She shot upright. “Where’s Christian?”
“He’s fine. Hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“Don’t worry, I know where he is. I found him upstairs but pretended I didn’t.” Vinh’s smile was short-lived. “He seemed like he wanted to be alone. I think … he has a lot to process.”
“Him and me both.” Tasha rubbed her eyes and noted the dark windows. “How long did I sleep?”
“Not long enough. Rest more if you want.”
“I can’t.” She yawned again and pushed hair out of her face. “I’m afraid of what I’ll see. I’m afraid that every time I close my eyes, I’ll see Lucas—as one of those monsters.”
“But it won’t actually be him,” Vinh reminded her. “He’s gone.”
“Is he? If he’d died—or even if he’d been forcibly turned—there would’ve been a line of mourners outside our door back there, offering condolences, bringing us flowers. But there was nothing. Not one word of acknowledgment. Even when they were staring at us … it was like we didn’t exist.”
“That’ll change with time.”
Tasha slumped forward, resting her face in her hands. “Will it, Vinh? You heard what Ronald said.”
He crossed the living room and sat beside her, first placing his gun and silver stake on a nearby table. “Ronald Ozera is a petty man who can’t see past his own ambition. This didn’t even happen to his brother and he’s ready to crumble right now. Whereas you? You’ll weather this. It’ll hurt, but you’ll come out stronger for it. You and Lord Christian both.”
“Really?” She uncovered her face and straightened again. “I don’t feel like I have much of anything left in me, let alone strength.”
“I can feel your strength.” He placed his hand over hers. “It shines around you. I feel it every time I’m near you. I have since the moment we met, back in our freshman history class.”
She looked into his eyes and saw that elusive and precious emotion that he usually kept concealed. The heat of his hand flowed into hers, and there was no obligation or utilitarian reason for that touch. When she laced her fingers in his, he didn’t pull away. “Will you still follow me if I run away?”
“Lady Tasha, I …” His other hand grazed her cheek, and she was surprised to feel him shake. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
Tasha was swimming in the darkness of his eyes, melting at the closeness of his body. Moments later, stark understanding sent a jolt through her, and euphoria gave way to bitterness. “Because you have to. Because they ordered you to.”
He shook his head. “No. I was lucky when I graduated. I had a few families to choose from, and I requested yours.”
“Did you? But I know … I know how hard it’s been for you. I see it. How it tests your discipline. I always thought …” She cast her eyes downward. “I always thought being assigned to us, to me, was agony for you. Why would you choose it?”
“Because … because I can’t stay away from you.”
His fingers curled into her cheek, tilting her face upward as he brought his mouth to hers. She stiffened, almost wondering if she was dreaming, and then surrendered to the kiss. His lips were the same as she remembered, soft and full, but the way they moved against hers had changed. He tasted her. He devoured her. A new intensity had ignited between them, almost a desperation. They were both older now, past the stage of dares and experimentation. This was a connection to another soul.
But, so help her, it was also desire. He always said she had a flame within her, and just then, she believed him. Every caress of his lips, every bold touch of his hands against her body … it all set her ablaze. And suddenly, there was heat and life in a world that she’d thought would forever be filled with coldness and death. The world still felt dangerous and lonely, but if he loved her enough to finally break with the taboos that said their connection was wrong, then maybe—just maybe—there was still hope in the world. Maybe she could change it.
She wrapped herself against him, ready to let go of inhibition and fear and propriety. Her hands slid under his shirt, greedy to possess him like she used to. He’d succumbed as well and started to push the straps of her tank top down.
And then they heard the scream.
They instantly broke apart, and in a heartbeat, the lust within her was obliterated by fear. The sound had come from outside, and despite the distance, there was no mistaking the complete and almost primal terror in it. Vinh shot to his feet, the silver stake and gun back in his hands. When silence fell—almost more sinister than the scream—he scanned the living room intently, his gaze lingering longest on the windows and the doorway that led to a hall connecting to the foyer and kitchen.
