Thirty
The car was silent. Cella didn’t seem calm, exactly, as she worked in my passenger seat. She was sweating despite the cool weather, chewing her lip hard enough that I smelled blood, but she worked with intense focus.
She had been ready with everything I’d asked for when I parked outside of her house.
It wasn’t the first time she had snuck out through her back door to get in my car late at night, but normally she would come in smiling and dressed, carrying her phone and her wallet, maybe a flashlight.
Tonight, the moment she sat down, she unzipped her backpack and took out a bottle of vegetable oil, a ratty leather belt, a pair of linen shorts, and a long wooden stake from her gardening phase.
She was a sight to behold, in her Kuromi pajama pants and the massive argyle sweater she’d stolen from her dad years ago.
She hunched in concentration, cutting up the belt with a pair of scissors way too big to be safe in a moving vehicle, stuffing the pieces into her water bottle like some kind of mad scientist. Years of trying craft after craft had made her quick with her hands.
I couldn’t be sure that I was taking us to the right place or anywhere close, but I tried not to think about that. I was trying not to think about much at all as I sped down dimly lit roads, pressing harder on the gas every time I felt that dread-pain spike again.
“I was right,” I said the moment I felt it: a slight pull inside of me, telling me where to go. We were close. I swung the car to the side of the road. “Fuck. I was right.”
I parked along the edge of the cemetery. Cella looked pale as she handed me her creation. In the ten minutes it had taken to get here, she had wrapped the garden stake in linen just below the pointed tip, then in soaked leather below that.
“Do you have—?”
Cella was already digging in her bag. She pulled out two items, the first of which she clutched to her chest. It was a cross ornament. Her family wasn’t particularly religious, but they did love Christmas. I cringed away from it.
“Don’t let that go, not for a second,” I said.
“I know.” She pressed the second object into my palm. “Kieran. Be careful. Please.”
I nodded once, then ran toward the pull. The sky was dark, dark gray. As usual, the cemetery was disorienting, stocked with totems and prayers meant to ward off souls like mine. It made my head spin in seconds, and Cedric had spent night after night here as a kid . . .
The scent of Mason’s blood hit me quickly.
It was strong. That had to be a lot of blood.
I found them behind a wide tomb and stopped too fast, nearly losing my balance. I steadied myself, only to go stumbling backward at the sight before me.
Cedric stood on an unmarked patch of grass, a knife in his bloody hands, looking straight at me with malicious satisfaction. Beside him, tied by his wrists to a yew tree at the edge of the cemetery, was Mason. He was slumped on his knees, blood from too many wounds seeping through his gray shirt.
Cedric clicked his teeth. “You have the worst timing.”
I ignored him, rushing to Mason’s side. Cedric was in front of me before I could get close. Something pointy poked my chest. I looked down and saw that he had brought a stake of his own. It was shorter and meaner-looking, hand-whittled.
“I had a feeling you might crash,” he said.
“What the hell did you do?” I yelled. “Get out of my way.”
“Or what? You’ll stab me?” Cedric said, glancing at my stake. “You wouldn’t kill your own brother.”
“But you would?”
“If you’re choosing their side,” said Cedric, backing toward Mason, keeping his stake raised, “I’ll treat you accordingly.”
“Get away from him,” I said.
Cedric only sighed and muttered, “I’ll have to speed things up.” He tossed aside his knife and pulled another from within his trench coat. This one was shinier, unmistakably silver.
“Get away from him!” I repeated, shouting with everything I had.
Cedric’s eyes clouded. He took a clumsy step away from Mason, his legs moving as if pulled by a puppet string. His face creased with confusion, then fury.
My throat burned.
“Get. Away,” I commanded.
The words tore at my throat. I coughed, but I didn’t stop. Cedric moved against his will, struggling against my velvet tongue.
“Using the forbidden gift against your own kind,” he sneered. “Could you sink any lower?”
“Don’t move,” I said when he was several strides away. I hurried to Mason, dropping beside him. Cedric thrashed in place but stayed right where he was.
Dark bruises were scattered across Mason’s face, his arms. His shirt was torn and soaked black from five stab wounds. There were more harsh gashes on his legs, and I had a sinking feeling that if I turned him over, I’d find even more in his back.
