Tempted: A House of Night Novel

by P. C. Cast

  “Go ahead,” he said in that pain-filled whispery voice that sounded too human to be coming from such an inhuman-looking creature.

  “Alright, well, here goes.” Stevie Rae worked as quickly and as gently as possible. The hole in his chest was terrible. She flushed it with water and picked off as much of the twigs and crap from around it as possible. His feathers made what she was doing super weird. There was chest and skin under them, but it was just so dang odd! He had feathers, and under them she found downy little black puffs that felt soft as cotton candy from the state fair.

  She glanced at his face. He’d laid his head back down on the towel pillow. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was breathing in short little pants.

  “Sorry, I know this hurts,” she said. His only response was a grunt which, ironically, made him seem more guy-like. Seriously—the grunt was well known to be a major guy communication method. “Okay, I think it’s ready for the moss.” She spoke more to soothe her own nerves than his. Tearing off a section of the moss, she carefully packed it into the wound. “It doesn’t seem as bad now that it’s not bleeding so much.” She kept chattering, even though he barely responded to her. “Here, gotta move you a little.” Stevie Rae rolled him further on his stomach so she could get to the rest of the wound. He pressed his face into the towel and stifled another moan. Stevie Rae spoke quickly, hating that agonized sound. “The hole where it came out of your back is bigger, but it’s not as dirty, so I won’t have as much cleaning to do back here.” It took a larger chunk of moss to cover the exit wound, but she got it done quickly.

  Then she shifted her attention to his wings. The wing on his left side was tucked tightly against his back. It didn’t look like it had been injured at all. But his right wing was another story. It was totally messed up—shattered and bloody and hanging lifelessly down his side.

  “Well, I guess it’s time to admit I’m totally out of my comfort zone back here. I mean, the bullet wound was nasty, but at least I knew what to do about it—kind of. Your wing is something else. I have no clue what to do to help it.”

  “Bind it to me. Use the cloth strips.” His voice was gravelly. He didn’t look at her and his eyes were still tightly closed.

  “Are you sure? Maybe I should just leave it alone.”

  “Less pain—if it’s bound,” he said haltingly.

  “Well, shit. Okay.” Stevie Rae got to work tearing another towel into long strips, and then knotting them together. “All right. I’m gonna arrange your wing on your back kinda in the same position your other wing’s in. Is that right?”

  He nodded once.

  She held her breath and picked up his wing. He jerked and gasped. She dropped it and jumped back.

  “Shit! I’m sorry! Crap!”

  His eyes slitted and he looked up at her. Between panting gasps he said, “Just. Do. It.”

  She gritted her teeth, leaned forward and, blocking out his muffled moans of pain, rearranged the shattered wing into a position that vaguely resembled the unwounded wing. Then, with barely a pause for breath, she said, “You’re gonna have to hold yourself up a little so I can get this tied around you.”

  Stevie Rae felt his body tense and then he heaved himself up, leaning mostly on his left arm, so that he was in a tilted-over, half-sitting-up position—and his torso was far enough off the floor of the shed for her to quickly wrap the towel strips around him and secure the wing.

  “Okay, got it.”

  He collapsed. His entire body was trembling.

  “I’m wrappin’ your ankle now. I think it’s broken, too.”

  He nodded once.

  She tore more towel strips and then securely wrapped up his surprisingly human-looking ankle, just like she remembered her volleyball coach wrapping up one of her teammates’ weak ankles back when she was in high school at Henrietta High, home of the Fighting Hens.

  Fighting Hens? Okay, her hometown’s mascot had always been silly, but at that moment it struck Stevie Rae as super-funny, and she had to bite her lip to keep a hysterical giggle from bubbling out of it. Thankfully she got herself under control in just a couple breaths, and managed to ask him, “Are you hurt bad anywhere else?”

  He shook his head in a short, jerky motion.