He handed over the gun without looking at her. “Take this. Go upstairs.”
Tasha started to tell him she didn’t know how to use a gun, but when she saw her brother appear in the living room’s doorway, the whole world slowed down. Her mouth couldn’t form any words. Her body couldn’t move. She couldn’t draw breath.
Vinh moved in front of her, murmuring as he passed: “That’s not your brother. Go.”
Tasha, still frozen, tried to truly, clearly take Lucas in. That’s not your brother. But he looked like him. His hair was the same—her hair, Christian’s hair. The features of his face were the same, down to a small mole by his left ear. Even his clothes were the same as they’d been the last time she saw him.
But the eyes … those weren’t the Ozera eyes. They weren’t her eyes or Christian’s eyes. The crystalline blue was all but gone, obscured by the bloody ring of red surrounding his pupils. And he no longer had the fair skin of a Moroi. This went beyond fair, beyond pale. It went beyond life. Lucas’s pallor was that of someone already in the grave.
Even if his eye and hair color hadn’t changed, Tasha would’ve known her brother was gone simply by the way he regarded them. That malevolence, that complete detachment from any sort of compassion or empathy … That’s not your brother. She was looking at some other entity wearing Lucas’s skin.
Tasha felt his gaze slide over her, but Vinh, approaching with his stake, remained Lucas’s main focus. “You were the lucky one,” he told Vinh. Again, it was surreal. Lucas’s voice … but not. “You got to live an extra day. An extra day in my little sister’s company.”
Vinh didn’t speak as he strode forward, totally honed in on his foe. He was moving at an angle rather than a straight line, intentionally drawing the action away from Tasha and the stairs that offered her escape. Tension crackled through both men, every part of them poised and waiting for the other to strike. Lucas still had his slim and lean build, but she knew he now possessed a strength that surpassed all of theirs. He snapped Nolan’s neck. Could Vinh stand against that? He’d been trained to, and new Strigoi were supposed to be less lethal than more seasoned ones—but still very, very lethal.
There’s a chance, she thought. Vinh might be able to hold his own against one fresh Strigoi. He could stake him. Stake her brother.
That thing is not my brother.
The window behind them burst apart, and Moira leapt through it, landing in the living room with far more agility than she’d ever displayed in life. She paused to brush glass off her designer jacket, but if that fastidious nature really had carried over to the undead, it was one of the few things that had. Like Lucas, there was no question that this creature that looked so like Moira Ozera contained nothing but evil.
Vinh realized it was over seconds before Tasha did. Both Strigoi sprang toward him at once, and the guardian brought his stake down toward Lucas, yelling, “Tasha, get out of here!” And then she could hardly see him at all because Lucas and Moira had tackled him to the floor. Tasha heard his screams, could make out his legs flailing, and then she finally came back to herself.
Feeling like a traitor and a coward, she turned away from the grisly scene and raced up the stairs, only to realize she didn’t know where Christian had ended up hiding. Don’t worry, I know where he is, Vinh had said. But Vinh c
ouldn’t help her anymore. For a frantic moment, she thought maybe it was better if Christian stayed hidden, but that was foolish. If a guardian had found him, two Strigoi with enhanced senses could. He needed her.
“Christian!” she shouted, staring around at the vast hall and adjacent rooms. “Christian, where are you?”
Below, the screams had stopped, and she couldn’t stand to think about what that meant. From a darkened doorway on the third floor, Christian stuck his head out, his eyes filled with terror. “What’s happening? They’re here, aren’t they?”
Tasha shot up the rest of the stairs. She shoved him back into the room and slammed the heavy wooden door behind them before turning on the light. They were in a rec room filled with vintage arcade games and various tabletop sports. There were no true windows, only a set of French doors that opened to a balcony. Another door, closed, looked like it was probably a storage closet.
“Help me,” she cried, grabbing a billiards table. She intended to buy them some time and block the door, but there was no time. There wasn’t time for anything. She hadn’t even gotten the table to budge when Moira and Lucas kicked through the wooden door. Tasha took hold of Christian’s hand and pulled him along as she backed up toward the balcony. “Those aren’t your parents,” she said to Christian, just as Vinh had told her.
