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Judge didn’t smirk, though. Normally he would’ve smirked. Tracers were hard-core enough, ruthless enough, to do what it took to find and bring girls like me to this bleak rock. Some of them were decent, though, deep down. And Tracer Judge fell into that category.
He often let me stay after class to do independent studies. He taught topics in science such as infiltration, forensics, combat medicine—the cool stuff that I loved. He was okay, for a Tracer.
Except these days there was something fundamentally not okay about him. Not since his secret love, my Proctor, Amanda, had been killed.
Though killed was a pretty tame word for what’d happened to her. Ronan had given me details I was certain I wasn’t supposed to know. She’d been tortured. Dismembered. Flung from a cliff.
I suspected Master Alcántara had been responsible for Amanda’s death. On our mission, I’d gotten a peek into the Spanish vampire’s interrogation techniques. They weren’t pretty.
Amanda had been going to meet Judge so they could escape. Together. And I was sure I wasn’t supposed to know that bit.
I had no idea what Judge would do if he found out I knew. Kill me? Who could guess? I’d learned not to trust anyone on this island. People—and I use that term loosely—played for keeps around here.
I still didn’t understand why Ronan had confided in me. For a Tracer who’d sneakily relied on his hypnotic, persuasive power of touch in order to get me here in the first place, he sure could act like a friend sometimes.
But as I was constantly reminded, friends were a bad idea. Friends could die.
Enemies, though—I had those crawling out of my ears. There were any number of girls—Acari, as well as the older Initiates and Guidons—who wanted to see my ass in a sling. Especially Masha and her pal Trinity—they were Annelise Drew Enemies #1 and #2.
Just the thought sent a chill creeping along my flesh. I’d wanted to escape. That could’ve been me…tortured, mangled, discarded.
When I’d taken the assignment to go off the island for a mission with Alcántara, I’d thought it would be my chance to make a break for it. To run as far away from Eyja næturinnar, this Isle of Night, as I could get.
Should I have tried to escape when I’d gotten the chance? There had been a moment on our mission when I could’ve fled. Would Carden have killed me if I’d tried?
Somehow I knew he wouldn’t have. In the same way I knew I couldn’t go far from his side if I tried.
All I’d wanted was to free myself, and yet I now found myself more entangled than ever. What I felt for Carden, this sensation in my body, was beyond thirst. It was a yearning. An emptiness that only Carden could fill. And I didn’t want that—at all.
Except, part of me really did. Want it.
Want him.
“Earth to Drew. ” It was my pal Yasuo, sitting next to me. A tall, cute vampire Trainee, he had the bluster that came with growing up in LA and the sensitivity that came from watching his Japanese gangster dad murder his mother. He singsonged under his breath, “Drew and McCloud, sitting in a tree—”
Yas could be such a guy sometimes. At the moment, his real damage was probably that he’d overheard Emma—his girlfriend and my best friend—mention how cute Carden was.
I stared ahead, hissing into my fist, “Shut up. ” But I forgave him instantly. I knew Yasuo had my back, and in a place like this, that was all that mattered.
Tracer Judge silenced both of us. “Is there a problem?” He said it with uncharacteristic sternness.
“No,” I told Judge quietly. “There’s no problem. ”
Ever since bonding with Carden, I’d been scattered. Fragmented. Unable to pay attention. Aware only of this itch I needed to
scratch. It was like experiencing the surliness of PMS, a parched thirst, a fever chill, and a deep-down wiggly boy-wanting feeling all at the same time.
I was off, and whenever I tuned in to the feeling, asking, What is my deal?, I’d remember: Carden.
Master Carden McCloud, ancient Scottish vampire, was my deal. I blamed him.
But I could never admit to that, so instead I lied. “It’s my fault, Tracer Judge. I let my focus wander for a moment. I apologize. ”
My formality seemed to mollify him, and the glare in his tired eyes eased a bit. “I repeat: What is the basic difference between combat medicine and emergency medical technique?”
Inhaling deeply, I used my breath to sweep my mind clear of Carden. Any once or future roommates, all conceivable friends or enemies, Amanda and Judge, Ronan…I relegated the lot of them into a tiny corner of my brain.
I sat straight in my chair, attentive Acari Drew once more. “The primary difference is that the EMT is the first responder, whereas, on a mission, if someone gets injured, the Watcher is the only respon—”
