In the Dark (31 page)

“You swore
allegiance to us, Cain. That brat’s father murdered your
packmates. We killed him, finally, at long last, and she deserves to
die with him.” Specter hissed the last words.

Sebastian did
not move. That Kent had killed members of his own pack – he had
not known – when? When had this happened?

“She is my
ward.” He announced it clearly, giving no hint to his thoughts.

Specter’s
eyes narrowed. “Your ward. Now that is a twist. When have you
ever taken a ward? Does she know you, Cain? Who you’ve killed,
how many? How you enjoyed it? Does she know her family and yours are
enemies?”

Sebastian
refused to shudder. He ignored the memories that cried out to him,
focused on Specter. “She knows enough.”

Specter spat,
reached for his blade. “Draw your sword, Cain. I want to see
what you’ve learned since you abandoned us.”

Another verbal
slap. Sebastian sneered, fangs bared. Specter pinned him with black
eyes, hungry for a fight.

I have no
love for him.

It was almost a
new realization. Almost. He knew. Had known for too long. In one
smooth motion Sebastian drew his sword and lunged.

His first stroke
met Specter’s block with a clang of metal. With all Sebastian’s
weight, all his strength thrown behind that stroke, Specter caught it
and held it. For one second, they stood face-to-face with their
blades between them. With a twist of his lips, Specter chuckled and
spun.

Sebastian had to
bring his sword up fast to block the blow that came. He caught it,
barely, before it could slash across his neck. He shoved Specter off
and swung for him again, was blocked, again. This time he whirled,
brought the sword up under Specter’s guard, aiming for his
abdomen. In the same move, Specter knocked Sebastian’s blade
aside with his free hand and brought his sword in at Sebastian’s
neck.

His sword was
too far away to bring in to block. Sebastian brought his free arm up
and took the blade with it rather than his neck. Bone cracked as the
blade connected, embedding itself in his forearm through the coat. He
pulled back to free his arm, and caught Specter’s fist in the
face, a punch that shattered his nose. Sebastian back-pedaled out of
range, but Specter stayed with him, refusing to give him an inch.

Specter was a
move ahead of him. If Sebastian couldn’t regain the even ground
they’d started on he would lose. He clenched his jaw and dove
forward into Specter’s reach, but rather than taking a blow, he
shot past and spun –

– just in
time to watch Specter’s blade come flying towards him.

It was too
close, too fast –

–
he’s
faster than me –

Sebastian took
it in the face, a blow that made his broken nose flare. He
back-pedaled again, then dove forward before he had entirely
recovered. Specter deflected the blow meant for his neck, but took
the punch that followed, and the kick. Specter’s cheek crunched
under Sebastian’s fist, his shin cracked under Sebastian’s
boot.

Specter’s
unbroken leg, however, shot up to connect with Sebastian’s
face, a blow that knocked him off balance, which Specter followed
with a stab of his sword. The blow struck Sebastian square in the
abdomen. He felt the blade penetrate, felt it come to rest against
his spine. He stumbled and fell back, sliding off the blade.

Then
it
hurt, after the shock of the penetration, the grating of his body
coming loose. He landed hard on the ground, the pain screaming in the
back of his mind in one high note. He rolled to one side, but the
crack of Specter’s hilt against his head stopped him. Stars
shot across his vision as his body ceased to obey him, stunned into
stillness for one precious second.

Specter’s
cold blade settled across the side of his neck, the sharpened edge
sliding into his skin, just lightly, just enough to hold him where he
lay.

Lost.

Sebastian
clenched his jaw. His hands curled into fists that would not come
undone.

Lost.

And now the end.

“You’ve
grown soft.” Specter spat it, glaring down at him.

He could not
move. Specter held the sword point to his throat as a collector might
hold a pin to a beetle. If he moved, the blade would go through him,
pinning him to the ground as surely as that. Face pressed half to the
ground, Sebastian watched his former master for the chance to move.

The end of the
sword blade sank an inch into his flesh, burning where it slid. He
grit his teeth and refused to take his eyes from Specter’s.
Those black eyes bore down on him. Merciless.

