Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths #2) Page 8

  Kilter grunted. “The bastard would’ve found out, babe. He had you since you were a child. There was nothing you could’ve done, except survive, and you did. You survived. That’s strength.”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “It matters if you keep running.”

  I darted a quick look at him and saw compassion in his hooded eyes. Or was it pity? I didn’t want his pity; I was ashamed of myself already. Having Kilter look at me like that when he had so much courage was debilitating.

  He knew nothing of my life. And yet, he’d understood when he heard my scream on the rooftop and came back for me. And he was trying to be gentle and kind when it went against everything he was.

  He didn’t trust the Scars, I saw that in how he spoke and reacted to them. There was a reason behind it, and I suspected it was bad. Maybe worse than what I’d suffered, and yet he was strong. I wasn’t. I hated that.

  I reached for him, my hand lightly touching his forearm. His eyes darted to me and I quickly drew back. What was I doing?

  If he delved any further, he’d discover too much.

  We strolled back to the house, inches separating us, and I listened to his breath, his heartbeat, and breathed in his scent.

  Kilter was comforting and I wanted to let him in.

  But the risk was too great. I couldn’t take the chance.

  “COME ON, WE NEED somewhere private.”

  I went to grab her arm but changed my mind and jogged across the street. The clatter of heels followed and I heard her swear as she tried to keep up with me.

  Too bad. I loved a chick in sexy heels, liked to fuck a chick in sexy heels, but not a witch who had a vampire after her.

  I walked down Niagara Street, heading for Danielle’s art gallery. It was closed, being a Monday, but I had a key. Delara was currently avoiding the Talde house and Waleron, so she stayed at the gallery.

  I pulled out my cell, scrolled for Delara’s name then pressed Send. It went straight to voice mail. “Breaking and Entering the gallery. Need privacy. Call me.” She’d probably think I was using her place for a quick fuck.

  “Can you slow—”

  “Don’t say a fuckin’ word,” I interrupted.

  And she didn’t for the ten-minute walk, just the annoying click of her shoes on the pavement.

  What pissed me off about this chick? Maybe the fact that she’d followed me to the bar, used her looks to get my attention, and then hit me with shit I didn’t need. I should’ve told her to screw off and jumped in the cab. But I needed to hear this, one way or another, because witches were on the same side as us whether we liked it or not.

  Maybe this was no big deal. Witch chick—who looked eighteen—had been dumped by Liam and was overreacting. Made sense since Delara was his new fuck partner.

  I’d listen to her sob story about how Liam was an ass then toss her in a cab and get back to drinking the rest of my day in solitude.

  Stopping in front of the gallery on Queen Street, I reached in my front jean pocket and took out the keys, unlocking the door. I didn’t bother flicking on the lights and strode to the back of the gallery, saying over my shoulder, “Lock it.”

  I heard the bolt click then her annoying heels again as she followed me. Opening the little fridge, I shifted the milk and orange juice aside and grabbed two beers. I shut the fridge door with my foot, and used my key to open the bottles, setting one on the counter for Abigail, or Abby, what-the-fuck-ever.

  I leaned back against the counter, raised my beer, and gulped half of it back. When I lowered it, I nodded to her. “Okay, let’s hear it so I can get on with my already pisser of a week.”

  She made no move to take the beer; instead, she peered at Danni’s art as if this was a private showing. Just when I was going to kick her ass out to the curb and say screw it, she turned toward me.

  “I didn’t know who else to ask for help. Trinity would—”

  “Fuck!” That’s where I recognized her name from, the wild-child Abigail. Rumor had it that Trinity raised this chick since she was a kid. Something about the girl’s mother, Leona, killing herself before a horde of vampires had the chance to do it.

  “Great. Just fuckin’ great. Trinity’s errant witch. I should’ve known.” The one person who hated Delara—Trinity. “I get it, no need to explain. Trinity’s a vile bitch and would set you on fire if she knew you had anything to do with a vampire.”

