“She’s mediocre at best. And far too ornery to be worth the trouble.” He snickers, and I canfeelthe sound against my skin. Can feel his hands on me in that alleyway as he pinned me to the wall and took what he wanted.
Aamon mimics his laughter, a vicious undertone in it that has even the wraith hesitating. “Zeke. Sterling,” Aamon calls out. He stands, stepping back. “Get the jugs.”
Before I can process what that order could possibly mean, both males are slipping into action. Sure enough, they bring forward two plastic jugs, with funnels on top, and set them up on either side of the wraith’s chair. He twitches, looking from side to side nervously as he struggles more desperately against his restraints.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He flinches when Zeke grabs his wrists and breaks the restraints, fighting for the briefest of moments to break free. But both Zeke and Sterling overpower him easily and he’s restrained again within a few seconds, his arms fastened even more securely to the armrests of his chair.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Aamon says, watching the members of his club carry out his orders without hesitation. “I’m going to drain you first. One clean cut down each of your arms.” He pulls a knife from a holster at his hip, flashing the blade in the light produced by the singular bare bulb hanging above us, before tossing it to Sterling. “I’d say it’s for your little quip about our girl, but honestly I’d be doing it either way.”
My heart skips a beat at his claim of me, shaking me out of the daze I’ve fallen into. Even my own parents, the two souls in this world responsible for my life, consistently denied their attachment to me. My mother with her silence, my father with his cruelty and ultimately his exile.
“After all, we’d hate to let all of that blood go to waste." He looks back at me over his shoulder, throwing a wink my way. In the time it takes him to turn back around, Sterling has cut into both arms of the male with swift precision. The wraith cries out, ruby red blood instantly pooling against his forearms until it runs over into the funnels below. “And then, when you’ve restocked our supply for the night, I’ll letthe Watcherdecide what to do with you.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” the wraith argues. He pulls against the armrests, making himself bleed out faster, filling the jugs with a quickening haste. “I’m not the monster here,sheis!”
I tense. Even though I’m grateful for the gesture of them bringing him here, I’m desperate to be rid of the vile creature and terrified he'll reveal my dark truth to them. Therefore revealing it to Andras. And I’m not ready for what that might mean.
“You’re really going to sit here and accuse her of being the villain after the things you did . . . or rathertriedto do to her?” Aamon cocks his head to the side, hands in his pockets as he awaits the wraith’s response.
“Oh, they don’t know, do they?” He laughs, a rough bark that shakes me to my core. “This is rich. The daughter of the High Quarter Alpha hiding behind the Blood Order when they don’t even knowwhatit is they are defending.” He makes his best attempt at a tsking noise as he narrows his eyes at me, his head lobbing with the blood loss that’s surely affecting him at this point. “So, so messy.”
“What is he talking about?” Aamon’s hand wraps around my arm, brow furrowed as he tries to pull me back from the creature.
“Please,” I beg. The word is a whisper, featherlight between me and the wraith. Inside, I’m repulsed by my own actions, reduced to begging my own attacker for his discretion.
“Evangeline.” Aamon’s voice is low. And while it’s not exactly a threat, it sends a chill down my spine. Because I know we're teetering on a precipice, a moment in time we will never come back from. So much is weighted on this moment and I’m scrambling to hold onto it, begging it to freeze, to stop, to turn back. But the vicious intent in the wraith’s eyes is obvious, and I know a lost cause when I see one.
“She’s one of us,” the wraith says at last. The words wash over me in slow motion, as if time itself has slowed down to make this moment even more agonizing. To punish me further.
“I’m not,” I whisper, shaking my head. As if denying it further will somehow save me now, when it hasn’t saved me for the past twenty-five years of my life.
Aamon looks from me to the wraith and back, trying to comprehend what’s happening.
“Oh, you are." The wraith chuckles loosely, his head hanging low. “I don’t know what the fuck kind you are, but I know the Arcane when I see it. And you aredefinitelyArcane-touched. More like Arcane-possessed, actually.”
“Stop,” I shout, trying to keep the magic simmering beneath my skin at bay. It’s waking inside me, stirring at its mention. But I want more than anything for it to disappear, formeto disappear.
But he doesn’t stop. He goes on and on, retelling the horrors of that night for the boys. The ones who brought me this peace offering in an attempt to make amends, to show that they accept me. The ones who will never look at me the same way again after they hear about my darkness, after they understand the full extent of the power that corrupts my blood.
“I’ve never seen such a dark, obscene creature,” he drawls, that sickening smile still plastered on his face. Like he’s getting off on tearing me down. “Such a thirst for blood, such a need for violence. I thought wraiths were bad, but honey, we ain't got nothing on you and those black tipped claws.”
“Stop!” The word rips through my lungs, echoing off the walls of the garage with the power laced through it. I can’t see straight, my head spinning as I back away from the scene. I can’t contain it, can’t bury it like I normally do. It’s been too long since my last treatment. And now they will all see the truth. I’m crying, shrieking. Clinging to what small shred of sanity remains within me. Quinn moves in front of me, hands up as he tries to approach. Sterling is making his way around the wraith, who just sits there laughing.
"Stay away!" I cry. I don’t want to hurt them. But the power is too much. It’s burning me from the inside out, corrupting every inch of my body. I scream as it rears its ugly head, as my teeth elongate into fangs and my fingers shift into claws. Ebony bleeds into my skin, staining my fingertips as well as my soul. And I know it’s over, that there will be no coming back from this. The monster has emerged, at the sacrifice of the angel.
But through all of the confusion, through the mess of agony and power and never-ending thirst for blood, one thing breaks through. My eyes lock on the wraith, his rough voice chuckling at the chaos he’s caused. And it’s all I can focus on as I lunge forward, fingers unfurled as they find purchase against his face. Blood explodes between us, coating me as my body hits the ground.
My vision closes in on me, blurring at the edges. I stare up at the wraith from somewhere beneath his feet. He is everywhere around me all at once. I can’tget rid of the feel of him on my skin, nor the memories of that night. My body calls for revenge, for his blood. I lick my lips, satisfied to find it there. And the last thing I see as my consciousness slips into a black, bottomless sea, is the glint of a silver blade as it cuts effortlessly through the neck of the wraith and separates his head from his body. At the hand of the broad shouldered masked male standing behind him.
“Why didn’t she tell us?” I ask no one in particular as I pace back and forth at the foot of her bed. Sterling is sitting in the chair from his desk, moved as close to her bedside as possible. His hand clutches hers, his fingers stroking steady circles against her skin. A pang of jealousy hits me again.
“Perhaps because we failed to provide the space to do so.” Sterling’s voice is hollow, and I know he doesn’t mean the words to be an insult, but they tear through me just the same.
Quinn's on the other side of her bed, though more removed from the moment. He leans back against the wall in the corner, making room for Laurel, who’s tending ardently to Evangeline. She hasn’t woken since the garage. Hasn’teven so much as stirred, despite whatever shit Laurel has been doing.
I’d been the one to carry her here, hands shaky as they curled around her form. Fear like I’ve never experienced before vibrated through my body. It hit me harder than I thought it would—the thought of losing her so quickly. I pause my pacing, turning to face the bed.
“What the fuck is taking so long?” The words are louder than I mean them to be. Angrier, too. But my control is slipping with each moment she remains unconscious.
