help Valla blood end up dead.” I remind him, without looking back.
“Emily, if you don’t stop them, they will kill you.”
“I know!” I shout, spinning around. “I’ve read the list of death! But I don’t see any attainable solution other than hiding, which I was doing a damn good job of before you strolled into town! So what do you expect me to do? Call said individuals hell-bent on killing me and say hey, please stop slaughtering my bloodline. We’re not monsters, and we don’t actually have demon blood.”
“You’re being juvenile, and besides, there’s no reasoning with them. The only way to stop them is to kill them.”
“So that’s it? Kill or be killed. Those are my only options?”
“It might not be tonight or tomorrow, but if you don’t stop them by force then someday they will track you down.”
Carefully, I step closer to him. “How do you know?”
His fingers tangle in his already knotted hair. “I know more than I should.”
“How?”
“My mom worked for them.”
My heart stops. “What?”
“They’re the reason she’s dead.”
Once my heart starts back up and I remember how to breathe, I ask, “Do you work with them? These monsters!”
He drags his hands down his face and shakes his head. “How could you even think . . .” He releases a breath and his eyes connect with mine. “When my mom realized what was really going on, she went rogue, and they murdered her for it. They also abducted my father and, in all likelihood, eliminated him too. How could you think I’d work with them, Emily? Do you think I’d let anyone use me?”
“I have no idea what you’re capable of.”
“That’s an insult. You know me, Emily.” He reaches for me, but I take a step back.
“What else are you keeping from me, Patrick?”
“I’m not keeping anything from you. I usually don’t discuss my past because it’s irrelevant and nobody needs to hear another sob story. Your denial is what’s making this more difficult. Those monsters who killed your mother are aware of your existence. They are searching for you, Emily. It’s only a matter of time before they find you.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as a chill travels through my body.
“Let me protect you,” he pleads, taking advantage of my temporary paralysis by moving closer until he’s standing right in front of me.
I look up into those beautiful, sad eyes of his. “We are not friends, Patrick. Look at us; we spend most of our time fighting and the rest of the time, we’re . . . er . . .”
He tilts my chin up and his lips fall on mine. It’s a loaded kiss like he’s trying to make me understand. I don’t like the possessive undertone as he holds me to him. I push away mid-kiss and lower my head onto his chest. He thinks he needs me. I felt it in his kiss, I hear it in his mind, and I see it in the wounded expression he wears. I find my emerald eyes reflected in his. My eyes may as well be demon-red because they give me away, screaming, I am Valla, the last of the “demon blood.”
He thinks he can protect me and maybe he can, but Patrick is a conundrum to me. His Jekyll and Hyde act is too hard for me to follow. His intensity is scary even when he’s being sweet. He muddles my thoughts and stirs things up in me, but the idea of needing him in any capacity is too much. I may trust Patrick enough not to hurt me, but I can’t afford to need him. Dad, on the other hand, has always had my back and kept me safe.
“Please, Patrick, I need you to leave me alone,” I whisper. I move away before I lose the tears I’m holding back.
“I can’t,” he says with an ache in his voice. “You’re Valla—”
“Isn’t that enough reason to leave me alone?” I say over my shoulder.
He catches my wrist. “I’ll keep you safe. You can trust me.”
I look down at his hand on my wrist. “Then. Let. Go.”
He releases me, appearing genuinely betrayed.
I jump in my car, shove the key in the ignition, and throw the car into drive. I maneuver out of the parking lot and press the gas pedal to the floor. My car shoots forward only for me to slam on my breaks at a red light. My eyes fill to the brim with unshed tears, and I want to be as far away from him as possible before they spill over the edge. Rain sprinkles down on my windshield, and that’s all it takes for the warm droplets to trickle down my face. I ignore them and clench my jaw tighter. I am not ready to fall apart. Not yet.
The light turns green and I floor it. I speed through the next set of lights, turn the corner to get onto the highway and merge into traffic. Rain falls heavily from the dark sky, and I flip on my windshield wipers. Even with the relief from the wipers, the road appears blurry through my tears. I wipe at my eyes with no relief as new tears continue to rain down my face. The dam that held them back for the past five years has collapsed, and now there’s no stopping the flood.
Merging again, I take the next exit. With trembling hands, I pull into an empty gravel lot and turn off the engine. I sit and listen to the rain beating against the car roof. I droop over the steering wheel and sob.
My body convulses with each vibrating breath. Tears soak my lap as fear takes hold, crawling over my skin to burrow into the marrow of my bones. The only time I cried this hard was when my mom died, and that experience landed me in a psych ward. My tears increase as my mind unwillingly wanders down memory lane.
It feels like hours pass before I calm myself enough to be rational. The tears have subsided, but the pain lingers. I turn the key in the ignition, but my car refuses to come to life. I try it again with the same result. I check to make sure the vehicle is in park. I know I’m not out of gas. I try to start the car one more time and get nothing.
Unbelievable!
seventeen
It’s eleven o’clock and I’m stranded. Dad should be in New York by now, but when I call his cell phone it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave him a message about my car breaking down. I contemplate who else to call. My sister is at the beach with Dan. Morgan is working at the hospital. Ben is in Florida until Friday. Oh wait, today is Friday. He said he had a late flight, but maybe . . . I already have my phone to my ear
before I know I’ve made the decision.
“Hey,” Ben answers on the second ring.
“Umm. Hi.” My voice is hoarse.
“What’s wrong?”
I clear my throat. “My car won’t start.”
“Where are you?”
I look around without seeing anything familiar. So stupid, I can’t even tell him where I am. “Umm, an exit off the highway. There’s a shady gas station and an old mattress factory.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he says, before hanging up.
I can’t believe he knows where I am, but I’m relieved he’s on his way. He didn’t even comment on the fact that my car is dead.
I drop the phone in my lap wishing I could forget the last week, wishing for it to simply fade away like a bad dream. Maybe ignorance is bliss. I close my eyes, but my mom’s death is beneath my eyelids, her whisper is in my ear, and her kiss on my forehead. I open my eyes with a gasp. My heart sinks and my breath staggers. I don’t want to see or relive these memories. The tears return and soon I’m sobbing all over again.
The buzzing phone pulls me back to the present. Ben’s face lights up the small screen. I don’t want him to find me like this, so I toss it onto the passenger seat and let it ring. I clear my tears and straighten in my seat. My sobs soften, barely audible above the torrential downpour.
Headlights pull into the gravel lot and shine through my windshield. When the lights turn off, I see Ben’s face behind the steering wheel. I lose all composure, buckling into myself, crying like a little girl.
Ben is out of his car attempting to get my passenger-side door open. There is no handle, so he knocks on the window, the heavy rain already weaving through his dark hair. It drips down his handsome face and has already soaked his t-shirt. I reach to open the door, but he’s already crawling into the back seat.
