Starcrossed (23 page)

through the thin cotton of her nightshirt, rendering it useless

against the elements. A flickering shadow in the starlight caught

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the corner of her eye and she swung at it, but the top of her bat was

stopped before it came around in a full arc. She heard the chunky

slap of wood on skin.

“Damn it, it’s me!” Hector whispered harshly. Helen saw him

hiding in the shadows, shaking out his right hand like it stung.

“What the hell? Hector, is that you?” Helen hissed back. He came

closer so she could see him better, avoiding a dark lump on the

ground. Helen looked at the lump more carefully and noticed it

was her sleeping bag, the one she kept in the waterproof chest her

father had given her. “What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he responded peevishly, still

trying to shake the feeling back into his hand.

“Camping?” she said sarcastically. Then it hit her. All of those

sounds she’d been hearing at night—sounds she’d thought were the

Furies—had a much more mundane source. “You’ve been up here

every night, haven’t you?”

“Almost. One of us is always up here at night to watch over you,”

he said, and then grabbed Helen’s arm as she turned away from

him in embarrassment. “It’s usually Lucas because he’s the only

one who can fly here,” he continued. As if that made it better.

“And you never thought to ask if I wanted you here, eavesdropping

on my dad and me?” she asked, furious.

Hector smiled at her, smothering a laugh. “Yeah. Because I can

see how you’d want to keep all those discussions about politics and

baseball to yourself. So private,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Do you stay all night while I’m sleeping?” she asked, unable to

look at him. He suddenly understood why she was so upset, and

his smile switched off.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in a while,” he started to say.

“Go home, Hector,” Helen said, cutting him off and turning to

leave.

“No,” he responded immediately, extending his arm across the

doorway to block her exit. “I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. I

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don’t care if you don’t want us here. There are a lot of people who’d

like to see you dead, Princess, and unfortunately my family can’t

leave you unprotected until I say you can defend yourself.”

“Why do you get to decide when I’m ready?” Helen crossed her

arms and rubbed her shoulders against the cold. The wind off the

water had teeth.

“Because everyone knows that I’m the only one who won’t go

easy on you. And just so you know, I’m not about to apologize for

making sure you don’t get kidnapped by one of those batty women

running around the island,” he warned. Helen’s teeth chattered.

He looked at her standing there shivering and Helen could have almost

sworn that he looked guilty for a second. Then he looked off

to the side and cursed to himself. “But maybe we should have told

you that we were sleeping up here,” he admitted finally.

“You think? I get it, Hector. I’m in a lot of danger. But you should

have at least given me a heads-up about this.”

“All right! Point taken!” he said, nearly growling with frustration.

“But we’re still not leaving you or your father unguarded at night.”

Suddenly, Helen wasn’t angry anymore. In fact, knowing that

Hector and his family extended their protection to her father made

her feel ridiculously grateful. She stood there smiling at him for a

second.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He froze midbreath and stared at her, amazed that her mood had

changed so quickly. “That’s it? No more arguing?” he asked

doubtfully.

“Why, do you want to—” she began, but she was interrupted by

her father’s voice from downstairs.

“Lennie?” Jerry called from the hallway in front of Helen’s bedroom.

She had been so distracted by Hector she had forgotten to

listen for her dad.

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“Yeah!” Helen called down, motioning desperately for Hector to

get away from the door. She changed places with him and made it

inside just in time.

“Are you sleeping up there again?” Jerry asked when he saw

Helen shutting the door to the roof and coming down the steps.

“It’s way too cold out, Helen.”

“Do you have any idea how late it is? Go to sleep,” she scolded as

she hurried past him.

“I know, I’m going to bed right now . . . Hey! You go to sleep,”

Jerry scolded back, belatedly remembering that he was the parent.

As Helen jumped into bed and burrowed into her comforter, she

could have sworn she heard Hector chuckling softly to himself up

on the widow’s walk.

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UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

.....................................................................

Chapter Ten

MAJORCA, SPAIN Creon watched the reporter for five minutes before he decided

to uncloak himself from the shadows. He appeared

out of the darkness behind her, barely a step away. She

spun around and inhaled a startled breath so quickly it almost

sounded like a sob. There was something exhilarating

about seeing a woman afraid, Creon thought, especially when

that woman was a pushy bitch like this one. A little fear is good; it

reminded non-Scion mortals of their place, and Creon wanted this

mortal in particular to remember that she might be able to force

this meeting by threatening to have to police investigate his family,

but she wasn’t in control.

