A cold chill seeps into my bones as reality crashes over me. If Nicholas is right--if I am pregnant--I have to stop taking so many risks.
I fight to get away from the witch, plowing my elbow against her head, and she laughs as I roll on top of her. Then I smile and clock her in the face.
She chortles, her mouth bloody from my punch. "Nice try, princess." She grabs my necklace and snaps the chain from my neck. The glittery purple glow ignites in her hand again as she shouts. "Animam tuam!" The light levitates from her hand and slams into my stomach.
"Oh, my God. Oh, my God!" I've never felt so ill in my entire life as I collapse back, my stomach radiating with so much light I can hardly see.
Through the brightness, I spot Laylen and Aislin working quickly to remove the Mark of Malefiscus from a witch's wrist while the others close in on them. I blink crazily, waiting for the spell to do something--hurt me, kill me, turn me into a bunny or something else equally as crazy. The thought makes me violently sick and overwhelmed with guilt.
I should've just stayed inside. If not for myself, for it.
I stare down at my belly, feeling the smallest bit of relief when nothing seems to happen.
The witch's expression drops before she grabs hold of my arm, whispering words I don't understand.
I dig my fingers into her hands, stabbing my nails into her skin. "Let me go." I jerk back, but she tightens her grip.
"You're the one," she whispers, her eyes widening in awe. "It's you."
She has to mean the star. Shit. This is so bad since she's marked. What if word gets back to Stephan that she saw me here?
No. I can't let that happen.
I crane back my arm before slamming my fist into her face, my knuckles cracking against her nose, the sound enough to make me sick. Her eyes roll back and her lips part as she slips into unconsciousness and slumps against the ground.
I jump to my feet, only breathing freely again when I see Aislin and Laylen are safe, and the other witches are wandering around, free of the Mark of Evil, confused over how they got here.
I dust the snow off my clothes. "This one knows who I am," I tell Aislin, picking up my locket the witch ripped from my neck.
"Okay, I'll make sure to erase her memory before I take the mark off," Aislin says, walking over.
I nod, feeling guilty over erasing someone's mind. Even if it's to protect, having my own mind wiped clean makes me have a soft spot for anyone else who has to endure the loss of their memories. Then I look down at my stomach and remember that drastic measures have to be taken to protect everyone.
I retreat to the house, not wanting to watch Aislin as she slips her fingers into the witch's head to extract her memories.
Laylen races after me, snagging my hand as we enter the kitchen. "It has to be done, Gemma. No one can know where you are."
I bob my head up and down, but tears prickle at my eyes. If I had never messed around with visions to begin with, this mess wouldn't exist. I keep the thought to myself, though, because Laylen would only try to convince me none of this is my fault. That's just who he is--a kind, caring person who feels bad for everything and who's always worrying about me. I don't want that. I want the same thing for him as he wants for me--for him to live a happy life.
I rub my stomach, which isn't glowing anymore yet burns like I'm hungry. I hold my breath until I hear the steady beat of a second heart. I'm surprised by how relieved I am to still hear it, and then I feel the softest tap of a prickle prodding at the back of my neck.
"The witch, she threw a spell at me," I tell Laylen with my hand still pressed against my stomach.
"What kind of spell?" Aislin asks as she walks inside. She shuts the back door, locking the dead bolts before collapsing against the door, looking exhausted.
I rack my mind for the words the witch uttered when she threw the spell at me. "Animam tuam."
Aislin's eyes pop wide, and her back straightens as she stands upright. "Oh, fuck."
Panic knocks the breath out of me. "What'd she do to me?"
"I don't . . . It's just that . . ." Aislin stares at the floor, avoiding my gaze.
"Just spit it out," Laylen and I shout at the same time.
Aislin gulps, meeting my gaze. "She took your life."
"No . . . No . . . No . . ." I shake my head as my knees give out on me. I listen for the heartbeat, hoping to hear it again, but everything seems so quiet--too quiet.
"We'll fix it." Aislin rushes to me. "Gemma, I can fix it. You're going to be okay."
