I spoke briefly about Caden, stumbling over my words and blushing furiously. I left out anything that sounded like “love” and “soul mate” but the knowing look in Julian’s eyes revealed that he’d quickly deduced what Caden meant to me.
At some point, a servant set a tray holding weak tea and lightly buttered toast on the nearest end table for Julian, which he accepted with a polite nod. “It sounds like you’ve forgiven them,” he said, his face incredulous as he stirred sugar into his tea. “After everything they’ve done to you?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve forgiven them,” I began slowly, feeling foolish again. I couldn’t even answer that truthfully. I had in fact forgiven Sofie. Completely. And there was nothing to forgive on Caden’s end. “Being angry won’t change anything. It will only turn me bitter. Maybe it will surface later and I’ll go on a psychotic rampage.”
“But . . . ” Julian paused, searching for words, “they tried to kill you and you still call them friends. You don’t see there being anything wrong with that?”
“It’s complicated,” I mumbled, shrugging. “There’s plenty wrong with everything that’s going on. I hope that by the time I see them again, they’ll have learned to control themselves.”
Julian leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands folded. “And when will that happen? How long? Are you—are we—stuck here until then?”
“Not long. Hard to say . . . ” I worked hard to hide the lie from my face but, by the crestfallen look on his, I knew I’d failed miserably. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the full truth, that Sofie, an over-protective, borderline stalker, had locked us up here to keep me safe from a pack of vampires until they could be trusted around my blood.
We could die here.
3. The Sentinel
“Soon,” I murmured softly, sliding my hand over the smooth white marble of my baby sister’s tomb, knowing my promise was a blatant lie. One hundred and twenty years ago, she accompanied me, hand in hand, into a dank, dusty room in this very building—then a factory of sorts. One hundred and twenty years ago, I had stared straight into her anxious green eyes and sworn that I’d release her the second I fixed my magical blunder. As tears rolled down her rosy cheeks, I’d chanted the freezing spell, my voice masking her last sobs until the spell paralyzed and preserved her body, and I felt my heart break. I witnessed the magic marble winding around her body, encasing her in her glorious tomb, swallowing her beautiful, curly brown locks. And here she was, tucked away inside the atrium’s focal point when she could be free. All it meant was that Evangeline had to die. Damn the Fates and their twisted sense of humor.
No. While Veronique was locked in her magic-induced coma, my lies couldn’t hurt her. They would torture me, but I’d endure. I would keep her under this spell for as long as it took to outsmart the Fates. Just as Evangeline would remain in her own protective cocoon—for years, decades, a lifetime. I would keep her safe.
“I guess the others are in the cellar?” I said to no one in particular as I strolled away from the statue, my eyes drifting over the twenty or so Ratheus inhabitants who lingered in the ruined atrium, huddled in circles, whispering amongst themselves. Likely still in shock over this otherworldly transportation. The other half—including Caden and his posse—were busy gorging themselves on blood bags in the cellar. Like unruly teenagers, they had broken into Viggo and Mortimer’s stash within an hour of arriving and had stayed there since, satiating their thirst, dooming their previous moral convictions. All of the Ratheus vampires had spent a considerable amount of time in the cellar, but it seemed Evangeline’s friends couldn’t get enough.
Those four had also foiled my desperate plan to corner one and dissect their intentions. I needed to isolate one of them just long enough to infiltrate their souls and minds. Only thirty seconds, someplace where I knew I wouldn’t be attacked by Mage for using magic or by Viggo for appearing to conspire against him. I would be breaking two parts of the truce by doing this and therefore would likely earn the wrath of both ancient vampires. I had no idea what Mage’s wrath entailed; I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
But it didn’t matter because I could never get close enough. If Viggo wasn’t around, then Mage was. Since she had some uncanny ability to sense my magic, I couldn’t try anything with her in arm’s reach. And if neither of them was around, then that bitch, Rachel, was—hovering, watching, poised to report back to Viggo and Mortimer. It was clear she had chosen to side with them in this power struggle, and appointed herself Viggo and Mortimer’s eyes and ears. So I waited impatiently, and each hour that passed saw Caden and the others committing themselves more and more to their blood lust. My hope for something good to come of this charade was quickly thinning.