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Sure, if I found her, I could probably get both of us out alive. These boys were drugged out of their minds. I could steal another cloak, carry her out if I had to. But then what? Where could I take her?
No, this would take planning. It’d take help. I’d need a boat, a destination.
I’d helped a friend escape before. I had no doubts I could do it again.
A figure popped from the crowd, catching my eye. His was a familiar walk. There was a familiar set to his shoulders. I edged closer. He’d been affected by the smoke, and his movements were broad, sloppy. He adjusted his mask. Josh.
His presence shocked me. Though why should it? All the guys were here.
I spun in place, taking in the crowd. They were swaying, boisterous, moving to the drumming, growing louder. My head spun with smoke, but cutting through it all was the sharp stab of betrayal, sobering me.
Josh. He was one of them.
Betrayed. Duped. Used. Shamed. Emotions reeled through me, shrill alarms sounding in my head, clearing the smoke from my senses.
I focused, watching, suddenly sharper than ever. This creepy museum of Acari weaponry, an unmistakable Buck knife among them. I had to get out of there. But not before I made a vow.
I’ll come back for you, Emma.
I wended my way back through the crowd. I needed a door. Was it because I was regaining my senses, or was the chaos and revelry intensifying? I spotted Josh again, and I ducked behind a group of boys who I was certain weren’t familiar to me. He was at the head of a pack, other Trainees trailing him like dogs. He was acting the loudest. The rowdiest.
It disgusted me. Who was he? How had he fooled me all this time?
I thought back to the days he’d been friendly with Lilac. Back then, I’d believed I couldn’t trust him. I should’ve kept my resolve.
I couldn’t watch him anymore. I had to escape. Suddenly, this was a roomful of wolves, and I was prey, hiding in plain sight. I’d entered the castle thinking this a suicide mission, but now more than ever, I needed to live.
I strode through the door and stopped short. This wasn’t the one that led back to the staircase. Instead, I found myself standing in a vast dining room. At its center was a massive table of black wood, thick and scarred with age, like something Beowulf might’ve dined upon.
Only instead of a meal laid atop the table, there was a girl.
She was alive.
It was Frost.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bodies jostled behind me. Crap. I’d started something. Guys were on my heels, following me in. Sheep, all of them.
The drumming was even louder now. I glanced from my roommate to the incoming tide of Trainees. Could I help her? I had to help someone, to do something. To take some action and assert my own humanity.
A hand shoved at my back, someone eagerly pushing past. Another hand, grabbing my arm, shoving me aside. They were filing in, focused only on getting nearer to the table.
To Frost.
She wore a long white robe and looked oddly serene for someone who was tied to a table. A small platform stood near her head, draped with a plush crimson cloth. A dagger rested on top, as did Frost’s weapon—that distinctive halberd that could be hers and hers alone.
Pity and sadness swamped me. Why was she so calm? Why wasn’t she fighting? Had she been drugged? Brainwashed? Or did Frost actually believe this was some great honor?
It’d be just like my stupid vamp-loving roommate to believe she was being rewarded. She’d embraced the vampires, giving them her all—her faith, her efforts, her zeal. It was tragic that this girl who’d imagined herself the vampires’ pet would, in the end, be so completely undone by them. And I had no doubts, she was about to be completely undone. If that dagger was any indication, it’d be in the most horrific of ways.
Poor Frost. Would anyone miss her? She’d had no friends. She’d suffered the torments of that boy—Marlin, was it?—she’d suffered in silence, believing it was right. That it was her place. The island had brainwashed her, and it was pathetic and tragic both.
Just as I was being brainwashed, a tiny, traitorous voice said in the back of my head. The only difference between Frost and me was that I was putting up more of a fight. Killing to keep myself alive was one thing, but killing out of spite was another thing entirely. It had to stop.
“Come, boys. ” The voice resounded through the cavernous dining room, startling me from my thoughts. It was the woman who’d been speaking with Alcántara—I recognized her voice instantly. Sonja.
Was this what the Spanish vampire had been protecting me from? Would I have been trussed on a table for a bunch of Trainees to ogle? And what would happen if I were caught now?
