Allegiance

1. Flee—Evangeline



“You okay?” Caden asked, concern pouring from his beautiful jade eyes as he gazed down at me, my head nestled in his lap. His index finger lazily traced the contours of my face, his pattern gentle, repetitive. Conflicting waves of calm and excitement rippled through me.

Finally … with Caden. I smiled shyly up at him from my resting place, my body curled across three seats of Viggo’s private jet, welcoming the abrupt turn of events with open arms. Fewer than twelve hours ago, I was consumed by desperation, swarmed by a dark magic, terrified of what my life would become. Only days ago, I was exiled in the most isolated part of the world with little hope that I would see his beautiful smile outside of distant memories ever again. Now I lay, alternating between unconsciousness and splendor, quietly memorizing Caden’s perfect lips and scattered chestnut brown hair, still in shock that he was here, with me, on Earth. And he hadn’t tried to kill me.

I reached up with tentative fingers to touch the patch of gauze on my neck. My body was still weak, recuperating from the loss of blood. Every time I tried to sit upright, purple and black swirls filled my vision and vomit blossomed into my throat. Damn, that psychotic Rachel went down with a fight …

A vertical line formed between Caden’s eyes. “Hey … talk to me.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” I finally whispered, grimacing as a sharp pain speared my left eardrum. “My ears are popping.”

As if in response, the jet’s engine rumbled loudly, signaling a distinct shift in speed and altitude. Caden leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on my cheek. “We’ll be landing soon,” he murmured softly in my good ear, nuzzling his nose against my lobe, sending shivers to the tips of my toes.

I curled my hand around Caden’s broad shoulder as leverage to pull myself up, hoping I could handle the vertical position for more than ten seconds without vomiting or passing out. “Has she told us where we’re going yet?” I slid my feet off the seat to touch the floor next to Max. The werebeast was stretched out on the floor, by my side.

“No, she hasn’t,” Sofie answered for him in her silky French accent, smoothly swooping in to take the now-vacant spot next to me. She stared fixedly at my neck wound, as if she could see through the bandage with x-ray vision. I wouldn’t be surprised if half my neck was missing, recalling the viciousness of Rachel’s bite. Worse, Sofie couldn’t heal me. It had something to do with the Tribe’s magic that coursed through my veins. Toxic magic—poisonous to vampires, counteractive to witch magic. Technically, my body was now a weapon. An impermeable contaminated weapon that couldn’t be healed and could not be turned into an immortal. At least the poison was contained …

Either way, I could tell by the angry glint in Sofie’s eyes that her not being able to fix me was driving her insane. For eighteen years, she had lingered quietly in the shadows—guarding over me, plotting and scheming against any potential threats to my being. My own slightly overbearing maternal vampire sorceress. Arguably, her involvement in my life had caused more harm than good. She didn’t intend for any of it, I knew that. And though she had cursed me, she had tested every limit to protect me since then. I could be angry with her for all of this. I could despise her. But then I wouldn’t have met Caden …

“Are you going to tell us soon?” I pressed, though it didn’t matter where we were going, I thought, as I gave Caden’s hand a tight squeeze. He was with me. For today, for tomorrow, for however long before the impending war and my certain death if I couldn’t rid myself of this magic … I heaved a resigned sigh. It hadn’t sunk in yet …

Sofie’s full red lips pressed together tightly as she stared off, deep in thought, as if she had reconciled herself to a decision but was not pleased with it.

“We do have somewhere safe to go … right?” I asked hesitantly. Now that it was clear the Sentinel and the witches had aligned for the destruction of the vampire species, “somewhere safe” might not exist.

Sofie sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Yes, there is one place that should be fairly safe, though … it’s not the best place to go. It’s not comfortable. I just don’t …”

“Paris!” Viggo cut in, sounding annoyed by Sofie’s waffling. “The outskirts of it.”

I looked to where the two-thousand-year-old vampire sat cross-legged in a row of seats behind me, his suit perfectly pressed, his expression unruffled. A small wooden box rested on his lap, held casually in his manicured grasp. There was nothing casual about it, though. That box held Veronique’s pendant, my noose until not long ago, and the key to her release. Viggo would take this plane and everyone down with him before parting with it again.