  “Okay, then I’m gonna stop messin’ with you, ’cause I think I got the worst of it tended.” When he nodded once in agreement, she sat on the floor beside him, wiping her shaking hands on one of the leftover towels. Then she just sat there, looking at him and wondering what the heck she was going to do next. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she said aloud, “I hope I never have to tie up another broken wing in my whole dang life.”

  His eyes opened, but he didn’t speak.

  “Well, it was totally horrible. That wing hurts worse than a regular broken arm or leg, doesn’t it?”

  She was talking because she was nervous, and Stevie Rae didn’t expect him to answer, so she was surprised when he said, “It does.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she continued, as if they were two normal people having an ordinary conversation. His voice was still weak, but it seemed easier for him to speak and she guessed immobilizing his wing had really helped his pain level.

  “I need more water,” he said.

  “Oh, sure.” She grabbed the dipper, glad her hands had stopped shaking. This time he was able to hold himself up and tip back his own head. She only had to pour the water into his mouth, or beak, or whatever the correct word for it was.

  Since she was already up, Stevie Rae decided she might as well gather up the bloody pieces of towel, thinking that she should get them away from the shed. The red fledglings’ sense of smell wasn’t as good as hers, but it also wasn’t as undeveloped as regular fledglings. She didn’t want to chance any of them having a reason to sniff around there. A quick search of the shed and she discovered extra-big lawn and garden trash bags, into which she stuffed the rags. There were three towels she hadn’t used, and without really giving it much thought, she unfolded them and spread them out, covering as much of the Raven Mocker as was possible.

  “Are you the Red One?”

  His voice made her jump. His eyes had been closed and he’d been so quiet while she was cleaning up that she had assumed he was asleep, or maybe passed out. Now those human eyes were open again and trained on her.

  “I don’t know how to answer that. I am a red vampyre, if that’s what you mean. The first red vampyre.” She thought briefly about Stark and his completed red tattoos, which made him the second red vampyre, and wondered where he was going to fit in their world, but no way was she going to mention him to the Raven Mocker.

  “You are the Red One.”

  “Well, okay, I guess I am.”

  “My father said the Red One was powerful.”

  “I am powerful,” Stevie Rae said with no hesitation. Then she held his gaze and continued, “Your father? You mean Kalona?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s gone, ya know.”

  “I know.” He looked away from her then. “I should be with him.”

  “No offense, but from what I know of your daddy, I think it’s best that you’re here and he’s not. He isn’t exactly a nice guy. Not to mention Neferet has gone completely batshit crazy, and the two of them are like peas in a nasty pod.”

  “You talk a lot,” he said and then grimaced painfully.

  “Yeah, it’s a habit.” A nervous habit, but she didn’t add that. “Look, you need to rest. I’m gonna go. Plus, the sun started to come up five minutes ago, and that means I need to be inside. The only reason I can walk around at all out there is because the sky’s so full of clouds.” She tied the trash bag closed and scooted the water bucket and dipper within his reach—if he was able to do any reaching. “So, bye. I’ll, um, see ya later.” She started to hurry away, but his voice stopped her.

  “What will you do with me?”

  “I haven’t figured that part out yet.” She sighed and fidgeted, picking nervously at her fingerna
ils. “Look, I think you’re safe here for at least one day. The storm isn’t letting up and the nuns aren’t going to be messin’ around out here. All of the fledglings will probably stay inside until sunset. By that time I should know what to do with you.”

  “I still do not understand why you don’t tell the others about me.”

  “Yeah. Well, that makes two of us. Try to rest. I’ll be back.”

  Her hand was on the door latch when he spoke again. “My name is Rephaim.”

  Stevie Rae smiled over her shoulder at him. “Hi. I’m Stevie Rae. Nice to meet ya, Rephaim.”

  Rephaim watched the Red One leave the building. He counted one hundred breaths after the door clicked closed, and then he began shifting his body until he’d forced himself into a sitting position. Now that he was fully conscious he wanted to take inventory of his injuries.