  “Yeah, something like that,” she replied, running her fingers through her hair, making the longer strands in front, which cupped her face, fall forward. “Liam’s new girl—” she began.

  I snorted. Bingo. This was about a chick scorned and Delara stole her man. “If you had listened in witch class, you’d know that vampires are rarely monogamous.”

  Her nose scrunched. “I’m not sleeping with him. That’s disgusting.”

  I had my beer to my mouth about to take a chug, but lowered it again. “Really? Now, that surprises me.”

  She glared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shrugged. “Sugar, you pick me up in a bar wearing a skimpy dress, fuck-me heels, and looking sexy as hell. You tell me you’re involved with Liam—a vampire who easily gets any chick he wants—and rumor is you’ve been hanging at his club. Considering you’re sexy, hot, and in his club, he’d want you. And you’re a rebel witch who likes to piss Trinity off. So, yeah, it surprises me you aren’t spreading your legs for him.”

  “You’re a dick.”

  “And you expect to get my help calling me a dick?”

  She continued to glare, but kept her mouth shut.

  I lifted my beer, chugged, and then set it down on the counter. “Fine, tell me.”

  Her hair fell forward, covering her right eye, and she pushed it aside with one finger. “Delara wasn’t at the club a few nights ago.” I knew which night because she’d been shooting a game of pool with me. “And Liam looked edgy, and I’m guessing it was because she wasn’t there. I’ve seen them together at the club because, as you said, I’ve been there a lot lately.” Her eyes shifted from me to her feet and her shoulders tensed. “I’d been in a pissy mood and drinking more than I should.”

  Fuck, here it comes. I could feel the unease radiating off her.

  “Umm, the head’s a little fuzzy, but I ended up at Liam’s table, and he served me a bunch of drinks and—”

  “Fuck, you got wasted with a vampire? Did you read your witch handbook at all? The part where it says ‘never get wasted around a vampire’? Even I know that, and I’m not a witch.”

  “I fucked up, okay,” she retorted.

  “Yeah. You did. So, what’s the deal? You’re worried Delara is going to kick your ass for hanging out with her man? Give you a clue here, she doesn’t give a shit about Liam.”

  “Not exactly. But, he kissed me. I was mad about—well, some guy. Listen, I’m having an all-around crappy couple months. I was drunk. Liam was tempting and—”

  “He’s a bloody vampire, of course he’s fuckin’ tempting. That’s his goddamn job,” I shouted.

  She remained quiet. Her hands clasped together as she moved to lean against the wall and crossed her arms. Unfortunately, I knew there was more.

  “This isn’t about kissing Liam, is it? What else?”

  She cleared her throat then said, “I, ah… had a drop of his blood.”

  “Fuck!” I turned around, grabbed the edges of the counter and growled. Jesus. I should shove her out the door and let her fend for herself. What the hell was I supposed to do with that? “Why?” I ground out.

  “It was bad timing.”

  I swung around so fast, I knocked my beer over with my elbow and the liquid spilt onto the counter, dripping over the lip onto the floor. “Bad timing? Are you for real?”

  She tensed, eyes narrowing. “Listen, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I was—”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  She avoided my eyes. “Fine. Let’s make this simple.
I was plastered and screwed up. Happy?”

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” I ran my hand through my hair as I walked to the door, stopped, and walked back.

  Liam was a serious pain in my ass, a dangerous pain in the ass. There may be a truce between the Scars and him because he was behaving and not killing any humans, but he had to know feeding a witch his blood would end that truce.

  I stopped pacing and met her eyes. “Do you realize what one drop can do?” She nodded, but I said it anyway. “You begin to crave blood. Thirst for it. Starve for it, and when you can’t deny the thirst any longer—and trust me, you can’t—you consume blood for a second time, and you die. But then, lucky you comes back to life and joins the bloodsuckers, hunting humans, being hunted by us when you kill someone—you know, the joys of being a fucker of the living dead. Oh, but that’s not all—Liam becomes your master. You, his pet. He calls. You come. He says fetch, you go fetch. He says spread your legs…” I stopped when I heard her sob.