"It's not me I'm worried about!" I cry, tears streaming down my face as I rock back and forth.
"Gemma . . . I don't . . ." Aislin's brows knit as she stares down at me. Then her confusion shifts to total and utter horror when she notes how protectively I'm hugging my stomach. "Oh, my God."
"What's wrong?" Laylen's expression bounces between worried and puzzlement as he looks back and forth between Aislin and me.
Aislin crouches down in front of me and leans in, keeping her voice low. "Gemma, are you . . . Are you pregnant?"
I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to deal with the reality I've kept trapped inside for weeks now. "I don't know . . . Maybe. Sometimes I swear I can hear this heartbeat, and Nicholas said . . ." I give a shrug then shake my head, fighting back a sob.
A moment or two ticks by where Aislin simply gapes at me in shock. Then, in the snap of a finger, she collects herself and stands to her feet. Her fingers fold around my arm before she gently pulls me up and steers me toward the doorway.
"Where are we going?" I let her guide me out of the kitchen with a very baffled Laylen tailing behind.
"I'm going to help you first," she says with determination in her eyes.
"And then what?" I ask.
She pauses, her gaze dropping to my stomach. "And then we're going to find out for sure what's going on with you."
I nod, feeling the slightest bit of relief that I'm no longer completely alone in this. But what I really want is Alex here with me to help me go through whatever lies ahead.
Maybe that's why when Aislin lays me down and orders me to rest while Laylen keeps an eye on me. I fall asleep, finally dreaming of Alex and not my death. Maybe it's the stress, but whatever the reason, I welcome the break and let myself tumble into dreamland.
"What's going on?" Alex asks, appearing in front of me. He glances around at the flat, grassy field around us that seems to lead to nowhere.
Seeing him here, standing in front of me, even if it's just a dream, sends my body into a mad frenzy. There's no spark or electricity flowing between us, yet somehow the need to be close to him is more potent than it has ever been.
"I have no idea," I say then crash my lips to his.
He groans, grips my waist, and pulls me close. Our legs, hips, chests align perfectly as he slides his tongue deep into my mouth.
"I've missed you," he says between kisses, his hands wandering all over my body. "God, I can't believe we're here."
"Me, either," I whisper against his lips, my fingers trailing down his chest to the bottom of his shirt. Gripping the fabric, I lean back and tug it over his head.
His lips pull into a lopsided grin as his hands travel to the bottom of my tank top. With his eyes trained on me, he slowly lifts the shirt over my head and discards it on the ground. His palms are searing hot as he glides them up my spine then unhooks the clasp of my bra. He throws that on the ground, too, and then presses me closer, kissing me slowly, deliberately, as he lowers me to the ground.
The grass brushes my back as his warm body covers mine. Beneath him, I feel safer than I have in weeks.
We kiss for what feels like hours, only breaking apart to strip off the rest of our clothes. With a thrust of his hips, he then slips deep inside me as I grip onto him for dear life
"I just want to stay here," I whisper as I struggle to catch my breath.
"Then let's stay here forever," he says then kisses me passionately, rocking his hips against mi
ne.
I groan, my nails clawing into his shoulder blades as I drift farther and farther from reality.
"Harder," I beg. "Please."
He gives me what I want while I try to hold on to him for as long as I can, but I suddenly feel him slipping away from me.
"No . . ." I plead, but it's too late. He's already gone . . .
My eyes snap open, and I jolt upright in bed.
"What's wrong?" Laylen asks, quickly getting to his feet and hurrying over to my bed.
I swiftly shake my head, trying to catch my breath. "Nothing. I was just . . ." Just what? Having a dream?
But if felt so real.
"You look flushed," Laylen notes, reaching for my forehead. "And you feel a little warm."
As I think about the hot, sweaty sex Alex and I had in my dream, my skin warms. "I think I'm just a little overwhelmed with . . . everything."
He glances down at my stomach then fidgets with a leather band on his wrists. "Yeah . . . That's understandable."