  His ankle was not broken. It pained him, but he could move it. His ribs were bruised but, again, he didn’t think any of them were broken. The bullet wound in his chest was serious, but the Red One had cleaned it and packed it with moss. If it didn’t fester and putrefy, he would heal. He could move his right arm, though it was difficult, and it felt unnaturally stiff as well as weak.

  Finally, he shifted his attention to his wing. Rephaim closed his eyes and probed with his mind, following sinew and ligaments, muscle and bone, through his back and down the length of his shattered pinion. He gasped, almost unable to breathe, as he truly comprehended the full extent of the damage the bullet, and then the terrible, ripping fall had done.

  He would never fly again.

  The reality of the thought was so horrible that his mind skittered away from it. He would think of the Red One instead and try to remember everything Father had told him about her powers. Maybe he would find some clue in his memory that would explain her unusual behavior. Why had she not killed him? Perhaps she still would—or at least perhaps she would betray his presence to her friends.

  If she did, so be it. Life as he had known it was over for him. He would welcome the chance to die battling anyone who tried to keep him prisoner.

  But it hadn’t seemed she’d been imprisoning him. He thought hard, forcing his mind to work through pain and exhaustion and despair. Stevie Rae. That had been the name she’d given him. What was her motive in saving him if not to imprison and use him? Torture. It made sense that she had kept him alive so that she and her allies could force him to tell her all he knew about Father. What other reason could she have for not killing him? He would have done the same had he been lucky enough to have been in her place.

  They will discover that the son of an immortal will not be easily broken, he thought.

  Stressed beyond the reserves of even his great strength, Rephaim collapsed. He tried to position himself so that he could attain some relief from the agony that wracked his body with every beat of his heart, but it was impossible. Only time could relieve his physical pain. Nothing would relieve the soul-deep pain of never being able to fly again—of never being whole.

  She should have killed me, he thought. Perhaps I can goad her into it if she returns alone. And if she comes back with her allies and attempts to torture my father’s secrets from me, I will not be the only one to shriek in pain.

  Father? Where are you? Why did you desert me?

  That was the thought foremost in his mind when unconsciousness finally claimed Rephaim again and, at last, he slept.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Zoey

  “Hey, remember you promised the nun you’d go to bed. And I’m pretty sure that didn’t mean going to his bed.” Heath jerked his chin at the door to Stark’s room.

  I raised my brows at Heath.

  He sighed. “I said I’d share you with the stupid vamps if I had to, but I didn’t say I’d like it.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not sharing me with anyone tonight. I’m just going to make sure Stark’s okay, then go to my own bed. Alone. By myself. Got it?”

  “Got it.” He grinned and then kissed me softly. “See you soon, Zo.”

  “See you soon, Heath.”

  I watched him walk away down the hall. He was tall and muscular and looked every inch the star quarterback. He was all set to go to OU on a full-ride scholarship next year, and then, after college, he was going to be either a cop or a fireman. Whichever he chose there was one thing for certain—Heath would be one of the good guys.

  But could he do all that, would he do all that, and also be a vampyre High Priestess’s consort?

  Yes. Hell, yes. I am going to make sure Heath gets the future he’s dreamed of and planned since we were kids. Sure, some parts of it will be different. Neither of us planned on the vamp stuff. Some parts of it will be hard—like, well, the vamp stuff. But the truth is, I care about Heath too much to force him out of my life and I care about him too much to mess up his life. So we are just going to have to make it work. Period. The end.

  “You going to go in, or are you just going to stand out here and stress?”

  “Holy crap, Aphrodite! Could you not sneak up and scare me?”

  “No one was sneaking, and ‘holy crap,’ is that a curse? ’Cause if it is, I’m afraid I’m going to have to wake up the Potty Mouth Police and have them make an arrest.” Darius followed Aphrodite into the hall and gave her a be nice look, which made her sigh and say, “So. Stark’s not dead yet.”

  “Gosh, thanks for that update. You just made me feel ever so much better,” I said sarcastically.

  “Don’t be a pain in my ass while I’m trying to be nice.”

  I turned my attention to the only responsible adult in the area and asked Darius, “Does he need anything?”

