“We were contracted to be together—to have a child. Contracted by vampires. Fate had nothing to do with that.”

  “Fate had everything to do with it.”

  “No, Drake did. He saw to it that we met. But circumstances outside of anyone’s power put you and Jason in the same space.”

  “Actually, that was my dad. He ensured that we met.”

  He put the cup down beside him, nodding a few times. “But it’s just as well anyway, Ara. You’ll come to love him eventually.”

  “Who?”

  “My brother.”

  “I already told you. I don’t want him, David. I still love yo—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Don’t you get it?” he said, lowering his voice on the end when he realised he was yelling. “You are fated to each other. No matter what you think you feel for me, we won’t ever be together again.”

  I tapped the curve of my mug with my pinky nail for a moment, trying hard to believe that any of that really mattered to him. But I knew him better than he realised—knew my David would never let a stupid thing like Fate get in the way of what he wanted. And I believed with all my heart that he still wanted me—even if it was deep down inside. “David?”

  “Mm?” he said, prompting me mostly with his brows, his lips against his mug.

  “I’m going out to the Stone at dawn tomorrow. Will you come with me?”

  “Why?”

  “I just wanted to show you something.”

  “Ara, I know you walk out there naked. If you think stripping off in front of me will—”

  “No, nothing like that.” I waved my hands around, horrified. Well, horrified that I’d never thought of that.

  “Then what?”

  “It’s just something cool I can do with my powers.” Like hopefully free him of his hex. Not that I could say that aloud in case Morg was, indeed, watching and did something to stop him going with me.

  “Ara.” His eyes darkened. “I know what you’re trying to do. It won’t work.”

  “What am I trying to do?”

  “You’ve shown no interest in sharing your powers with me before—ever. Why now?”

  “I—” What could I say to that? “Really?”

  “Really, what?”

  “You’ve been feeling left out?”

  He shuffled back on the counter awkwardly.

  I watched him for a second, frowning to myself, going back over our past. And he was right. I worked with Jason and Mike and Falcon a lot, and always ran to them when I discovered something new. I hardly ever even told David when new powers surfaced. But it was because my powers needed research and training. David wasn't really right for that role. “I’m so sorry. I didn't even realise.”

  “No. Why would you?” He placed his cup down again and leapt off the counter. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Wait.” I got up out of my seat and stood in his path, knowing too well that this conversation was opening emotional doors he wanted to slam shut. “Will you come with me then? Tomorrow? Because I’d really like to show you.”

  “No.” He went to shove past me. I blocked his path. “Get out of my way.”

  “Make me.”

  “Fine.” He grabbed both my arms in a bold grip and shoved me aside, turning back once he passed. “Don’t test my limits, girl, because you won’t like the boundaries.”

  “Is that a threat?” I laughed.

  His aimed his finger at me, keeping that ultimately serious façade firmly in place. “Just leave me alone, Ara.”

  So I did. I stayed behind to clean up our mess, but only because I stayed also with the satisfaction that filled the room in knowing I was right. My David was still in there, and somewhere underneath his hatred for me and for what I did with Jason, he did still love me. Maybe he’d never forgive me, and maybe he’d never want me back, but if he could be hurt by being left out of everything exciting in my life, it only meant that it mattered to him. And that meant I had every reason to hope that maybe all this back-and-forth behaviour of his really was just a hex, not total and deep-seated hatred.

  Only problem now was trying to figure out a way to get him to the forest so I could test the theory—see if Nice David returned within the boundaries that protected us from witchcraft. And another problem was leading him there without actually saying it aloud. But Mike had offered to help, so I’d just have to wait until we devised a plan. Only, the third problem was that I didn't want to wait. I wanted to fix David now and just have one breath, one moment where the boy I fell in love with at school didn’t look at me like he never loved me back.

  ***

  The stillness of predawn thinned the air, showing the autumn, without its warmth and beauty, as the cold, sad season it truly was. The great staircase in the entrance seemed lonelier at this hour, as if there was more space to breathe than the daytime offered, with all its hustle and bustle and the constant chatter of voices and beating of hearts. I could still hear the faint pulse and flow of the life within these walls, but the closed doors and sleeping minds meant that none of them wanted or needed interaction with me, they just … existed, leaving room for thought and reflection. I could look around this manor and, after finally being here long enough, find memories in almost every inch and behind every object: on the staircase, Morgaine glided toward the first floor, so excited to show me the manor for the first time; by the entrance to the Great Hall, Blade stood with a beaming smile and a pile of papers, all set to release Jason from the cells; and the white front doors offered me a flash of Eric’s smile on the day he left, opening another doorway to a future where Jason would follow and I’d be saying goodbye to him. Maybe for good. But definitely for the best.

  As my gaze lingered there, watching the past and the future waver intermittently, I could still see myself, so young and so naïve, stepping through it for the first time and looking up at the stained glass dome above me, wondering what my future would hold—fearing what it would hold. The smell of bacon and the buzzing excitement of imminent change from that day was so fresh in my mind that, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear the staff chatting and laughing distantly.