“I should
kill you,” Specter muttered.

“Then do
so.” Sebastian’s voice was muffled by the ground against
his face. “If you do not, I will only come for you again.”

“I think
not.” Specter twisted the blade.

The already
burning wound screamed with fire. It flared up his neck to his jaw,
down his shoulder and into his arm. Sebastian ground his teeth
together and glared up at Specter. If Specter meant such amateurish
torture to cow his former pupil, he would be sadly disappointed.

“You have
one chance to redeem yourself, Cain the Traitor,” Specter said.

“I am not
interested,” Sebastian growled.

The blade
twisted again, sending pain howling along his neck and into his arm.
He felt tendons snap. His fist loosened its grip on his sword against
his will.

“You will
bring the girl Ian to me. Within a week.”

Twist.

“If you do
not, I will hunt her down myself.”

Twist. The blade
worked its way deeper, growing dangerously close to slipping all the
way through Sebastian’s neck. From there, it would only be a
quick motion to remove his head entirely.

“The death
I give her should you bring her to me will be quick. Painless, even.
You will be welcomed back into our number, redeemed. But, should you
refuse –”

Twist.

“–
you will share her fate. Which shall be neither quick –”

Twist.

“–
nor painless.”

The blade had
gone through Sebastian’s neck now. If he took a breath, he
would feel the air whistle past it through his windpipe. The wound
burned all the way through, like a sword heated to glowing red had
been pushed through him.

In one swift
move, Specter pulled the blade up and out, freeing Sebastian –
except that the tendons leading to his sword arm had been severed. He
could feel them coiling up under his skin, unanchored. His arm was as
useless as a club. He could use a blade just as skillfully with his
left hand, but his left arm lay pinned beneath his own body.

Specter offered
his left hand, eyebrows lifted gracefully. Sebastian ignored it and
levered himself up with his good arm, gathering his sword with it as
he did.

“Sheath
it, Cain,” Specter ordered. The others of the pack closed in,
their own weapons drawn and ready.

With another
growl, Sebastian shoved the blade into its sheath. More than one he
could take. Five plus Specter – the fight would be shorter than
his match with Specter alone.

Specter stood
before him, his weight on his unbroken leg, his face innocently
curious. “Do you understand the terms I have set before you,
Cain?”

Sebastian
glowered.

Specter waved
his hands at him, rolling his eyes. “Oh come now, how much can
she mean to you? As much as your pack? Your sworn family?” He
smiled again, a pompous leer that grated to Sebastian’s soul.

And with that
his former instructor turned and left, limping just slightly on the
leg Sebastian had broken.

As he had
expected, the others flitted away as quickly, vanishing into the
shadows. He could have followed. Gone after them one at a time,
picked them apart. He wanted to. Wanted to watch them fall –

But taking any
of them now would only mean facing Specter again. And that, he had
just discovered, he could not do.

Anger seething
in his belly as hot as the wound through his throat, he turned and
took himself away from the cemetery.

O
ne
second I was asleep, the next, wide awake.

I sat up in bed
with a gasp. I didn’t recognize my own room at first. I had
thrown myself sideways in my sleep.

Home –
my room – facing funny. It’s okay – all okay.

I started to lay
back, relax, let myself wake up more slowly.

And then I
remembered last night. Amanda. Sebastian.

We’d
waited up for Sebastian until very close to sunrise. He never came
back. I’d dreamed about him last night, walking through a
graveyard, followed by shadows. I didn’t want to think about
that too hard. Between nightmares about him and worrying about
Amanda, I’d had an awful day’s sleep.

Amanda.
Josephine had carried her downstairs last night. She lifted Amanda
like she would’ve lifted Gypsy. My heart had leaped into my
mouth when she’d done that, thinking it couldn’t be good
if Amanda had lost that much weight. But Amanda hadn’t lost any
weight. Josephine was just that strong.

We stripped off
her filthy clothes and put her to bed in Kent’s room. Josephine
left in the pre-dawn gray, both of us frowning at the thin light. We
didn’t say anything, but I knew she was worried about
Sebastian, too.

