Chapter 4
Rowan
The rope lay across my lap, soft jute coiled in patient lines, as I practiced another variation of a leg tie. I knew my nerves well enough by now that this was a calming technique: my therapy, my meditation. A way to remind myself where I ended and where this new world began.
Remembering ties had come easily to me. The application was a little harder since I could only ever practice on myself or the mannequin in the corner of the room. I reminded myself to be careful, to put no pressure on the peroneal nor compression on the femoral.
Shibari was supposed to be artistic and hurt in the right places, not cripple you.
I heard him before he appeared. Steady footsteps that hesitated right before my open door as Charlie hovered nearby, uncertain whether to intrude.
The sound of his elevated heartbeat reached my ears—anxiety wrapped in parental concern, a rhythm I had learned to recognize in this strange second life.
“Hey,” Charlie said, voice threading through the low grunge vibrating from my speakers. He had dressed in running gear, white on white, his own cure when he wanted to outrun something gnawing at him. The smell of deodorant clung to him. He probably came straight from stretching before his run.
I did not look up as I greeted him. “Is everything okay?”
He stepped inside, finally committing, and dropped into my oak desk chair with a soft exhale. His blue eyes were dark tonight, storm-tossed. He said, “I wanted to make sure Levi didn’t get to you the other day. You’ve done nothing but hole yourself in your room practicing.”
A snort escaped me before I could stop it. “He is nothing but a scared man afraid his mistakes are finally going to catch up to him. . . especially when he admits to murder so nonchalantly.”
We all knew it. Levi had the most to lose in this fucked-up rebirth: his family, his wife, the stability he’d fought tooth and nail to rebuild. A new life meant nothing if the ghosts of the old one still prowled its edges.
Charlie didn’t answer right away. His gaze drifted to the rope on my thigh, then back up, and something in his shoulders shifted. Tension winding tighter than the rope on my leg.
“He had a lot to lose. At the time, we both did what we thought was right.”
So my adopted father had some participation in it, I mused. I felt almost ashamed for how badly I wanted to pry into the story of how the calm and collected Charlie was willing to forsake a man’s life for. . . what? What was he willing to kill for? Obviously, something to do with Violet.
“Honestly, Charlie, that reveal was not as surprising as it should have been.”
That made him laugh a little, the lines on his face dancing. “You two are very similar in that regard.”
I shook my head. “Do not compare me to that man-child.”
Another laugh before we fell into a comfortable silence. Finally, he relented and asked the question I knew had been weighing on him these last few days. “Do you really think Violet is in danger?”
I paused mid-knot, considering how to answer. Charlie did not deserve lies, but he needed a truth that would not unravel him.
Over the past five years, since my reincarnation, I’d hoped Charlie would have been less doubtful of the supernatural world hidden all around us.
I hadn’t enjoyed spending that first year retelling story after story of the apocalyptic Wastelands I’d lived in, much less broadcasting my newly acquired heightened hearing to him and Levi over and over again.
But humanity’s burden had always been its disbelief. Our biggest weakness and our greatest strength—cynical skepticism.
In my previous life, Godsblood had been given to mortals so long ago that it was considered ancient history, even if the aftereffects of that gift were not.
Some folks were born with preternatural speed, or inhuman strength, or nightvision, or a second pair of legs growing out of their ass.
Others, like myself in my previous life, didn’t get a goddamned thing. A real Russian roulette of birth.
Of course, everybody had an opinion about the origin and purpose of the Godsblood. Was it a gift or a curse? Was it truly divine in nature, or was Godsblood just a catchy name? Were these abilities the next step in human evolution or mutations from generations of living in an irradiated hellscape?
There had been groups of fanatical zealots who pushed one belief or another. But that’s been true since the dawn of humanity, hasn’t it?
As for myself? I always focused my time and energy on surviving. . . but even I’d had a few theories about the nature of Godsblood based on some of the oldest stories I’d heard or read about how life was before the veil fell.
First, I did not think that Godsblood was just a clever marketing term for the source of humanity’s random new abilities.
