Chapter 3 #2
I shrug.
I don’t even know what to be ready for.
Somehow, I killed a man tonight, only to end up blindly following another.
Now that’s ironic.
Elliot grips my hand, lacing our fingers together to lead me through the house, only stopping once we reach the top of the front staircase.
“Don’t be mad,” he says.
“Mad? Why would I be mad?”
“For what I’m about to do.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to say ‘what’ again. Instead, he pulls me down the steps, throws his head back, and howls.
Without hesitation, a chorus answers, and heads turn to watch as Elliot thrusts our hands into the air, shouting in victory.
The crowd below erupts at the sight of us, whooping and cheering, as Elliot pins me to his side and carries me down the last few steps.
I smile the entire way, too stunned to do otherwise, but as we reach the bottom of the stairs and Elliot draws me closer, I can no longer contain it.
“You motherfucker,” I hiss between my teeth. “I’m going to kill you.”
He chuckles, nuzzling my hair to cover his words.
“You’re batting a thousand tonight, baby. Don’t test your luck.”
My teeth grind, and the only thing keeping me from throttling him is Dame’s voice, coming from just over my shoulder.
“What are you two doing?” he asks.
My back stiffens, and the hair on my neck prickles as I turn, nearly running into him.
He is standing much too close, arms crossed, blue eyes piercing, and I take a step away, backing myself into Elliot.
Dame is terrifying when he’s angry, but you’d have to move a mountain to get him there. Still, there’s something about him, maybe that constant expression of confidence, that makes you want to avoid disappointing him.
I open my mouth to do exactly that, but nothing comes out. Luckily for me, Elliot always has something to say.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
Dame casts a wary glance between us, his brows furrowed.
“What was Iris doing upstairs?” he says, words clipped.
Elliot draws on his usual sarcasm, the easy smirk sliding into place as he drapes an arm around me. I try not to squirm under Dame’s watchful gaze, but I can’t quite lean into the embrace. Not entirely.
“What do you think she was doing upstairs?” Elliot answers.
Dame’s teeth grind as he glances around at the people lingering by the stairs. Most have returned to their chatter, but he still lowers his voice.
“Elliot, you know the rules—”
“Yeah, Dame.” Elliot cuts him off, meeting his gaze head-on. “I know the rules. Do you?”
Dame grows silent, but Elliot doesn’t wait for a response.
He pushes past him, yanking me along.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, just barely managing to keep my feet under me.
Elliot ignores me as we move deeper into the den, where he pulls us into a dark corner and mutters a name under his breath.
“Dred,” he calls out in a heated whisper. When there is no answer, he calls again. “Dredrick.”
I’m wondering whether letting him be my rescuer was a wise decision when a dark figure emerges from the shadows.
“Mate, you need to up these wards,” the man mutters, sweeping his hand through the air. “These seals are fucking ancient.”
“Yeah, sure,” Elliot replies. “Can you do the whole house?”
Dred shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“Depends. What are we hiding?”
Elliot tips his head in my direction.
“Her.”
Me?
Dred laughs, and I catch a glimpse of two gleaming white fangs sitting pretty in his mouth—vampire.
“You’re joking,” he says, accent thicker in the midst of his laughter.
Elliot shakes his head, gripping me a little tighter.
“I’m not,” he answers.
“Cross, look at her.” Dred gestures vaguely at my body, hand waving up and down. “That’s hard to forget.”
You know, maybe I’ll kill three men tonight.
“He asked you a yes or no question,” I cut in. “We don’t need the commentary.”
Dred blinks, finally acknowledging me directly, and we survey one another.
He’s tall and lean, with broad shoulders draped in a black blazer and a thin gold chain around his neck in the shape of a family crest I recognize.
He’s a Bloodsoe. Blood-borne, not changed.
That explains the shadow walking…and the superiority complex.
He assesses me with equal measure, taking his time to inspect me, though he is careful not to make eye contact.
“You need me to wipe her, too?” he asks Elliot. “It’ll be difficult.”
You don’t like people in here, do you? Dred’s voice echoes in my mind. I can see why.
Vampire and mind weaver—oh joy.
I’m blessed in many ways, darling.
