CHAPTER 17
THE LONG NIGHT
POV: Elodie Fray
Location: The Abandoned Cabin (Deep Woods)
Sensory: The bone-deep chill of a fireless room, the sticky warmth of drying blood, the rattling wheeze of a collapsing lung.
Mood: Desperation it tore through something vital.
He is bleeding out on a dirty floor in the middle of a blizzard, and I am the only thing standing between him and the void.
“I’m not a doctor,” my mind screams. “I play piano. I play scales.” “No,” a darker voice counters. It sounds like him. “You are a survivor. Improvisation is just composition in real-time. Fix him.”
I move. I crawl to the hearth. I grab handfuls of old, dry moss and twigs from a rat's nest in the corner.
I shove them into the fireplace. I sacrifice the Zippo flame to the kindling.
It catches. Smoke billows out, stinging my eyes, but then the draft catches, and the fire roars to life.
Light floods the room. Shadows dance on the walls like specters.
I run back to Alaric. I drag the rotting mattress closer to the fire.
"I have to move you," I grit out, grabbing him under the arms. He is dead weight. He groans—a low, pained sound—as I haul him onto the mattress. I strip off his leather jacket. Then his soaked shirt. The wound is a hole in his front deltoid, jagged and angry. There is no exit wound. The bullet is still inside. Whatever artery it hit, it’s leaking fast.
I need to stop the flow. I don't have the med kit. It’s in the car. The car. The G-Wagon is parked outside in the snow. The med kit is in the back. But if I go out there... if the SUVs followed our tracks... I look at Alaric’s face. His eyes are rolled back, showing the whites. I have no choice.
I grab the SIG Sauer from the floor where I dropped it. "Don't die," I command him. "I'll be right back. Do not die."
I unlatch the door. The wind howls, trying to push me back inside.
I slip out. The cold is a physical blow, stripping the heat from my body instantly.
The snow is waist-deep in drifts. The G-Wagon sits steaming in the snowbank, its front end crumpled against a tree.
I scan the tree line. Nothing but swaying pines and darkness. No headlights. Yet.
I run to the car. I wrench the back door open. I grab the tactical medical bag. I see a flare gun in the emergency compartment. I grab that too. I run back to the cabin. I slam the door. I lock it.
I slide to the floor beside Alaric, ripping the medical bag open. Gauze. Tourniquet. Celox granules (clotting agent). "Okay," I whisper, my hands shaking uncontrollably. "Okay, think. Structure. Rhythm."
I pack the wound with the clotting gauze. Alaric screams. His eyes snap open, wide and unseeing. He tries to thrash, his back arching off the mattress. "No!" I yell, throwing my body weight on top of him to pin him down. "Alaric, stop! You're bleeding out!"
"Ambush..." he raves, his voice thick with delirium. "Get the girl out... secure the Asset..." He grabs my arm with his good hand. His grip is bruising, hysterical. "Don't let them take her!"
"I'm here!" I sob, pressing down on the wound with both hands. "I'm right here, Alaric! Look at me!"
He blinks, the silver irises trying to focus on my face. "Elodie?" "Yes. It's me." "Run," he wheezes. blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. "Run, petite. Before they breach."
"I'm not leaving you." "Stupid," he coughs. "So stupid. I ruined you... and you stay?"
"You didn't ruin me," I say fierce, pressing harder until the blood seeps through my fingers. "You tuned me. Now shut up and let me work."
I apply the pressure dressing. I wrap his shoulder tight.
The bleeding slows. The clotting agent is working.
But he is freezing. I pile the blankets from the car (I grabbed those too) on top of him.
It’s not enough. He is shivering so violently his teeth are clicking together—a macabre percussion in the quiet room.
I know what I have to do. I did it last night.
But this is different. Last night was care.
This is desperation. I strip off my riding coat.
My boots. My blood-stained shirt. My breeches.
I am naked in the firelight. I climb under the blankets with him.
I wrap myself around him like a vine. My skin against his icy flesh.
I press my chest to his, sharing my heat, my heartbeat, my life force.
"Warm me," he murmurs, drifting in and out of consciousness. "I am," I whisper. "I've got you."
Time dissolves. There is only the fire popping in the hearth and the wind screaming outside. Every hour feels like a century. I listen to the forest. Every snapping twig sounds like a boot step. Every gust of wind sounds like a helicopter. Paranoia, Sterling called it. Survival, Alaric calls it.
Around 3:00 AM, the fever takes him again. He burns against me. He tosses and turns, fighting invisible demons. "Vance..." he mutters. "Greedy... stupid man..." Then he goes still. He looks at me. His eyes are clear for a second. Lucid.
"Elodie."
"I'm here."
"The file," he whispers. "The black file."
"I burned it. You told me to."
"Not that one," he groans. "The Trust. The Fray Trust."
"What are you talking about?"
He tries to sit up, but he’s too weak. He collapses back, his head resting on my arm. "Why do you think... they want you?" he asks. His voice is barely a breath. "Why do you think Vance wanted to marry you? Why did your father want to lobotomize you?"
"Because I was a liability. Because I was broken."
"No," Alaric laughs, a wet, dark sound. "Because you are the Landlord."
I frown, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead. "Alaric, you're delirious."
"The land," he insists, gripping my hip.
"Hallowed Halls. The estate. It doesn't belong to the Corporation.
It doesn't belong to the Board." He looks deep into my eyes.
"It belongs to the Fray bloodline. Your mother.
.. she was a Van Der Hoven. The land was her dowry. Put in a trust for her firstborn."
The world stops spinning. "What?"
"Your father... he managed the trust. But he couldn't sell the land.
Not while you were alive. Not while you were.
.. competent." Alaric coughs, his body seizing with pain.
"If he declared you insane... he became the executor.
He could sell to the Syndicate. They want the minerals, Elodie.
Rare earth. Billions beneath the asylum. "
I stare at the fire. The flames twist and curl. My father. He didn't hate my music. He didn't hate my panic attacks. He cultivated them. He needed me broken so he could steal my birthright. He sold his own daughter for a mine.
"And you?" I ask, my voice hollow. "You knew?"
"I found out," Alaric admits. "When I bought the facility.
I saw the deed. I saw your name." He closes his eyes.
"I came to Vienna to see the owner. To assess the.
.. asset." "And?" "And I saw a girl playing Chopin like she wanted to tear the sky down.
" He sighs. "I fell in love with the Asset. And I decided... to steal her."
"You kidnapped me to steal the land?"
"No," he whispers. "I stole you to keep them from killing you for it. If you are dead... the trust dissolves. But if you are missing... the land is frozen. They can't touch it. And they can't touch you."
"But they know I'm alive now," I realize. "That’s why the 'Buyer' wants me secure."
"Yes," Alaric rasps. "As long as you breathe, you hold the keys to the kingdom. You are the Queen, Elodie. I’m just... the guard dog."
He passes out again. I lie there, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.
The Queen. I own Hallowed Halls. I own the cage I was locked in.
And Alaric... Alaric destroyed his career, his reputation, his life.
.. to hide me. Not just because he was obsessed.
But because he knew that if I stayed in the world, I would be slaughtered for parts.
A tear slides down my cheek. I am not a victim. I am a prize. A weapon. A vault. And everyone wants to break me open.
CRUNCH.
The sound is distinct. It is not the wind. It is not a branch falling. It is a boot compressing snow. Heavy. Deliberate. Outside the door.
My eyes snap to the entrance. The fire has burned down to embers, casting long, menacing shadows. I check Alaric. He is unconscious. If I wake him, he will try to fight, and he will die. This is on me.