She reaches up to hold her wrist like she doesn’t recognize the hand in front of her face. “What in the hell?”
I release her and step back. “I know this is difficult,” I say without emotion. Familiar words I’ve said hundreds of times to hundreds of Otherborn over my centuries as a hunter. Maybe I’ve been doing this too long, introducing Others to the truth about themselves. I’m hardened to their feelings—if I ever cared to begin with. Marius says he appreciates my cold nature, which is why he sends me out more than the other hunters, like I’m some sort of statement to the rest of the ruling deities of the Penta. But I tire of these creatures and their tantrums and childishness—which is the main reason I requested the job of gatekeeper in the hidden realms for the next century. Long past time for retirement.
The demigods, druids, and underlings I pull from the human world are usually spoiled brats by the time I get to them, having had their way most of their false human lives. This girl, though . . . I don’t know, she’s not what I expected.
Of course, the normal order’s been tossed out the window with her. She’s far past the age to be collected, which is usually twelve or thirteen. She appears to have been forgotten somehow. Lost. As if the Penta, even the Cast, were ignoring her existence entirely, letting her live a human life. Unless they didn’t sense her Other blood at all, though that seems unlikely.
It’s amazing that Marius felt her magic, given how repressed it is. He sent out several of his best spies to find her three moons ago, when he dreamed of her sleeping in an alley. But we had to wait, to be sure she was what we thought before contacting her. It’s cutting it very close, with her eighteenth Samhain playing out over the last few days, but it looks as if we caught her in time, before she could hurt anyone.
Somehow she locked away her goddess blood and forged her own way through the grime of earth over the years. I’m not exactly sure how to traverse an introduction to our world with a spirit that’s already so strong.
“I just wanted a shower,” she mumbles, now cradling her hand in her lap and studying the bedspread.
“You’ll never want for anything again after tonight,” I say.
She still doesn’t seem to hear me. There’s no look of fear, no understanding or glee, like I usually get.
“I’m going to take you to a safe place where there’s a man who wants to help you,” I add. “He’s rich, very powerful. Under his protection, you’ll learn where you come from and discover where you belong. The dark prince won’t be able to control you and—”
She barks out a laugh, interrupting me.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Dark prince? Seriously?” She laughs again. “Can you even hear yourself?”
I study her and wonder if the potion that Star gave her was too strong. That pixie is so flighty.
The demi stands from the bed and folds her arms over her chest, looking guarded but determined. “Look, muscleman, I can buy this whole you’re-not-who-you-think-you-are thing, since my life has basically sucked ass from the start and I’d love to believe that it was all some huge cosmic error. But you’re trying to tell me I’m going to meet Daddy Warbucks, who will explain to me that I’m a weird alien or something? And he’ll protect me from a dark prince? Pardon me if I don’t leap to join your cult so I can get a chance at cushy digs. That’s not my style.”
“You’re not an alien.”
She just smirks at me and huffs out another derisive laugh. I move to the door and open it wider, yelling out to the others, who I know are listening, “Bring Ben in here.” I turn back to her and slide my knife from its sheath.
FOUR
SAGE
The guy steps closer, his fist clutching a dagger at his side. The glinting silver blade is all I can see. He was babbling about moons and pixies or something, and now he’s decided to kill me because I’m not buying his bullshit?
I scramble back, pressing myself against the dresser. “What’re you doing?”
“Since you won’t listen, I’ll show you the truth.”
A scream rises in my throat, but all I can do is choke in horror. I can tell by his hard gaze that if this strange guy wants me dead, I’m dead. I could fight, but I’ll lose.
He pauses a few feet from me. Instead of attacking, he puts the blade to his own forearm. Then he presses hard and slices deep. I stare in horror as blood bubbles up in a rush of deep red.
Panic jolts through me. But before I can move, the bedroom door opens and one of the pale blond guys comes in, propping up a limp and ashen Ben.
Faelan’s arm is dripping with blood now—it pitter-patters as it hits the floor. He points his red-tipped knife at Ben and looks at me. “Do you see what you’ve done to him?”
I swallow hard and stare at the guy I was dancing with. He looks half-dead. His dark brown hair has even turned gray.
I didn’t do that. I couldn’t have . . .
Faelan puts the tip of his blade to Ben’s shirt and uses it to lift up the hem. There are burn marks all over Ben’s abdomen where I was touching him. My throat goes tight. I can’t stop staring at the mangled skin.
“Ben’s a shade,” Faelan says. “Fairly hardy, for the most part. A being created by the goddess of death, the Morrígan, from a human whose life was cut short too soon. I believe he’s young, only seventy-five years old. His origin is the reason you didn’t kill him with your hunger. You pulled Ben’s life energy into your own body to feed your cells and keep your magic satiated. If Ben were still a human, he’d be a pile of ash right now.”
Faelan holds his dripping arm out like he’s presenting it in offering. Ben’s breath speeds up a little, his eyes opening more, his pupils dilating, as he sniffs the air. “However, Ben needs blood to survive and heal himself,” Faelan continues. “So you’ve harmed more than the shade with your carelessness.” He directs his next words to the limp young man. “You have my permission to feed.”
A low growl emerges from Ben’s throat.
I grip the edge of the dresser behind me, recalling the fangs I glimpsed in his mouth, knowing what I’m about to see, terrified to watch. But I can’t look away. Even with my crazy imagination, I never imagined anything like this.
With a guttural moan, Ben grabs Faelan’s bloody arm and chomps down on it. Faelan hisses in pain and leans closer to the guy who’s suddenly feeding from him. A vampire . . .
My whole body shakes as I watch. Ben’s strength becomes a force in the room. His body seems to grow a little with each gulp of Faelan’s blood. His skin regains its color. His hair turns silky and shiny again. His burn marks fade, and the twisted flesh perfects itself like I’m watching everything happen in reverse. Until the healing is complete.
“Enough,” Faelan grunts out, his voice weaker.