Aamon gestures forward, just as the males ahead clear to make way for him. I squint to focus my eyes in the dark. To try and process what it is I’m seeing. At first I think it’s mounds of dirt, upturned soil at the base of the hill. Perhaps even . . . fabric? But the longer I stare the more the horrific image focuses in my mind.
I gasp, stumbling backwards. Aamon catches me, but won’t let me turn away.
“You need to see it, Evangeline. To accept the truth.”
“What truth?” I screech, turning my head and fighting to break free of his hold. “That you and your kind are murderers? That you are as vile and dark as I was taught you were?” I’m kicking and flailing now, suddenly fearful that he brought me out here to drain me. To take my life and throw me on that pile.
The pile of bodies.
“Evangeline.Look,”he orders, clamping his hand around the base of my jaw and forcing me to face the carnage. So I do. I open my eyes and take in the gruesome scene before me. The look of terror and pain affixed on the faces of the bodies I can see. The discoloration of their skin from days of decay. Thestenchthat I cannot believe didn’t hit me the moment we arrived. I look and I tremble, and I feel the last shred of sanity I was clinging to snap.
“Why are you doing this?” I whimper. And despite the fact I feel like my entire world is crumbling around me, the members of the Blood Order continue on as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. They press forward, pairing off and grabbing bodies as they lay them out and take their count.
“We aren’t,” Aamon bites back. “You’re not looking. You’re notthinking.Look at their clothes, Evangeline, their identifying markers. How would our kind get ahold of this many High Quarter or MidLand citizens without causing outrage? Without having every Watcher in the city on our ass in mere minutes?”
I shake my head, pulling my eyes away from the working Order members to peer back at Aamon over my shoulder. “What are you saying?”
“You know what I’m saying. Our kind didn’t do this. But you know who did.”
“No,” I whisper, pinching my eyes shut and shaking my head. But even as I deny it, the pieces start clicking together in my mind. How Tamiel would brag about the lowered numbers of citizens defecting to the ungoverned district, how the Watchers were succeeding in their orders to purge this world of the Arcane. How that simple fact didn’t match up with the number of citizens in servitude to the gods.
“This is a near monthly occurence,” Aamon goes on, not waiting for me to admit I believe him. “This mass dumpingof bodies. We come out here as often as we can to give them a proper burial.”
“But why?” My hands are pressed to my mouth, trying to hold in the scream that’s building in my throat. “Why look after them? They weren’t members of your territory. They are no one to you.”
Aamon turns me to face him at last, and I thank the gods for the small mercy. I cannot look at the massacre for another moment.
“They are touched by the Arcane, Evangeline. That is how they met such a fate. They were touched by the Arcane and captured by the Watchers, forced into servitude and experimentation and gods know what else before they sacrificed their lives and were tossed aside as if they were nothing. Which means they are my kind.Ourkind.” He gestures to the members of the Blood Order now digging in the soil. “They may not have lived amidst our people, but they belonged to our world. And we will do right by them and lay their bodies to rest.”
“So what?” I ask bitterly. I’m not mad at him, but anger is flooding my system as I try to process the truth that is facing me. My world as I knew it is ending. All of that emotion has to go somewhere, or I’ll explode. And he’s the closest target. “You come retrieve me after a week of imprisonment—afterattackingme and nearly ripping into my throat—only to tell me some fairytale about how you're actually a business savvy vampire with a kind heart that not only looks after hispeople in life, but finds time in his busy schedule to come take care of the dead, as well? Of strangers you don’t even know?!”
“I’m not claiming to be anything,” he growls. “I’m not pretending to be anything other than what I am.”
“But that’s what you’re doing, yes? Trying to convince me you’re not the monster I was raised to believe you are.”
“Iama monster.” Aamon’s words cut through the night air, rooting me to my spot. “Do not mistake my intent, Angel. I am every bit the dark, villainous creature your father has raised you to believe I am.” He looms over me, the night’s absence of light making his eyes appear even darker than they'd been back at the clubhouse. “I have taken countless lives. I have relished in the warmth of fresh blood pumping beneath my bite and found pleasure in the pain of my victims as they broke beneath my hold. And I will do it time and time again without even a moment’s hesitation.”
He’s so close to me now, leaning in and breathing down my face. His hand is wrapped around the back of my neck, and I don’t even recall when that happened, why I didn’t try to fight it. “But what you need to understand, what I brought you out here to admit, is that I am no different than your Father.Weare no different than the Watchers. We do what we must to survive in a cold and cruel world. The only difference is we don’t sit atop our ivory throne pretending to be something we aren’t.”
And without another word, he spins me back around and forces me to watch as the Blood Order begins to bury the bodies. I’m shaking, boiling with rage. And my brain cannot keep up with the horrors it is witnessing.
It’s not all that surprising, after everything my father has subjected me to. I have lived a lifetime of torment. But I never thought he carried such persecution onto the citizens of his city. There’s so many bodies laid out in the grass. Male and female. Young and old. I let my eyes pore over them, taking in every detail and forcing myself to accept the truth Aamon’s sharing with me. Not because I trust him, but because I have long since stopped trusting my father.
My eyes snag on something, one of the bodies on the edge of the treeline. The one Zeke is working to bury. “Stop!” I shout. I try to run forward, but Aamon holds me in place. “Don’t touch her!” I yell again, fighting to break free of Aamon’s grasp. He lets me go finally and I run to where Zeke is, dropping to my knees beside the body.
It’s the black hoodie that catches my eye. It feels so odd, so foreign amidst the mass grave of High Quarter citizens. Everyone else is dressed in what was once pristine creams and beiges, now sullied by the mud surrounding them. Or perhaps even the more mundane attire of the MidLands. But not her. Not that hoodie. I lift my shaking hands over the body, hovering just above the folds of the fabric that are hiding her bloated face.
I shake my head, vaguely aware of the tears that are now rolling down my cheeks. I back up a fraction of an inch, not wanting to dirty her with them. I let out a strangled sob mixed with a hysterical laugh at the irony in that thought before pulling back the hood to confirm my living nightmare.
Dina.
I collapse on top of her, not caring as the stench fills my nostrils, not caring that it must have been at least a week since her life was taken. “No. This can’t be real.” I’m speaking to no one. Perhaps I’m saying it for myself. Perhaps I’m saying it to her, in hopes she will sit up and reply. Laugh at the extent of the joke she’s managed to pull over on me. But Dina never was one for jokes.
“Evangeline.” I hear my name somewhere behind me. And it’s not Aamon’s voice this time. Sterling lays a gentle hand against my back, attempting to gather me in his arms. “We need to lay her to rest. We cannot remain this close to the WildLands for much longer without gaining the attention of the creatures beyond the border.”
I squeeze my eyes shut harder, swallowing the whimper that is building in my chest. I wait a moment, two. Saying my silent goodbyes to the only friend I’ve ever known. I don’t want to utter them aloud, don’t want to share them with anyone but her. Perhaps ours wasn’t a true friendship but it was all I had. And now I have nothing.
“You have us,” Sterling responds. And I don’t have the wherewithal to wonder how he knew what I was thinking. Or perhaps if I accidentally said it aloud. I just nod, finally letting her go and retreating into Sterling’s arms.