  “Fuck, Abby. I’m being a dick.” I walked over to her, put my finger under her chin, and tilted her head up so I could see her eyes. “Abby, shit, I’m sorry. But this is bad. You don’t want that life. I don’t think vampires want that life.”

  She stepped away from me and walked over to the portrait Danni painted of Balen and stood in front of it. “I heard about him. Balen. He drank from a vampire and fought off the poison. He didn’t Transition.”

  “That’s why you’re here,” I said more to myself than to her.

  She nodded.

  Could she fight it like Balen had? Was it possible? It had taken years for Balen to get rid of the vampire blood in him, and it had nearly driven him crazy. “I don’t know. It was one Scar, Abby. Since the beginning of our existence, we’ve had one Scar try this after consuming vampire blood. And you’re a witch, not an ancient like Balen or immortal. Fighting the cravings for blood can take years.”

  She spun on her heels and faced me. “But I won’t become a vampire if I can fight it, right?”

  “Not if you can survive it. But that’s unlikely.”

  “But we could try?”

  I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. “Sugar, it’s not going to work. You’re what, a twenty-year-old witch. It’ll be impossible to fight century-old vampire blood. You’ll either die or turn.”

  Her eyes hardened. “I’m stronger than you think.”

  Fuck. What the hell was I supposed to do here? She’d turn into a vampire and become Liam’s slave. I didn’t like it, but that was the reality.

  “Can we try? Please. I need to try. I can’t become a vampire. Not now.”

  Was there any time you’d want to become a blood-sucker? “We’d have to find an isolated place for you to hide and someone to stay with you while you go through it.”

  Her shoulders straightened. “I have to do this,” she said.

  I took out my cell and tapped on the screen. “I’ll call Waler—”

  She snatched the phone from my hand. “No. You can’t call him. If Waleron finds out, he’ll be obligated to tell Trinity. Then she’ll inform Mariana, which will lead to the Wraiths.” Yeah, that was exactly how it would go down. “Trinity can’t find out. She’ll kill me.”

  Probably true. Her eyes averted from mine and she shifted her feet. Fuck. “What aren’t you telling me, Abby?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Uncomplicate it, sugar.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I shouted as I stomped over to the empty easel and kicked it. The pieces of wood gave to the pressure and collapsed to the floor.

  “I didn’t know. I just did a test today.”

  Holy mother of God, this had to be the worst possible scenario. Going through detox pregnant—so not going to work, and yet transitioning into a vampire pregnant would probably kill both mother and child. My head jerked up and I swung around to her. “Wait a sec. Vampires are incapable of—”

  “I told you, I never slept with Liam, and I didn’t know when I had the drop of blood that I was pregnant.”

  “Whose is it?”

  She winced and I knew I wasn’t going to like what I was about to hear. “Damien’s.”

  Damien? That’s impossible. She couldn’t be talking about the Scar Damien.

  “He was here from—”

  Shit, she was. “Florida. Yeah, I know.” Damien the Women-hater; Damien who I called the virgin king; Damien the arrogant-out-of-control crass Tracker Visionary who had already been sent to Rest for killing someone. Rumor was that it had been an accident, but I had my doubts. “He rape you?”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, no. Of course not. And he doesn’t know, okay? I don’t want him to either. It was a one-night thing two months ago and it meant nothing.”

  I sighed, hand jerking through my hair. “Why the hell me? Why put this shit on me?”

  “Delara,” she said quietly. “I met her a few times at the club, and she’s talked about you.” She paused. “And I really didn’t have anyone else to go to.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Delara?”

  Her nose scrunched again. “Liam is a vampire.” I shrugged. “Well, he can read thoughts. If I spoke to Delara and Liam read her—”

  “—thoughts,” I finished. Delara would keep her shields up on her thoughts, but Abby was right. It would be risky. “Why the fuck did you drink his blood? He’s a vampire. You’re a witch. Those two shouldn’t even be in the same room together.”

