Aweek passes within my new cage. I don’t get much in the way of information, but the little bits I do know from what Sterling shares when he drops off my food is that Andras has indeed granted me asylum here for the time being. And that Aamon has likewise ordered them to keep their distance. I’d fight harder to get more information, try to venture out—maybe even escape, seeing as how I’ve just exchanged one cage for another. But I’m not sure of the point.
There’s nothing waiting out there for me anymore. My father has exiled me, which means I won’t be accepted anywhere within the High Quarter or the MidLands. And I am currently a prisoner of the leaders of the ungoverned district, so all that's left is the least inhabitable place in theworld—the WildLands.
And no matter how hard I try, each passing day makes it harder to get up, to fight, towantto find a solution. My physical wounds have long since healed, and yet I feel as broken as ever. Trapped in the solitude of this room, all I can do is think on the series of events that led me here. Relive those haunting moments time and time again. And the more I think on them, the deeper I fall. The heavier I feel.
Not to mention each sunrise is just another mark of how much time has passed since my last treatment. I can feel the power surging inside of me, growing larger with each night, weakening my body by its ever looming presence. And I’m terrified of what will happen when I can no longer contain it.
It’s been nearly a week within these four walls when there’s a knock at my door. The sun set several hours ago, marking the start of the Blood Order’s day. I’m lying in my bed—Sterling’s bed—facing the bathroom and watching the flicker of the overhead bulb with distinct concentration. I don’t turn to look towards the door, don’t call out to acknowledge whoever’s there.I just wait for them to drop off the next round of food and leave me be.
The door creaks open and I hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. But I choose to ignore it. I can tell it’s not Sterling. Laurel has stopped by, every now and then. Mostly to deliver food during the daylight hours. The sunmust not affect her the same it does the others. But regardless of who it is, I am in no mood to see or talk to anyone.
Soft footsteps pad their way through the room until a figure is stepping into my field of vision. My body tenses when my eyes focus on the raven hair and tattooed arms.
Aamon, come to finish me off, at last.
“Sterling has informed me that you haven’t been adjusting well to your time with us.” This is the first time he’s come to see me since that night he lost control. His arms are crossed over his chest. He’s in a plain white T-shirt and ripped black jeans. He looks so different from the male who confronted me a week ago. No cut, no leather jacket. No mask. And with the way he’s not even smiling to reveal his fangs, I can almost forget the bloodlust that compels his every action. Almost.
But then I close my eyes and I can feel the weight of his hands against my throat, can see visions of him feeding from Quinn in that frenzied, mindless manner. So instead of answering, I turn over and face the other way.
Aamon sighs, not in resignation or disappointment. But in frustration. As if he’s irritated at the assignment of handling a spoiled child. If I had the energy to smile, I would for the simple fact of knowing I’m causing him such frustrations.
“Evangeline, you need to get up. Need to get out of this room.” He circles to the other side of the bedso that he’s in front of me once again. He makes a show of sniffing the air before he adds, “Need to take a shower, while you’re at it.”
“Why do you care what I do, Aamon?” I ask briskly. I fix my eyes on a spot on the wall behind him, refusing to find those dark, hypnotizing eyes. “You’ve already made it more than clear that you don’t trust me. Nor do you want me here. So what does it matter to you if I rot away in this room, in this bed? Just leave me be.”
“Because,” he breathes out, sinking to a squatting position so he’s eye to eye with me. I wasn’t expecting that and I retreat slightly, eager to put more distance between us. His arms are still folded over his chest and he perches beside the bed with such silky grace that I’m momentarily entranced.
“My crew cares. And I wouldn’t be the leader that I am if I didn’t listen to their complaints. Especially after they have voiced them for the millionth fucking time.” He adds that last part under his breath, as if he’s talking more to himself than me. But this time I do crack a small smile.
He tracks the movement instantly, his eyes lingering on the corner of my lips. There’s an elongated silence that stretches between us, one I can’t quite explain. It’s hard to tell if he’s evaluating me, watching for cracks in my facade or slips of whatever mask he seems to think I’m wearing . . . or if he’s looking forotherreasons. Nothing about him makes sense to me. First he reviles me, then he comes in here and acts like I’m the dramatic one to be wary of him.
“Besides,” he says on an exhale as he rises silently back to standing. “I can’t very well have the daughter of the High Quarter Alpha rotting away in my home. It would be bad for business.”
He steps out of my line of sight and I find myself rising up to lean against the headboard to keep my eyes on him. “Business?” I ask, curiosity consuming me.
He nods, hands sliding into his pockets as he leans against a desk in the corner beside the bathroom. “Your presence within the ungoverned district is stirring enough chaos as is. Imagine the havoc it would wreak if they found you dead in this room.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I raise a brow towards him. “Some half assed assurance of safety for my life from Andras’ ever loyal right hand doesn’t really domuch for me.”
“My kind . . . vampires." He sighs, ignoring my comment and gesturing to his fangs. He lets the sharp points flash briefly as he curls his lips and parts his mouth. “As you well know, we run the ungoverned district. Have built a rather successful business out of coordinating a sort of ecosystem here. Amidst those touched by the Arcane.”
I stare blankly at him, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. He pretends not to notice my annoyance at his monologue, continuing: “Andras, our alpha, has created a barter system, a sort of currency amongst the variations of our kind. To ensure we stay fed and violence within the streets of our territory remains minimal.”
“That’s not what I hear,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest to mimic him. The ungoverned district is known for its violence. Yet, he’s standing here trying to convince me of how business savvy and professional they are.
He hums through pursed lips, a hint of a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. He drops his gaze, shaking his head subtly. “Yes, that’s not surprising to me. The city of Requiesse does love to spread their propaganda. How else would they keep souls out of our streets and in your Temple?”
I open my mouth to argue, but the fight dies on my tongue. Because I have no desire to defend them anymore. Not that there was ever that strong an urge within me. But now? Now my own family has chewed me up and spat me out.
“So what’s your point?” I ask, instead. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here,” Aamon says, “because I’ve come to retrieve you. That is, if you’ve had enough time sulking in this room. I have something I want to show you.”
Aamon steps outside my room, waiting for me as I quickly shower and pull more clothes out of Sterling’s dresser. There’s not much that fits me, but I manage to make another T-shirt and a ripped pair of skinny jeans work. I find the boots I wore here at the foot of the bed, the only article of clothing that seems to have made its way back to me.
I’m pulling them on and lacing them when Aamon knocks again, cracking the door open.
“I’m ready,” I call out, standing from the bed and tossing my hair back so the damp ends tickle the back of my arms.