An awkward silence stretches between us, one I don't like at all.
"Are you hungry?" he asks, breaking the quietness between us. "Because I can go make you something to eat if you are." His eyes beg me to be hungry, as if he's in desperate need to get away from the awkwardness already building between us again.
I nod, even though I'm not. "Yeah, food would be great."
Looking relieved, he dashes out of the room.
I lie down on the bed again, letting the loneliness sink in, desperately wishing Alex was here.
ALEX
I fucking hate the smell of these kinds of places. Every single goddamn person reeks like they just rolled out of a gutter.
"You seem down, sweetie," a woman wearing a long, grey dress says as I pass by her. Her blonde hair is way too thin for her round face, and her yellowish-brown teeth are cracked. She extends her hand toward me, her sharp nails skating down my chest to the top of my jeans. "Maybe I can help you with that?"
I push her back with intolerance. "I'm looking for a man named Draven. Ever heard of him?"
From the look on her face, I can tell she has, but she has no intention of telling me. At least that's what she thinks. I'll get her to tell me, though, no matter what I have to do.
She smashes her lips together. "Never heard of him." She spreads her fingers across my shoulder. "Why don't I help you forget about this Draven?" She leans in and puts her lips next to my ear. "Let me make you forget about him. I can make you forget about everything if you'll let me." Her hand starts traveling toward the top of my jeans again.
I snag her wandering hand, clutching it tightly as I lean toward her. "I know what you are, so cut the fucking act and take me to Draven."
She steps back, smiling her Banshee smile. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Banshees are the worst of the faeries. I know this, just like I know the ragged state of this woman in front of me is only armor. Beneath her facade, she's probably less worn out, even pretty, and also alluring. Her seductive attempts work well on humans and can even put them in a trance, but since I'm a Keeper and know she's really a sign of death, her attempts to seduce me don't work.
"If you know what I am," she purrs, "then you know your future is coming to an end."
"I'm not asking you about my death." I jerk on her arm. "I'm asking you to take me to Draven."
She traces her pinky nail under my chin, scratching the skin. "What makes you think I know him?"
"My patience is wearing thin," I warn through clenched teeth. "Either you'll willingly take me to Draven, or I'll fucking make you take me to him. It's your choice."
She keeps grinning, but I detect the slightest wince as I grasp her hand more tightly. "How much is seeing this Draven worth to you?" Her brow arches. "Your wealth? Your strength? Your life? Tell me, would you give me your life and soul to see this man?"
"My soul already belongs to someone else," I say, calm and in control, trying not to think of Gemma or how much I miss her. I want to be with her, kiss her, touch her, feel her like I did in that dream this morning.
It was so strange. Usually, my dreams aren't very vivid, but last night, I dreamt I was with her, kissing her while slipping deep inside her, and it felt so real.
"And that's fine. I'm not asking for your soul now," the Banshee says. "If you want me to take you to Draven, all I ask is that you let me be the one to collect your soul--your life--when you die." Her grin widens as her lips curl. "Vow to me that, when you die, I can be the one to carry your soul to the Afterlife, and I shall take you to Draven."
I consider what she asks, but not for very long, because in the end, it doesn't matter. Only one thing does--saving Gemma.
"Fine. Just take me to him."
She grins in pleasure, completely oblivious to the fact that she can't have my soul even when I die. Like I already told her, I already promised my soul to someone else. Literally. And a Blood Promise is much stronger than any other vow.
She turns toward the alley that runs between two lofty, steel buildings, and I follow her. As she walks, her blonde hair thickens, her rough skin turns smooth, and her teeth whiten to a shade so bright the moonlight reflects against them.
"This way," she instructs then ducks behind a large dumpster.
I reluctantly follow and discover a door is hidden back there. She unhooks a chain that's around her neck, and on it is metallic key. She puts the key in the lock and then pushes the door open, and we step inside a small room.
The murky air reeks like pond scum, and I have a hard time keeping track of her movements as her silhouette blends in and out of focus. I squint my eyes, refusing to look away from her, worried if I do, she'll vanish.