  But when I opened them and slipped back into the present, another sound—one I couldn’t possibly be hearing from memory—echoed off the emptiness around me. I held incredibly still and listened, quieting my breath and, there, underneath the ever-constant ring in my ears and the pattering of my heart, was the softest, sweetest melody, lilting out innocuously from the Great Hall.

  Whoever was playing the piano in there meant not to wake anyone and most certainly not to have an audience. But my inner musician just had to know who on earth was playing a Keith Urban song at this hour?

  I tipped my ear toward the doors in the hopes that the style of the pianist might give some clue as to who it was. It certainly wasn’t Jason. He’d play something a bit happier, I was sure.

  Mike? Maybe. But, he produced a more taciturn, kind of robust sound.

  There were plenty of people living at the manor that played the piano, but not many with that degree of skill and accuracy and … sorrow.

  My heart burned then as it beat harder in my chest for the hope that it might be David—all that hope exploding into delight as the sound of his deep, milky voice followed the chords out of the Great Hall and struck my soul.

  An almost shameful guilt riddled my moral core to be catching David in a private moment of self-expression—to see him stripped bare down to his soul, no longer shielded by the steel wall he put up to keep others from seeing him feel things. I kinda felt like a naughty child sneaking out of bed, lingering in the halls to hear her parents talking—like I’d be scolded if anyone caught me. And it was the most delicious feeling I’d had in a long time.

  The shadows of early dawn darkened the corridors and all the corners, but the rooms were so filled with life by the sound of David singing that it felt as though everyone was awake and the day was new with promise. But my heart ached a little for the song he chose—for the meaning I took from it that David probably didn't even realise. Then again, he would absolutely deny that the song was about finally breaking apart when you’ve tried to hold it together for so long, but his voice told a thousand truths his own words would refuse: the small waver, the tiny breaks here and there. I could hear the pain in his soul. And I could hear that he chose this song for exactly that meaning.

  But it ended then and the morning went quiet again. Too quiet.

  The crickets outside sung the dawn a merry tune as the wind played percussion, sweeping tiny pebbles off the driveway into the bricks at the base of the walls, and I held my breath, frozen in the middle of the entranceway, my feet flat and cold on the marble floor, my nostrils flaring around that crisp rosewater scent the autumn had left in the air. He’d come out any second now. He’d catch my scent, know I was listening, and be so embarrassed by his vulnerability that he’d have to say something cruel to appear heartless again.

  I was about to make a mad dash back up to bed when the bewitching ring of a lullaby eased my nerves and unfolded my toes, guiding me to the Great Hall on the very tips of them. He wasn’t done pouring out his heart yet, and I sure as hell wasn’t done witnessing it. Not for all the gold in the world.

  As I reached the doors and glided like a ghost into the corner beside the frame, my eyes found him in the perfect darkness by the piano: the stool sat slightly further out than it usually did, almost as if he'd just stopped on a whim and decided to play, but the way he owned the notes and the keys, his hands scaling across them like ripples along water, made it seem like he'd been sitting there all night and was now fused to the piano. His feet were bare, the cuffs of his jeans sitting just over them, moving as he pressed the pedals, sustaining the chords.

  It wasn't until he stopped playing for a second and drew a long breath before playing again that I recognised the song. I knew it only as a pop song on the radio, surrounded by controversy about a girl on a steel ball. I’d never heard it done acoustically and never on a piano. He made beauty of the melody, humming to it softly for a while, letting the gravity of the words I knew should be there saturate the room.

  His lips parted then and the first words echoed as he began the song a cappella.

  I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding and leaned into the doorway, steadying my jelly legs to hold me up. Just the way he sung it, with his heart well and truly on his sleeve, his voice illustrating his soul’s anguish in colours all around the room, made me want to cry. Hearing the song in David’s voice connected me to it in ways that I never had before. It was like he owned the words, certainly owned all the pain, as if it had been written by him—in a letter personally addressed to me. Which made me think about the reason he’d chosen this song. Was his inner heart crying out for someone to save him from the anguish of being forced not to love me? He knew about the prophecy of Lilith—that Jason and I were meant to be. Maybe his distance from me, the reason he had to make me hate him, was because of that, because he’d been told that I could die if I refused to be with Jason. Maybe all this time he was doing what he thought was best—pushing me away. If anyone knew how to push me away, it was him. He knew exactly what to say. He knew exactly what to do.

  This song, this performance, was it the turmoil escaping from inside him for an instant—just a breath where he could ease the pain of being torn from someone he loved? Or was it just a phenomenal performance by an inspiringly talented musician that left its audience thinking wishfully, believing he could see them—that they were the only people in the crowd?

  But if he has been influenced by a hex this whole time, then how much must it kill him to say those nasty things to me, knowing I actually believed them? And how helpless must he feel knowing he has to give me up, hand me over to someone else, for the greater good?