  The warrior hesitated for only an instant, but it was an instant that I caught. Then he said, “No. He is doing well. I believe he will recover completely.”

  “Well . . .” I dragged out the word, wondering what the hell was really going on. Was Stark hurt worse than Darius was admitting? “I’ll check on him real quick, then I’m going to bed.” I raised a brow at Aphrodite. “You and I are roomies. Darius is rooming with Damien and Jack. Uh, that means you’re not sleeping with him ’cause that would freak the nuns. You got that, right?”

  “Oh. No. You so didn’t need to give me that Anne of Green Gables lecture! Like I can’t behave with some propriety? Are you remembering my parents purchased propriety for Tulsa? My. Dad. Is. The. Mayor. I can’t believe I have to deal with this shit.”

  Darius and I stared, speechless, as Aphrodite worked herself up into a seriously extraordinary hissy fit.

  “I heard the damn nun. Plus, it’s not like this abbey is exactly romantic. Like I want to have hot monkey sex while the penguins cross themselves and pray? Ugh. Not hardly. Goddess! I may melt if I stay here too long.”

  When she paused to take a breath, I inserted, “I didn’t mean I didn’t think you knew how to act. I was just kinda reminding you, that’s all.”

  “Yeah? Bullshit. You’re a really bad liar, Z.” She walked over to Darius and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Later, lover. I’ll miss you in my bed.” She gave me a disgusted glance. “Just say night-night to boyfriend number three and get your butt to our room. I do not like to be awakened after I’ve retired to my boudoir.” Aphrodite tossed her long, gorgeous blond hair and twitched away.

  “She’s really amazing,” Darius said as he gazed lovingly after her.

  “If by amazing you mean a total pain in the butt, then I’ll agree with you.” I held up my hand, stopping his she’s-really-not-that-bad comment before he could make it. “I don’t want to talk about your girlfriend right now. I just want to know how Stark’s really doing.”

  “Stark is healing.”

  I could almost see the big gap in the rest of his sentence. I raised both brows at the warrior. “But . . .”

  “But nothing. Stark is healing.”

  “Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”

  Darius waited a beat and then he smiled a little sheepishly. �
�Perhaps because you are intuitive enough to feel that there is more to it than that.”

  “All right, what is it?”

  “It’s about energy and spirit and blood. Or rather Stark’s need of and lack of them.”

  I blinked a couple times, trying to understand exactly what Darius was saying, and then I sucked in air as the lightbulb went on over my head and I felt like a total idiot for not understanding sooner. “He’s been hurt—like I was—and he has to have blood to heal, just like I did. Well, why didn’t you say something before? Crap!” I kept babbling on as my mind raced, “I don’t especially want him to bite Aphrodite, but—”

  “No!” Darius interrupted, looking more than a little upset at the thought of Stark drinking from his girlfriend. “Aphrodite’s Imprint with Stevie Rae makes her blood repellent to other vampyres.”

  “Well, hell! Let’s get him a blood baggie or whatever, and I guess I could try to find a human he could bite . . .” My voice trailed off. I hated, hated, hated thinking about Stark drinking from anyone else. I mean, I had already had to deal with his extracurricular biting before he’d pledged himself as my Warrior and gone through the Change. I had hoped that the days of his biting other girls were behind him. I still hoped it! But I wouldn’t be so selfish that my feelings kept him from getting what he needed to heal.

  “I’ve already given him some blood the sisters had on ice in the infirmary. He’s not in danger of dying. He will recover.”

  “But?” I was exasperated that Darius’s sentences all seemed to have these big unfilled-in blanks at the end of them.

  “But when a Warrior is pledged to the service of a High Priestess, there is a special bond between them.”

  “Yeah, I already know that.”

  “That bond is more than just an oath. Since ancient times Nyx has blessed her High Priestesses and the Warriors who serve them. The two of you are linked through the Goddess’s blessing. It gives him intuitive knowledge about you that makes it easier for him to protect you.”