We hike down a narrow tunnel until we reach the end where there's another, much larger room with walls the color of blood. In the center is an oval table surrounded by eight chairs. In the corner, a Black Angel is sleeping in an iron cage, such a sad creature that I pity sometimes, being trapped until someone frees them. I remember when Gemma almost released one. Thankfully, I got to her in time; otherwise, she would've turned into one and been imprisoned.
"Have a seat," the Banshee says then exits the room through a door at the back of the room.
I sit down and mentally prepare what I'm going to say. I know if I'm wrong about all of this, then I've wasted a lot of precious time. Although, part of me doesn't want to be right. Part of me doesn't want her to be one of them.
When the door opens again, the blonde Banshee returns with a man beside her. He has dark hair and eyes and the palest skin. Many would probably mistake him for a vampire, but I know better. He's more dangerous than a vampire, and even the knife I have tucked in my jacket might not do any good against him.
He takes a seat across from me, taps a cigarette against the table, and then puts it in his mouth. The Banshee moves up beside him and lights the cigarette for him before shuffling back.
After he exhales, his eyes narrow on me. "I was told you want to talk to me about something?"
I carry his gaze, refusing to be a coward or feel fear, remaining calm, just like I was taught. "I need to know the location of a particular woman."
Draven remains quiet for a maddening amount of time, thrumming his fingers against the table and puffing on his cigarette. "The Lord of the Afterlife doesn't associate with mortal women, so I'm not sure how I can help you."
"I don't believe this woman is mortal," I say with my hands resting steadily in front of me on the table, showing I don't fear him. "I think she might be one of them." Without looking away from Draven, I nod in the direction of the Banshee.
He deliberates what I said while flicking ash from his cigarette. "This woman you seek, does this she have a name?" he finally asks, taking another drag.
I take a deep breath before speaking so my voice will come out steady. "Alana." Just hearing her name makes me feel as though I'm being strangled.
Draven waves his hand in front of him impatiently. "Alana . . . ?
"
A lump rises in my throat, exactly like it did when I read her name on the pages of the journal. I swallow hard, forcing the lump back down, right along with my pain.
"Her name is Alana . . . Alana Avery."
GEMMA
"I know you're there," I say aloud as I stare up at my bedroom ceiling. "I can feel you watching me."
Nicholas chuckles. "How can you tell I'm here without the ring on? Or are you just mentally picturing me like we both know you've done a thousand times?"
"No, I can hear you breathing." I roll my eyes, playing it cool, even though I'm a nervous wreck on the inside over what's going on with my body. I push up on my elbows and rest against the headboard. "How can you even breathe if you're dead? It doesn't make any sense."
"How can you see me if I'm dead?" he quips. "That doesn't really make any sense, either."
"It kind of does, though. I mean, I am kind of a freak of nature." I lie back down and turn to the side, resting my head on the pillow. My thoughts drift to my stomach, to what might be inside it. I wonder if it'll be normal. Or strange like me. Or what if it isn't anything at all? Never was. Or worse, what if the witch's spell hurt it? I quickly shake the thought from my head. No. I'm not ready to go there just yet.
"Would you please go away?" I ask Nicholas. "I'm trying to sleep, and your heavy breathing is making that really hard."
"Oh, my hell. You are so dramatic sometimes. Now, would you please stop feeling sorry for yourself? The witch didn't take your life or your little bun growing in your oven."
I crinkle my nose at his word choice then realize something else, snapping my eyes open. "Wait, how'd you know about the witch thing?"
"Because I was listening," he answers. "God, what did you think? That just because you couldn't see me, I'm not there?"
I sit up, scanning my room as a cold chill slithers up my spine. "How often do you do that? Just hang around listening like a creeper?"
A low chuckle reverberates through the room. "Maybe you should start leaving the ring on; otherwise, you'll never know when I am or when I'm not. Or what I see." Another chuckle fills the room, making me shiver. "Nice place for a Keeper's mark by the way."