Chapter 20
Idril
My eyes flutter open to soft moonlight carving pale ribbons across the floor. Fingers of shadow cut across the wood, forcing my eyes to focus.
Something’s wrong with my head. My thoughts are slow. Sticky. Like wading through syrup.
I blink once. Twice. My blurry gaze catches on the line of darkness and follows it to the opposite side of the room.
The door to the balcony is open, and cold wind filters in, making goosebumps rise on my skin.
I’m lying on my floor. Why am I on the floor?
My head pounds relentlessly as I squint against the moonlight. My hand lies limp next to me, covered in a red, slick substance. I raise it, but it refuses to move.
I blink again—long and slow—and open my eyes.
Red. Why is my hand red?
Blood.
The word comes from far away. I blink again, and when I open my eyes, I’ve forgotten why they were closed.
Blood. Moonlight. Silver and screaming and—
Caelan.
The first memory hits me and the rest rush in so fast it makes my stomach roll. I gag, the taste of acidic bile lingering on my tongue.
Father.
Father has Caelan.
Caelan. The guards. The gunshot. The silver.
Oh, Fates, he was shot with silver.
I try to sit up, but the world spins violently. My stomach heaves, and I barely manage to turn my head before sicking on the floor.
Oh gods…. Father shot Caelan. I don’t know much about vampires, but the way he reacted to the injury makes me think silver may be incredibly damaging.
Could it kill him? A single bullet wound?
I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
Tears stream hot and fast down my cheeks. Over twenty Fates-damned years suppressing my emotions, and now it’s like a dam has broken.
Pain. Fear. Anger. Red-hot agony—they rush through me, blending into a nauseating cocktail of despair.
Again, I try to stand. Moving slowly this time, I brace my weight on my palms, then push to my forearms and use them to push my legs under me me.
My hair falls into my eyes, the long strands streaked with blood.
Bracing myself, I glance down the length of my body, wholly unprepared for the macabre sight.
Blood.
Everywhere.
I’m covered in it. My skin, my hair, my once-white dress, all of it streaked red, as if I walked through a war-zone.
Images flicker through my head. Snapshots of memories. I chase each as it appears, longing to see them clearly. But the moment an image coalesces into something I recognize, it fractures. Thousands of sharp, disjointed pieces scatter, reforming into something new.
Caelan. Slitting the throat of one of my father’s men.
That man slamming to his knees on the ground, blood misting through the air like a fountain.
A second guard. Sprawled across the floor, a pulsing wound in his chest that he frantically paws at with clumsy, trembling hands.
Another attacker rushing across the floor, eyes fix on Caelan.
My Mate on his knees, a graceful predator with a stolen blade. A flash of silver as he spins, cutting an arc through his attacker’s hamstring.
The gunshot. Loud. Unmistakable.
The scent of gunpowder and charred flesh as the bullet rips a bloody path through Caelan’s leg. Me, on my hands and knees, trying frantically to shove Caelan’s blood back inside his body. Vision blurred by tears and the taste of iron on my tongue.
Fates, I can still taste it. Bile surges once more, and I cough, choking on it.
Deep breaths. Don’t think about that. Not now.
Just get up, Idril, GET UP.
I pull my legs under me and try again to stand, but they’re still shaking too hard to support me.
The room tilts. I have a single moment to realize I’m falling, about to crack my head on the floor, then—
My own scent wakes me next, but I don’t recognize it at first.
The moon’s barely moved since I last opened my eyes. My body aches, and the hard floor offers no comfort outside of confirmation I’m still alive.
My stomach churns with nausea, and I know I’m about to be sick again. I have to get to the bathroom. I have to get to Caelan.
One thing at a time. Take a breath. Think.
But thinking’s so difficult. My thoughts are water, slipping through a thousand cracks in a shallow bowl.
The overwhelming scent of iron makes me gag, but underneath it is another scent. It’s new, sneaking in like smoke through the cracks of a door. It’s soft and sweet and strangely familiar.
Rich honey, white musk, and… smoked vanilla.
I take a deep breath, then another. Over and over until—
Oh!
It’s… me. My Omega perfume.
My mother was the one who scented me the morning I designated, and my father shot me full of suppressants before I had a chance to smell it myself.
It’s pleasant. Rich and soft and feminine, like velvet and lace and beautiful pastels bending into something proprietary.
Something mine.
In another life I’d relish in finding this hidden part of me. A part my father’s kept stolen for years like it’s something for him to own and not a piece of my very soul.