He passes the thought along with a wink. And I don’t know if it’s the head wound or the fact that I’m standing here like a statue while they talk around me, but I don’t answer him aloud. Instead, I find the steady stream of desire pooling in his stomach as he looks at me.
I don’t take much. There’s only so much I can draw without stimulation, but I take just enough for him to notice that it’s gone.
When he does, he nods, lifting his hands as a sign of defeat.
“Point taken,” he says, licking his fangs. “I can do it, but it’s going to cost you extra.”
Elliot shrugs.
“Not a problem.”
“What’s the story?” Dred asks.
“She was with me all night,” Elliot answers. “But leave Dame. He’s fine.”
Dred holds up a thumb but says nothing more before dissolving into the dark like an ink blot. At which point, Elliot takes my hand and drags me back up the stairs.
This time, we continue past the dormitory levels and the common rooms, all the way to the end of the stairwell, where the door opens onto an empty rooftop. I’m about to ask what we’re doing up here when I notice a very distinct lump, draped in a plain tarp, propped in the far right corner.
“No,” I snap. “Uh uh. No way I’m getting on that thing.”
Elliot doesn’t stop to argue with me; he just rips the tarp off, revealing the shiny black motorcycle, and thrusts a helmet at me.
“Can you teleport?” he asks, knowing damn well I can’t.
“No.”
“Then, yes, you are getting on this thing.”
He slaps the helmet on my head, and I stand there with my arms crossed as he fidgets with the straps. It’s huge, on account of his giant head, so it takes a few tries before he’s satisfied it won’t slide off in the breeze.
Gods, is this the best idea he could come up with?
I rack my brain for any other viable option, but nothing comes to mind before Elliot mounts the bike.
“Come on,” he says. “We don’t have all night.”
I groan as I drag my feet along the pavement and mount the bike behind him.
My arms wrap around his torso, and he yanks me forward by my wrists, pressing my chest against his back.
“Hold on tight,” he directs. “And stop groaning. I don’t see anyone else out here saving your ass.”
The engine kicks over before I can say anything, and I close my eyes, clinging to him with all the strength I can muster.
Thank the heavens I do, because he doesn’t warn me before the bike lurches suddenly up and off the ground.
“Oh, my gods!” I scream as we crest over the treetops.
Elliot’s voice vibrates through my chest, and even though I can’t hear it over the roar of the engine, I know he’s laughing at me. But I’m too busy trying not to slip off the back of the bike to scold him.
I keep my eyes tightly shut until he sets us down on the roof of the White Hall dormitory.
“See. That wasn’t so bad,” he says, cutting the engine and turning in his seat.
“Speak for yourself,” I say, peeling myself off of him.
My stomach is twisted in a knot, and if I weren’t so determined not to throw up again tonight, I probably would have already, somewhere over Lake Jauna.
I find my footing as I dismount the bike, but the queasy feeling returns the moment I peer over the edge.
White Hall is much taller than Crescent House, a full fifteen floors compared to Crescent’s five. And without any railing to separate us from the ground, I can’t help but quietly calculate the approximate distance between me and the earth.
“Don’t look down,” Elliot says. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
“You know I don’t do heights,” I hiss.
“Yes. That’s why I want you to stop looking at it.”
He blocks my view with his body and gestures for me to step back from the roofline.
I do as he says, forcing myself to focus on his face instead of the pitch-black sky behind him.
He’s not smiling at me, but he isn’t frowning at me either. He’s looking at me with an expression I’ve never seen on him before.
His sage green eyes are soft, downturned, and wilting. His ears, normally alert and expressive, are sagging. And he is chewing at the metal stud in his lip with such force that I’m concerned he might tear it free.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was worried.
“Are you okay?” he asks when I don’t blink for a moment.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
The words don’t come out as confident as I mean them to.
“Ashbourne,” he scolds me, brows lifting in question.
“No, really, I’m fine.”
I know people don’t usually mean it when they say that, but I do. I’m fine.
Grey isn’t the first person to make the mistake of thinking they could take something from me. He is, however, the first to lose his life for such a mistake.
Honestly, I’m surprised by just how fine I am.