Yet his vital areas had been left untouched, and none of the wounds smoked with silver poisoning. With a rush of dizziness, I understood that Cedric hadn’t wanted to kill Mason that way. That would be too easy, too quick. He wanted to make him suffer.
He wanted to slowly cut Mason to pieces over the lone wolf’s grave.
I strained my ears and caught the sound of a pulse, faint and fading. Mason was still alive. Not dead but dying.
I drew the knife from my pocket and cut through the bindings around his wrists, careful not to touch his skin. He instantly fell forward against me.
“Mason,” I sobbed, holding his face.
I glowered at Cedric with a hatred I had never known existed. For the first time, I started to understand how he felt all the time. It was no wonder.
“We had an agreement,” I said darkly, my voice ragged. I tried to raise Mason carefully, terrified of hurting him further.
“He came to me himself, begging to talk things out,” said Cedric. “You expect me to resist? I’m not that strong, Kier. I don’t want to be. Remember, you broke our deal first. I’m just evening things out.”
It was so Mason that I didn’t doubt it for a second. He was such an idiot.
But he was brave.
“Oh,” said Cedric.
He moved his foot one step, face splitting into a wicked grin.
I opened my mouth to command him again, but before I could get a word out, Cedric was a blur of black feathers.
The raven shot toward me, feet extended toward my face.
I staggered backward as talons raked down my cheek and my open mouth, slicing a cut down my tongue.
I ripped the bird away from my face, tearing skin in the process. Cedric transformed in midair, coat billowing as he landed on his feet, steady as a dancer.
“Stay back!” I said, but the words from my ravaged tongue had no effect. I raised the stake, standing solidly between my brother and Mason. “He won’t die. Not from a kitchen knife, and I won’t let you use anything else. You missed your chance.”
Cedric’s grin turned lopsided. I hadn’t seen him smile so much since we were kids. “Even a werewolf can only heal so many wounds at once.”
My knees threatened to give out again. Panic fogged my vision.
I thought of Cella and took a long breath.
“Put the toy down, Kieran,” said Cedric. “We both know you don’t have it in you.”
He was right.
I wasn’t anything like him. But I hadn’t brought the stake to stab him.
Just before Cedric lunged, I took out the second item Cella had handed me: a lighter. Cedric transformed just in time, flapping backward with great wings and letting out an enraged shriek as my stake ignited.
The linen was soaked in oil. One touch, and he would light up like a torch. One of the sacrifices of immortality—the sun wasn’t the only thing that could burn him.
Holding out the stake, using its length to keep him at a distance, I backed toward Mason.
I had maybe three minutes before the wood burned.
The heat was frightening in my hand, but we were all taught at a young age that leather was a poor conductor—it was one of the reasons vampires looked so badass all the time—and water-soaked was even better.
It would buy me some time before the handle began to catch.
I wrapped my free arm around Mason and hauled him upward, apologizing when he groaned but desperately relieved to hear a sound from him.
Bending my knees, I managed to get his arm around my shoulders and half carried, half dragged him in the direction of the car, never taking my eyes off of Cedric or lowering the flaming stake.
Cedric stalked after us. I moved as quickly as I thought Mason could handle. Feeling his wet back, realizing I was right about the stab wounds, made me nauseous so quickly I had to choke back bile. If I could just get him to the car . . .
Cedric reached into his pocket. With no time to think, I turned so Mason was behind me right as Cedric threw something. Searing pain flared in my thigh. I tripped behind the tomb for cover, dropping Mason against its stone wall, and felt the stake ripped from my grasp.
I tackled Cedric head-on, thinking only of keeping him away from Mason.
In his surprise, he lost hold of the dagger, but he quickly dug his heels in.
Cedric grabbed my shoulders and threw me into a tall, statuesque grave marker with enough force to crack the stone.
My head spun even worse. A spreading fire would have been convenient then, but the moist grass where Cedric had thrown the stake didn’t catch.
“Why are you doing this?” I yelled.
Cedric whipped around to face me, gripping his dagger, his eyes hotter than the fire.
“They stole her from me!” he screamed. His fangs were impossibly long, terrifying. “Her, and now you.”
A silver arrowhead stuck out of my pajama pants. I knocked it to the ground. This time when I surged at him, Cedric was ready. Before I knew what was happening, he had a hand around my neck, holding me against the tomb. I clawed futilely at his grip, once again feeling the stake against my chest.