Think, Vi.
I’d come down behind a wall of old crates. I was considering how I could use them to my advantage when I spotted a piece of the slim metal piping I’d broken in my fall. It lay by my foot.
I could hear the exiles moving towards me. They were cackling.
‘We should take her body with us to the tournament tonight,’ one said.
The other one laughed. ‘That would definitely put dark in the lead.’
‘And everyone would know that we were the ones who killed her.’
Can anyone say: premature victory?
Without stopping to think I pulled off the bracelet from my left wrist, using the specially designed clasp to cut open the flesh around my silver marking, currently swirling in the presence of exiles, and let it spill onto the end of the metal bar.
It took just a few seconds and as soon as I palmed the pipe, the exiles started to throw the crates aside then came into view, their smiles wide with anticipation.
I stood. I didn’t return their smiles. I didn’t bother to do anything other than what needed to be done.
I lunged, raising my elbow into the face of the black-haired exile as I spun, the metal pipe striking his companion through the heart. He was gone. I turned back to the first exile and, hoping that there was still enough of my blood on the pipe to do the trick and using my supernatural speed for all it was worth, I jammed the pipe straight into his neck.
His face wore an expression of pure surprise.
I’d seen that look before.
I sighed and my shoulders slumped forward, unfulfilled. This was my job, one that I would do for as long as I existed, which could be a significantly long time. But two years ago I’d accepted that there was no longer any satisfaction to be had in my world.
No fairytales.
Only the cold.
Turning towards where I thought my dagger had landed, my surroundings suddenly changed.
I was no longer seeing the warehouse. There were flashes of white, moving fast, pounding hooves. Horses. Silver streaked through the air like a dance. Swords. Slashes of red painted the sky. Something sharp and deadly ripping through flesh – wet and gruesome. Claws. Thousands and thousands of beings as far as I could see fought ruthlessly, with no sign of tiring. In the centre, two warriors battled beneath a blinding light. I could not make out their faces.
I blinked hard.
The image was gone and in its place Gray stood against the wall of Lincoln’s warehouse, casually flipping my dagger in the air. ‘Would you like me to applaud?’ he asked.
Leaning against a metal support pole, he had that mid-twenties look I’d come to associate with the older Grigori – though I had no idea how old he really was – and was dressed in his usual black jeans, black T-shirt and black leather jacket. Black really was the only colour worth investing in – blood stains everything else. He sported about a week’s worth of growth on his face, though his head was shaved, the scars that ran over the top of his skull telling of a history both terrible and secret. Grigori did not generally scar, so I knew that whatever had caused these had occurred before Gray had turned seventeen.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat and glanced around as I composed myself. The whole … hallucination … had lasted only a couple of seconds. I clenched my jaw.
Christ. It was nothing. I’m just imagining things.
I snapped my bracelet back in place over my marking and shot him a dry look. ‘Should I be charging a spectator fee?’
My voice sounded normal but my ears felt like they were still ringing with the echoes of battle.
‘Not if the show is going to be over so fast, princess.’
I glared at him for persisting with the stupid nickname. ‘You know, you could’ve stepped in and given me a hand.’
‘Sure,’ he said with a solemn nod. ‘And you could’ve waited until the meet time we’d all agreed on, too.’
I looked away briefly. ‘So, why are you here early?’ I asked, hoping to divert the conversation.
Gray tilted his head. ‘Because I know you.’
I shrugged off the veiled accusation, even though it was true. To a degree.
‘It was easier this way.’
He threw my dagger into the air and I caught it by the hilt and slipped it back into its sheath.
‘Well you can explain that to the others, since they just arrived.’
CHaPteR tWO
‘Children, it is the last hour, and just as you heard that Antichrist is coming, even now many antichrists have appeared: from this we know that it is the last hour.’
1 John 2:18
gray and I found the other Rogues waiting in the designated meeting place around the corner from the market.
Spotting us, Carter took one look at me and hoisted himself onto the bonnet of his car, shaking his head. ‘Bloody hell, fellas, she’s done it again.’