No, I believed that was quite literal. I almost pitied the poor fuck—whatever forgotten god it was—who’d been chained up someplace to be siphoned off like a tree being tapped for syrup.
Second, there was the sheer abundance of supernaturals in the Wastelands.
Even in the most ancient of stories that told of the time before the veil fell, there was hardly ever any mention of supernaturals successfully breeding with mortals.
I was neither the first nor only person who found it suspiciously coincidental how it seemed as if supernaturals had a far higher success rate breeding with mortals who had Godsblood in their veins.
Drain a god dry, pump their blood into as much of the populace as you can, then sit back and wait a century or so for that Godsblood to mingle and spread. It made sense, in an utterly evil and diabolical way.
“Is Violet in danger?” I echoed. “No. Not the kind you are imagining. Nobody is going to snatch her off the street or stab her in a parking lot.”
“Technically, that can happen to anyone at anytime. You know what I meant, Rowan.”
“She got a fast-tracked scholarship, did she not? A golden ticket.” I met his eyes. “I would bet she was not the only one.”
His jaw tightened. “Levi mentioned it was the most attractive offer out of all of her other applications.” He paused. “So what are you saying?”
I shrugged. “They are going to use that to get her close. And once she is there. . .” I looped the rope into another knot around my leg. “They will want her to connect.”
“Connect how?”
“Fall in love,” I said flatly. “Or at least fall into bed.”
His face went rigid. “Christ, Rowan.”
“Too much? I can slow down if all this talk of the bees and flowers makes you uncomfortable.”
“Rowan. . .”
“Fine. Vampyres are notorious for seduction. They can make obsession feel like devotion.” The rope bit into my skin as I pulled it tighter.
“Weres? All instinct and hunger. They thrive on bonds, pack, and possession. As for gods. . .” I paused, remembering the burning in my chest, the golden tome that I clutched against myself as the hunter that chased me from The Library.
“Gods play on worship. The stories all end the same: they get what they want, and mortals rarely walk away unscathed.”
I tried to shake the unease that crept up my spine. I hated talking of the gods because you never knew who was listening, ready to step in and make your life a living hell.
Charlie swallowed hard. “So what do we do? Warn her?”
That made me laugh, a sharp sound with no humor in it as I rapped my knuckles on the floor.
“What would you tell her? 'Hey Violet, congratulations on making it into such a prestigious university.
It turns out it is also a supernatural breeding program!
Surprise, sweetheart, you are now the perfect breeding stock. '”
Charlie winced, burying his face in his hands, and groaned. A rather surprising trait from him I learned he does whenever he feels overwhelmed.
“It is ridiculous,” I said, resuming my tie, “But not wrong.”
He dragged a palm down his face, letting the mask of calm break slowly. “Levi will not stay still knowing Violet is in that much danger.” He took a deep breath in, “God, I don’t think I can face Sloane either, knowing this. . .”
His voice trailed off, and the agony in his words did little to hide his turmoil.
I studied him, seeing the years of lines in his face.
The revelation of him being complicit, or perhaps even an accomplice, in Levi’s act of murder told me that he was a man who would do anything for his chosen family. Levi, Charlie, and apparently me.
The truth I would never admit—not to Charlie, not to Sloane, and definitely not to Levi—was that this fractured mess we had was the closest thing I had ever known to family.
. . if you ignored my first attempt with Faelin.
Her name still haunted me. Yes, this current life felt messed-up and broken, sure.
But it was still mine. And that meant I would bleed for them if I had to.
“Then we deal with it,” I said simply, feeling the rope of responsibility cinch around my throat. “I can move closer. Keep an eye on her. If I have to get a job at the damn place, I will.”
Charlie hesitated. “But this veil you mentioned—what happens when it falls?”
I began untying my leg, the rope sliding free with practiced ease, regarding the indentations on my skin with mild interest. “In my life, the veil was gone. I do not know if it was a physical manifestation or simply what they called the hidden nature of it all. Humans and monsters lived side by side—if you could call it living.” A hollow chuckle escaped me.
“What many thought was a pandemic was really the beginning of the end. Not political or engineered. . . just a god throwing a tantrum because another god fucked him over. Mortals bled for it.”