I thought I’d feel guilty somehow, and for a moment, maybe I did. But that feeling faded quickly after he took his last breath.
The truth is, given the choice between my life and Grey’s, I’d choose mine every single time.
“I’m just tired,” I admit, hoping we can leave it at that.
But Elliot’s never been one for passive-aggressive hints. If you want something, you’re better off just telling him straight.
“Do you want to tell me what happened back there?” he asks.
“Not really.”
His arms brush against my chest as he crosses them, and I step back, suddenly conscious of the heat he generates.
“Well, I need you to find it in your heart to explain it to me. Because if I’m going to be your alibi, I at least need to know what I’m covering for.”
“That’s funny. Maybe if you weren’t sure you were on the right side, you should’ve asked before dragging me out of your room like a dog with a bone.”
He frowns.
“Right side?” A little chuckle escapes his lips, and his tail wags briefly. “Ashbourne, I don’t care about which side is right. You could’ve killed him just because he said your shoes were ugly, and we’d still be standing here. But I know better than to go through an inquiry blind.”
The inquiry…shit. I forgot about the inquiry.
I was so wrapped up in being paraded around Crescent House like a trophy that I forgot why Elliot was rushing me out of the house in the first place.
I wonder if they’ve already been called? Knowing how they operate, Crescent House has been swept by now, and inquisition demands are being prepared as we speak. They’ll have every student in attendance on a list by morning. Ours included.
I take a slow breath and exhale through my mouth, trying to lighten the heaviness in my chest. But even so, I can’t bring myself to look him in the eye as I say it.
“I think…” I pause, fingering the gash in my head. “I think he poisoned me.”
“Poisoned you? With what?”
“A love potion,” I admit, and Elliot’s back to frowning at me.
“That’s impossible.”
“I don’t think it’s impossible. Difficult, maybe. But not—”
“No, I mean that’s impossible, because I would have smelled it on you.”
He sniffs the air, then leans down to do the same to my lips, shaking his head as he straightens.
“No,” he repeats. This time, trying to convince himself. “I would have smelled it.”
“Well, he definitely did something. I remember that feeling. Like if I stopped looking at you, I might die where I was standing.”
“Looking at me?”
I cringe outwardly.
“Yeah. He must have slipped it in my cup while I was dancing. It kicked in when you found me. But it came right up after the fight started. That’s why I went outside.”
“That motherfucker.” Elliot’s teeth are now grinding, his hands tugging at the choker around his neck. “He tried to touch you?”
I nod, keeping my eyes on the floor as I wait for the accusation that follows.
It’s always the same.
Perhaps I misunderstood. Maybe my feeding got him carried away. Or, my personal favorite—I’m sure he didn’t mean it.
I’ve heard it all before. Every pointless, pre-programmed response in the—
“Did you ask him to touch you?”
My eyes snap up from the floor.
I’ve never heard that one before.
“No,” I say, and Elliot nods but remains silent.
I’m not sure if it’s shock or anger. Maybe a mix of both. But he stands in front of me, clenching his teeth as he pries at the choker around his neck. He winces as he wedges three fingers under the thick leather band, and only then does he manage to take a proper breath.
“Okay,” he says. “If anyone asks, you and I were upstairs all night.”
“That’s it?”
His brows lift.
“Is there something more?”
I think for a moment, replaying the events in my mind to be sure. Everyone always tells me there has to be something more. But he’s right. That’s all there is to it.
That’s all there ever is to it.
“No,” I say finally, and he nods again.
“Then, that’s it.”
As he utters the words with sure finality, I am reminded of his role in the Crescent pack. Second in command, right behind Dame. A decision I never quite understood until now.
The Elliot I know is not very serious. He’s usually the one who makes a joke to keep the tensions from running too high, and even in the rare moments he is serious, it never lasts long.
So it never made sense to me why Dame, polished and professional as can be, would choose someone like him to stand beside him.
But the man in front of me is quite different from the one I’ve known for the past four years.
This man is stern and unwavering. Calculating and cold, dripping in a rage so potent I can taste it.
As I stand here in the frigid wind, wrapped in his jacket, listening to him plot our deception with a level head, it all makes sense.
Dame is the wolf that barks. And Elliot is the wolf that bites.