She’d spoken softly, but Strigoi had superior hearing. “Of course we are,” said Moira. “And we want to be with our son.”
Tasha shouldered open the French doors behind her. They didn’t offer much of an escape, not here on the third floor of a house with oversized stories, but it still meant she could put a few more feet between them and her. “I’ll die before I’ll let you kill him,” she said.
Lucas moved closer, an animal on the prowl. “We don’t want to kill him. We want him to join us. You can too, but that’s your choice. It makes no difference to us. With or without your consent, we’re leaving with Christian.”
“You want to turn him? Keep him nine forever?” Tasha exclaimed.
“We want to keep him,” clarified Moira. “Keep him until he’s of age. Then awaken him.”
Awaken. The word Strigoi used for turn, making it sound like some sort of holy act. As horrifying as Christian being turned into an eternally nine-year-old Strigoi was, the thought of him being held captive by Strigoi for years until he was “of age” turned Tasha’s stomach just as much.
“There’s nowhere else you can go,” Lucas said. He was right. Another step, and she’d be fully outside on the balcony and completely trapped. He and Moira were so close now she could see their fangs—sharper and larger than a Moroi’s.
Moira knelt down and smiled at Christian. Blood gleamed on her jacket, blood that hadn’t been there when she’d crashed through the window. Vinh’s blood.
“Christian, don’t you want to come with us? Don’t you want us to all go to a new home together? Tell Aunt Tasha to stop being so selfish.”
Tasha didn’t need to remind Christian that these weren’t his parents. He cringed against her, his nails digging into her palm. Tasha raised the gun she’d been holding in her other hand.
“Don’t talk to him. Don’t come any nearer. This might not kill you, but silver bullets hurt.”
Lucas laughed. “Since when can you use a gun? You’re not going to hurt anyone with the safety on.”
Was it on? Tasha wasn’t sure. And she certainly didn’t know how to take the safety off if it was. She threw the gun down and pulled Christian all the way outside with her until their backs hit the balcony’s rail. “I’ll throw us both off!” she cried. “We’ll be dead before you can turn anyone.”
That gave the Strigoi pause, and they stopped advancing. Christian’s death was the only power she held over them because it thwarted what they’d come for. It wasn’t a power she wanted, though. She didn’t want Christian to die. She didn’t want to die. But if it came down to that or letting them—
Before she could complete the thought, Lucas struck, and no matter how many stories she’d heard of Strigoi speed, even after seeing them pounce on Vinh, Tasha still wasn’t prepared for how quickly it happened. Lucas shot out the door and snatched her away from Christian, forcing her to lose her hold on the boy. Without pause, Lucas bent down and sank his teeth into the side of Tasha’s face. Tasha’s scream was lost in blood and the press of his body on hers as he held her down in the doorway. Pain ripped through her, so maddeningly intense that she nearly lost consciousness. Another scream—Christian’s—forced her to keep her grip on the present, no matter her agony. Moira had dragged him into the room.
Desperate for any weapon, Tasha sent a burst of fire magic toward Lucas. It wasn’t much. She rarely practiced and was certainly no creator of fireworks. She could do all the cute parlor tricks most fire-wielding Moroi could, like lighting candles. She’d even flambéed cherries at a party once. What she did now had no real force, and certainly no precision, but it was enough. Flames licked along the edge of Lucas’s sleeve, and he let go of her and staggered back inside as he tried to pull the jacket off.
Pressing a hand to her cheek, Tasha steadied herself against one of the French doors and watched as Moira let go of Christian. She hurried over to help Lucas pull his jacket off, cautious about getting too near the flames. A big enough fire could kill a Strigoi. The two of them blocked Tasha’s way to the room’s main exit, though Christian now had a clear path. Tasha tried to tell him to run, but her mouth and jaw no longer worked properly. Her nephew stared at her with wide eyes as she frantically gestured, and she could only imagine what the boy thought of her ghastly appearance. But then, instead of turning around and running away, he shot forward and clung to her leg.