  I just wanted to walk in there and hold him, tell him it was okay. Tell him again and again that I never stopped loving him and that I’d rather die—rather accept this fate Lilith foresaw than live another day without him. He’d probably just tell me again how much he hates me, but I bet if I looked deep into those eyes, I’d see the truth. It was always there. Maybe I just hadn't wanted to see it until now. Maybe accepting that he still loved me meant that I had to face the truth of how deeply I hurt him and face the truth that Jason really did need to leave. I wasn't ready to let him go before, but hearing the pain bare itself in David’s voice was enough to make me never want to see Jason again.

  I focused my attention on David again as he leaned down, placing his ear to the keys, singing his agony into the slower more soulful notes. I’d seen him do that a thousand times, heard him sing a thousand times, but tonight it felt like the first time. I felt myself falling in love with him all over again, like that first day I ever heard him sing, so long ago, by a lake that seemed more like a dream now than a real place. All those memories of a childhood passed wavered around me on an invisible current: the music room, Big Bertha, Ryan and Alana. The storage closet and the day David squeezed his cola all over his jeans. All of it filled me up with a rush of agony and a cool wash of hope. Where there was once love there would always be hope. Always. I wouldn't give up on him. Ever. And tonight, speaking with him, hearing him sing again, gave me the strength to know that, no matter what came, I couldn't give up. I had to stay strong. I had to get him back.

  As the last note rang into the emptiness around us, David slid his foot from the pedal and sat back, his hands in his lap. I gently wiped a cool line of tears from my face, sobbing all the tension and heartache out in a long breath, my eyes going wide with horror when the breath reached his ears.

  He looked up quickly from the piano, his eyes falling on an ultimately empty space as I ducked masterfully into the shadows in the nick of time, turning on my heel then to dart up the stairs.

  “Please don’t follow me,” I whispered. “Please don't follow me.”

  I shoved my bedroom door open, slammed it shut and set myself up on the settee by the fire with a book in my hand just as the door swung back open.

  He didn’t knock. Didn’t announce himself. Just stood there in the doorway, probably staring at me.

  “Ara.”

  “Mm?” I said casually, not looking up from my book.

  He appeared on the table beside the settee, his eyes cold and dark. “Were you in the Great Hall just now?”

  “Me?” I shrugged dismissively. “No. I was reading. Why?”

  He angled his head horizontally. “So you read upside-down now?”

  I cringed when I looked at the book. “Um, yeah. It exercises the brain.”

  He groaned, lowering his brow to his fingertips.

  I put the book and the façade down. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help it. It’s been so long since I’ve heard you sing.”

  He jumped up quickly and stormed away, but didn't leave the room. Instead, he just stood by the fireplace, his hand splayed out on the mantle, looking down into the golden flames as they turned half of him orange.

  “I am really sorry, David,” I added, sliding my feet onto the floor.

  “Don’t be.”

  “Okay.” I sat back, hugging a pillow. “I’m not then.”

  He turned his head slightly and smiled, laughing a little.

  “Can I just say one thing about it?” I asked delicately.

  “What?”

  “You are an amazing performer.”

  His shoulders dropped then and he relaxed, moving back a step from the fireplace. “I thought I was alone.”

  And all I could think was that I’d at least finally managed to get him up to the bedroom. Maybe I could keep him here overnight—make sure he got some sleep.

  “I can’t, Ara.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “Can’t sleep in the same room as you.”

  “Why? I know you're not still that mad at me, David. You—”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He sighed and came to sit on the coffee table in front of me. “It’s the nightmares.”

  “You’re having nightmares?” I asked, but I already knew that. I just didn't know what they were about.

  “I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time in…” He balanced his elbows on his knees and cradled his face in his hands. “Weeks.”

  “And … are the nightmares because of the lack of sleep, or is the lack of sleep because of the nightmares?”

  “Both. I think.” He gave a timid smirk, looking up from his hands. “They're so vivid, Ara. The dreams. Sometimes, when I wake, I’m not sure what’s real.”

  “What are they about?”

  “You,” he said without hesitation.

  “Me? What, being with me, leaving me—?”

  “Killing you.”

  My throat made an overdramatised gulping noise for comedic effect. “And you think, if we sleep together, you might actually kill me?” As if!

  “Yes,” he said in short. “But that’s not why I’m afraid to go to sleep.”

  I was taken slightly aback by that. I shifted in my seat awkwardly before asking, “Then why are you?”

  “Honestly? It’s what I feel when I open my eyes and realise you're not actually dead that bothers me.”

  “Relief?”

  He shook his head. “I feel like I failed. Like I can't go another day if you exist in this world.”

  “So you're afraid I’ll still be alive?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.”

  The word hit me like an arrow through the heart. I stood, my eyes brimming with tears.

  “Ara, please—” He reached for my hand, but I backed away. “Ara.”

  “This is so wrong, David,” I said, my voice shaky.

  “In theory, yes.” He lowered his head. “But a bigger part of me, one I’m struggling to control, finds more injustice in every breath you take than the thought of your cold, dead corpse.”

  A shiver ran up my spine when he looked at me with a kind of hatred behind his icy gaze that shattered everything solid in my world—as if the vampire within had consumed the human remains of his soul and left him raw and open to pure instinct. The instinct to kill me.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65