  Something didn’t make sense, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Why would Liam give a drunk witch a drop of his blood? What did he gain from that except pissing off the Scars and witches?

  Stalking over to the sink, I grabbed the cloth and cleaned up the spilt beer before tossing the empty bottle under the counter into the recycling bin. “Abby, this is some serious shit. I need a few days to figure out how to play it.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll, ah, disappear for a while.”

  “No. Not a while. You’ll crave blood soon, probably already are. Liam wants you at the club, in five days, right?” She nodded again. “Okay, I’m guessing he thinks your cravings will be strong enough by then that he can easily convince you to drink from him again. We don’t want him suspecting anything, so I need you to show up. In the meantime, I’ll contact a couple people, get things set up to hide you. But whatever you do, don’t fuckin’ drink any more blood. You do, this is over. You have no chance.”

  “No Waleron?” Abby asked.

  “At the moment, no. Liam is on his shit list and hearing this might start a war before we’re ready.”

  “Okay.”

  I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.”

  Reaching in her little red purse hanging over her shoulder, she unsnapped it and took out her phone, tapping the screen before putting it in my hand. I added my contact info and handed it back.

  “Stay in a hotel and lock the door. Room service only. The less you’re around humans, the better.”

  “Okay.” She put her phone back in her purse and headed for the door. Stopping, she looked over her shoulder at me. “I made a mistake and I’m prepared to suffer the consequences, but I don’t want you or anyone else to go down with me. So, if this will be an issue with the Scars, you need to tell me.”

  I winked at her. “Sugar, a damsel in distress is my specialty. They’ll be cool.” As long as Waleron didn’t find out.

  She huffed. “Oh, I’m not in distress. I’m just pregnant with some guy’s baby I’ve said five words to and facing something called detox or Transitioning into a bloodsucking vampire, both of which might kill me. I’d call it death pounding on my door, and me being stupid enough to open it and let it waltz right in.”

  I BOLTED UPRIGHT THE second I heard the bedroom door creak open. I’d always been a light sleeper, needed to be with where I grew up and never wanting to be caught unaware.

  “Kilter,” I whispered when I saw him in the doorway.
I pulled the duvet up to my neck, my heart pounding as he approached the bed.

  I hadn’t seen him in three days, and I knew it was because, after our conversation in the garden, he was trying to give me space. I’d read the six books I’d found in the nightstand drawers on either side of the bed while sitting in front of the window with the breeze lightly caressing my face.

  “Babe.” He stopped beside the bed.

  His hooded eyes had dark circles beneath them and his hair was tousled and damp as if he’d just come out of the shower. I breathed in and smelled his soap—it was nice. Really nice. He always smelled nice. And this was why I avoided him. He made me feel different. He made me want to trust him.

  “Made you a protein shake. It’s in the kitchen.” I recognized the pattern, putting food in front of me, hoping I’d suddenly gorge myself. Anton did it for years until he realized it wouldn’t work.

  He inhaled as if he was about to say something else but changed his mind. His temples pulsed and his brows lowered. It was his usual scowl, but it was his hands clenching and unclenching that concerned me, because he appeared uneasy. Was he waiting for me to reply?

  “Umm, okay. Thanks.”

  He gave a curt nod, half-turned, then ran a hand over his two-day-old stubble. “The others think you should be in a rehabilitation center.”

  I tensed. A rehabilitation center?

  “Your weight.” A low growl emerged. “Fuck, babe, I’ll fight them on this. I am fighting them. It’s not the right place for you.” Kilter’s brows furrowed and his eyes darkened. “I won’t let them take you. I’ll convince them. You know that, don’t you?”

  But he couldn’t stop them, could he? They were Scars, plural, and he was just one. I suspected Kilter could and would take on ten of them if he chose to, but odds were against him.