“I won’t leave you,” he said fiercely.
Lucas’s jacket lay on the ground now, the fire stamped out. Tasha found herself in exactly the same situation as before: stuck between the Strigoi and the balcony. Well, not exactly the same situation. Now half her face was gone. But the smoldering jacket gave her a glimmer of hope. If she could use her magic to create a bigger blaze, she might be able to destroy one of them, or at least give her and Christian one last shot at escape.
Fighting through the pain, the fear, and so much more, Tasha summoned what power she could and directed it toward Moira, striving to create the greatest fire she’d ever made. And it was big. It surpassed Tasha’s last weak attempt, but the magic was sloppy. Tasha missed Moira and ended up setting the room’s large Persian rug on fire. It ignited quickly, the blaze spreading fast and far—and Tasha didn’t have the strength to control it.
She sensed a trickle of fire magic beside her, and the flames on the rug redirected slightly, settling into a barrier between the Strigoi and the balcony. Tasha looked down at Christian in surprise. “I’m sorry,” he said, his face strained with panic and exhaustion. “I can’t control it.”
Tasha patted his shoulder with her free hand and watched Lucas’s and Moira’s frustration as the flames grew higher and smoke filled the room. The Strigoi couldn’t get to the balcony through the fire and were going to have to cut their losses soon if they wanted to escape it themselves.
We can’t get through the fire either, Tasha thought. We’ll have to jump. But at least we’ll die with our souls intact.
Christian coughed and started to cover his mouth with his hand. Suddenly, he stiffened and pointed. It was hard to make out much in the hazy room anymore, but she soon caught sight of what he’d noticed. Other people streamed into the room now. Lots of people. Guardians. Janine Hathaway led them, and they all carried silver stakes.
Lucas and Moira turned their backs to Tasha and Christian and readied for the fight. But as the guardians descended, Tasha knew there was no question of how this was going to end. She took one last look at the monster wearing her brother’s face and then turned Christian away so that he wouldn’t have to see his parents’ second death.
They clung to each other, listening to shouts and cries and the crackling of burning wood. The smo
ke stung Tasha’s eyes, but she felt certain she would’ve been crying without it. The pain in her face was unbearable, but not as great as the pain in her heart, and she had that earlier urge to close her eyes and lie down forever.
“Lady Ozera!”
Tasha blinked her eyes open, thinking she’d imagined the voice. Christian pulled her closer to the balcony’s edge, and they saw a guardian waving at them below. Farther, across the estate’s vast grounds, more guardians were running from a garage used by maintenance workers—and they were carrying a massive ladder.
“Hang on,” the guardian below the balcony called. “This’ll all be over soon.”
But it was never going to be over.
Tasha knew that then. She knew it the next day and the next week. She even knew it two months later, on the day she decided to move away from Court. So long as she woke up every morning, replaying the events of that dark night, nothing about it could ever be over.
Her title ensured she would always be welcome at Court and provided with lodging when she visited. But when a royal formally gave up permanent residence at Court, custom dictated that an official farewell be made to the monarch. So, once she’d made sure the last of the town house’s possessions had either been moved or disposed of, Tasha turned the keys over to the royal land manager and trekked across the Court’s vast, beautiful grounds once more.
Autumn had taken hold, and the groundskeepers couldn’t keep up with the red and gold leaves that kept falling across the pathways. Gray clouds loomed overhead, but Tasha hadn’t brought an umbrella. She didn’t plan on going back for one either. There were no lines of spectators today. No one knew her exact plans or that she’d even be outside. But those who recognized her in passing still did a double take, staring without trying to make it look like they were staring.
The others waiting in the anteroom to be received by Tatiana stared as well, their expressions mixtures of curiosity and shock. Tasha wondered how much of their reaction still came from the speculation over whether the rest of Lucas’s relatives would turn.