Another moment ripped from me. Another piece of joy Father’s snatched away with his cruel, greedy hands.
As much as I wish it were otherwise, my scent simply doesn’t matter. Not now.
Only Caelan matters.
I have to move. I have to get to him and help him somehow.
With a pathetic whimper I start to move, dragging myself across the floor, inch by desperate, miserable inch. Each movement hurts. Each breath feels like inhaling broken glass.
My vision blurs and doubles before snapping back into focus. Waves of pain thrum through my skull.
Concussion. I probably have a concussion.
I push the thought away, dismissing it. It doesn’t matter.
I finally make it to the bathroom when I hear voices coming from down the hall.
Not just any voices. Male voices. They’re deep. Angry. Their feet pound down the hall, their steps quick. Urgent.
I freeze. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure it will explode any second.
“—telling you, Gav. Dax said he heard the entire thing.” The voice sounds furious. “Varenthrall thanked her. Bragged to Caelan about how she played her part beautifully.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean—”
“Not to be a dick, Sir, but it means exactly what it sounds like. She set him up. She lured him here, got him attached somehow, and then made sure he came back when her father could attack.”
What?
No! No, that— that isn’t what happened at all!
The footsteps grow closer until they’re right outside my room. I’m frozen, fear making it impossible to move.
“I admit that Caelan’s actions were out of character, but I can’t believe he’d fall for some random Omega’s bullshit.”
This voice is deeper, like honey over gravel. Strong and authoritative.
“He’s the most level-headed out of all of you. Even Ford can’t keep calm in a crisis like Caelan.”
“Yeah, well, here we are. And we have proof. That Omega set him up. She clearly played some Damsel in distress role he couldn’t see through.”
I recoil.
Proof. Set him up. Damsel in distress.
Each word stabs into my heart, wrong and twisted and untrue. I want to scream at the voices. Tell them it didn’t happen like that. That I’d never do anything to Caelan on purpose.
I’d never hurt him. I tried to save him.
I open my mouth, but only a weak, thready moan comes out.
“Dax wants answers. You all want answers, I get it, Silas.” The second voice—Gav?— replies. “So we find her, secure her, and bring her back to HQ. If we find out before then that she’s working with Varenthrall—”
“When,” the first voice—Silas—cuts in. “When we find out she’s working with him. Come on, Gav. You heard what Dax said. There’s no other explanation. Dax said—”
The footsteps stop suddenly, right outside the bathroom door.
“I am so fucking sick of hearing what Dax said. Do you think this is my first rodeo, boy?”
He’s irritated. Angry. His voice makes me whimper in fear and I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle the noise. I suddenly really don’t want these men to find me…
“No, sir.”
“Then let me do my job. I’m not a child. I can make up my own mind without falling all over myself because ‘Dax said.’”
My pulse stutters. I force myself to move, crawling further into my bathroom.
I need to move. I need to hide. Need to make myself small and silent just like Mother taught me.
My arms give out.
I slump against the wall, head spinning. Blackness bleeds into the edges of my vision and a tear falls silently down my cheek before once again, everything goes dark.
My thoughts are disjointed when I regain consciousness.
They flit in and out like butterflies, never landing anywhere long enough to get a good look. I peel my eyes open and beams of light blur around me. Is it moonlight? The ceiling?
My body tilts, falling backwards. I barely catch myself, landing on my elbows. A gasp wheezes from my lungs.
The beams of light stop on the ceiling. Then it moves to the floor. It moves again, landing on the open door. It flickers wildly, hitting the walls, the ceiling, the floor, then zipping away like a wounded bird.
A flashlight. Someone has a flashlight.
“Found her!” An oddly familiar masculine voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, making me wince.
“Fates above, that smell. She’s like twelve seconds from going into heat.”
Heat? No, I’m not going into heat. My suppressants…
My suppressants must have worn off. That’s why I could smell myself.
As though my own body’s decided to taunt me, the warm scent of honey and vanilla wafts through the air.
The scent is off, though, fear and pain making it burnt and bitter around the edges.
“Please,” I croak, limply raising my hand to block the bright light aimed in my face.
I have to tell them. Have to get someone to help—
“Easy,” the deep voice murmurs. It’s careful, but not kind. Not exactly cruel, though, either. “She’s in here. I think she’s hurt.”
The other male’s reply is dismissive and cruel. “Yeah? Oh well. So is Caelan.”
“Caelan.” His name falls from my lips in an exhale full of longing. I wonder if I actually spoke, or if the sound was only in my head.