Where had he
gone? What had happened?

And if he had
been . . . if he had been
killed,
how long did we have until
they came for us?

Tears sprang to
my eyes at the thought. The idea of never seeing Sebastian again.

Face and eyes
sore, I got up and dragged my feet to the bathroom. Some cold water
to the face and a clean change of clothes made me start to feel
bipedal again. I left my room, stepped over Gypsy, and went to Kent’s
room. I needed to see Amanda.

The door was
still shut, so at least she probably hadn’t gone wandering
around in the daylight.

If she’d
even been able to wake up during the daylight.

I hadn’t,
not for months after Kent turned me. The change really knocked you
flat.

I listened at
the door, putting my ear to it gently. Gypsy chirped and ran up the
stairs behind me. After that I didn’t hear anything. No sounds
of anyone moving. Shifting. Dreaming.

With a sigh I
turned the doorknob and let myself in as quietly as I could. The room
was black-on-black. My vision must have started improving. I should
have been blind. From the shape of the shadows, I guessed Amanda was
still in bed. I could smell her, jasmine and patchouli mixed with
blood. Her smell had already started to overlay Kent’s.

I stared across
the room at the black bed for a long second, thinking,
what now?
She was here. Nothing other than the obvious had happened to her
since I fed her my blood. Maybe I should get out and wait for her to
wake up. She probably wouldn’t sleep all night. Just some of
it.

As I turned to
leave, she rolled over in the bed. A suss of skin on sheets. I paused
with my hand on the doorknob.

“Jen?”
Her voice sounded thick and slow.

“Yeah,
it’s me.”

She rolled over
again, stretched and sighed. “I had the weirdest dream,”
she started, then stopped. I stood where I was, facing the door.

“Jen?”
she said. “Jen, what happened last night?”

I didn’t
run.

“It was
all I could think of.” The words stuck in my throat. “It
was all I could think to do.”

The room got so
quiet that I heard her inhale to speak.

“What?”
she asked, her voice tight. “What was all you could think to
do?”

This was even
harder than I’d imagined.

“I . . . I
. . .” I didn’t know how to tell her without making it
sound melodramatic or awful or confusing. “I changed you.”

Another silence.

“What does
that mean?” she asked at last.

It means
you’re dead, it means you have to drink blood, it means you
can’t ever go home to Mom and Dad again . . .

“It means
I changed you . . . into a vampire.”

I waited for
some kind of response, biting my lip, eyes closed.

She stayed
totally still. I took a step toward her. “I’m sorry,”
I said. She didn’t answer. I took another step.

“I’m
sorry.”

Step.

“I’m
sorry.”

Step.

Until I knelt
beside the bed, grasping for her hand, not apologizing –
begging for forgiveness. And no matter how many times I said it, it
meant nothing. I might as well have repeated my name, or a joke, or
the weather. It would have been as pointless. With no permission, in
a panicked moment, I had utterly changed everything about her life
and I was sorry?

She found my
hand and grabbed it up. “It’s okay. Really.” Her
voice was small. “Just – just, when they broke into the
house – when that guy jumped me –” she took a
trembly breath. My hands shook, too. “I thought, you know, when
it happened, I thought, I believed you. And I wasn’t going to
get to tell you that. God – Jen, I died last night! I remember
dying.”

I tried not to
picture it too clearly. “I know.” Holding her hand felt
the same as mine. Last night it had been warm. “I know.”

Her hand
squeezed mine gently, then went still. She didn’t say anything
else.

“Are you
angry?” I whispered at last.

Her hand
squeezed my fingers. “I don’t . . . I don’t know. I
don’t know what to feel at all.”

“It takes
getting used to.” That sounded lame out loud, but it was true.

“I think
I’m just going to stay here for a while, if that’s okay.
I wanna think.”

“Okay.”
I squeezed her fingers again before I stood up. “Love you,
Manda.”

“Love
you.”

I let myself out
of her room with the strangest feeling. Like floating a few inches
above my body. I recognized it after a second.