I put on my boots and head into frosty darkness, pausing to take a last look at the little white house. The sleek black Mercedes is parked next to the kerb. Of course, Emelia Raven can’t travel in a van with a bunch of guards. It’s obvious my parents were just humouring me when I insisted on taking the feed buses back and forth to the estate. Now that everything has fallen apart, the illusion as to who I really am breaks down.
Bertrand holds the car door open. His craggy face is soft, his blue eyes gentle. I can’t look at him for too long, because I’ll start crying. I wish he could carry me, as he has so many times, wrapping me in safety. But one thing I’ve learned is that I need to carry myself.
‘Did you get the tree in the pot, from the living room?’
‘We did. Would you like it planted on the estate?’
‘Yes.’
A memory. Of Laurel, of the brief happiness I had with Michael. Something that will live after I’m gone. As I get into the car, the door closing, it’s as though the mantle of Raven wraps around me, dark as wings; protection and suffocation at the same time.
No longer a cage, though. I’m ready to lean into this power I hold. I might be going home, but it’s my choice to do so, despite everything that’s just happened. As we head out of the Safe Zone, leaving the glittering safety lights behind, I feel as though I am ash and bone, a creature made of the same darkness as the endless night outside the window.
I’m furious. With Jessie, with Michael, with Mistral, with everyone. With the fact that, in one night, Jessie has exposed the main problem facing me as I try to change things for humans. We’re weak, almost defenceless, against vampires. And they are everywhere. For fuck’s sake, the Safe Zone I’m in is supposed to be vampire-free. But it isn’t, as I well know. Vampires live here freely, mingle with humans, stand around drinking their blood from plastic packets while making polite conversation, as though it isn’t the most monstrous thing, like talking to a cow while eating a hamburger.
I pull out my phone but there are no messages, even though I’ve left three for Michael. He’s read all my texts, though. I try calling again, but there’s no answer.Fine.I block his number. If he doesn’t want to talk, then neither do I. I get that I should have told him. But I also thought he understood me better than that. Understood that I’d been through something traumatic and needed time. That I might not want to share something that could be used against me or my family. That I didn’t want to be betrayed again. That I’m carrying a huge weight of responsibility, and need to be careful. It was my choice not to tell him, and maybe it was wrong, but I can’t change that now. My only regret is hurting him.
It’s a mistake I’ll have to live with.
Eventually we pull up outside the house, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. My mother hurries down the front steps, her arms wide. She pulls me close, then my father is there, his arms around us both.
I sob, just a little. My mother’s hands flutter around me, my father’s expression grave, his golden eyes glittering.
‘I’m all right.’ It’s not really true but I want to go inside.
My mother frowns. ‘We’ve called the doctor.’
‘I just need to rest.’
‘Then you shall rest.’ My father puts his arm around my shoulders, my mother on my other side as we step into the velvet confines of the house. I kiss my parents, then head up the curving golden stairs, alone with my thoughts. Alone with my sorrow, my rage.
Alone.
ChapterTwelve
FORGE AND FIRE
Sweat beads my brow, dampens my spine, my muscles screaming. I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding. All the things I shouldn’t be when I’m with a vampire.
‘Again,’ Varin says.
I drop into a plank for what feels like the fiftieth time, my arms trembling. I bend my elbows, grunting through another punishing round of push-ups. Varin circles me, idly twirling his sword, the slender blade catching faint shimmers of light. The earthen floor is cold, smells like iron and blood. I finish and drop onto my front, panting. I’ve been in the training ring for the past two hours, Varin putting me through my paces.
‘Enough,’ he says. ‘Take a break.’
‘I can keep going,’ I gasp. ‘We haven’t hit the pads yet.’
‘Are you sure?’ Varin extends his hand, helping me to my feet. ‘You feel very warm. Take water, at least, if you want to keep going.’
I do want to keep going. I want to keep going until I can’t, until I fall to the ground and it swallows me, taking away the pain.
I haven’t been able to sleep much since coming home, my dreams turning to nightmares of Laurel’s staring eyes, of guilt and blood and Jessie, and Michael saying he hates me. When I do sleep, I wake each time with a pit in my stomach, grief heavy in my chest. I keep my pain caged, not letting it out. But it steals through the bars, haunting me with visions of warmth and strong arms, memories on the edge of sleep and waking.
The only thing that helps is throwing myself into work or helping my father with his research into the mysterious community he discovered. And pounding my body into oblivion in the practice ring with Varin.
He and Father have kept their promise to train me, despite my mother’s concerns. I don’t know what she’s so worried about; I’ve not been allowed near a blade, apart from a wooden practice one. Father says it’s heavier than the real thing, so I’m using it to strengthen my shoulders and arms, Varin taking me slowly through the Morningstar pattern of strikes. I want to do it faster, though. Can almost feel it, when my father flashes through the sequence, like a melody etched on my soul. So, for several hours a day, I push myself through exercises until I can’t take any more, then fall into bed for a few hours’ sleep, and start the cycle again. If I’m to be alone, I should at least be able to defend myself.
It’s not just the disastrous end to my time in the Safe Zone. My trauma goes deeper, back to Kyle and his betrayal. And even before that, the years of feeling trapped, of screaming silently in the hope someone would let me out. Kyle showed me, though, that the only person who could set me free was me.