That’s why he picked the docks at night. He wanted to see how

committed she truly was to writing a story on his family. The fact

that she met him there proved she had a spine, if not a brain, and

because of that Creon decided she deserved a moment of his time.

Besides, she made such a pleasant sound when she was startled.

Maybe he would hear it again.

He smiled down at her innocently, as if to let her know that he

was just playing a little trick. She met his eye, but she also took a

step back—which meant she was brave but scared. Creon liked to

see those two emotions together; it made him feel like he had won

something.

“Again, I ask for the father but instead I get the son,” she said in

accented English.

“I speak perfect Spanish,” Creon replied in her native language,

still smiling at her. “And you know my father doesn’t meet

reporters.”

“Your father doesn’t meet anyone. That’s why I’m here,” she continued

stubbornly in English. He shrugged impassively, refusing to

take the bait. She crossed her arms and studied him. “Tantalus

Delos hasn’t let anyone see him in almost twenty years now.

Strange, no?”

“He likes his privacy,” Creon said through a grin that had grown

tight.

“Privacy is the one luxury a billionaire aristocrat can’t buy.

You’ve heard the stories about your father, yes?”

“They’re all lies,” Creon said as smoothly as he could, but her

eyes were so doubtful he nearly faltered. How dare she?

Over the years there had been many stories floating around the

tabloids about his father—that he had been maimed, that he had

lost his mind to an obsessive-compulsive disorder like Howard

Hughes, that he was dead. Creon knew at least that his father was

alive, and he had vehemently denied all of the other accusations

time and time again. But the truth was, Creon hadn’t seen or

spoken to his father in nineteen years. No one had seen Tantalus

except Creon’s mother, Mildred Delos.

His mother insisted that Tantalus was in hiding in order to protect

himself and the House of Thebes, but she never could explain

to Creon why his father wouldn’t call him on the phone, not even

once. It seemed like such a little thing to ask.

“All lies? You know this for certain?” the reporter pressed as soon

as she saw Creon fall into his own conflicted thoughts. Creon noticed

that she kept speaking in English, almost as if she was taunting

him. “For years now, you, your mother, your whole family, say

all these things are lies, but how do you know for true? Tell me,

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Creon, when is the last time you saw your father? I know he was

not at your graduation from university.”

Creon gritted his teeth. “My father is a very private man. He . . .”

“Pssh!” she exclaimed derisively, cutting Creon off with an imperious

wave of her hand. She shouldn’t have done that. “This is

not privacy, this is lunacy! Can any man’s privacy mean so much

that he would abandon his only son simply to stay out of the

papers?”

Creon’s hand shot out and he had her by the throat before she

could even raise an arm in protest. She had such a tiny throat, so

slender and fragile. Creon thought it was like holding a thin kitten

in his hand. Her eyes blossomed with fear. The pupils opened up

and reflex tears beaded on their dark surface like dew. She was

lovely in terror—a perfect, pleading mask of alabaster white skin,

wide eyes, and, best of all, her mouth, an open oval of red surprise

like she was waiting to be kissed. Creon wanted to hold her like

that for days, but a split second of enjoyment later and he heard a

snap.

Like a switched-off TV, the light in her eyes contracted to pinpricks,

and then went completely dark.

Creon dumped her body in the water and ran back to the citadel

so quickly no normal person could see him pass, even if they were

standing inches away.

Still shaking with a half-sickening thrill, he went straight up to

his room, and froze when he opened the door. His mother was

waiting for him. She was sitting next to his packed suitcase with

her narrow, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap, holding

something. Her head fell to the side as she stared at him. His

mother only needed to look at him to know that the meeting that

she had arranged, the meeting that was supposed to be nothing

more than a polite gesture, had ended violently.

“Did you have to kill her?” she asked seriously and without reproach.

Mildred was nothing if not practical.

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“She provoked me,” Creon said as he moved past his mother and

grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Besides, it’s better this way

and you know it.”

Mildred dropped her eyes and nodded, accepting that her son

was right. More than one reporter had “disappeared” over the

years.

“Given the situation, I approve of you leaving the country for a

while.” She held up the plane ticket she had taken from the front

pocket of his suitcase and waved it at him before he could bolt out

of the room. He stopped dead, realizing that he had been caught.

“What I don’t approve of is your choice of destination. What do you

think you’re going to accomplish by going there? Your father forbade

the Hundred to go anywhere near Nantucket.”

He took a breath to calm himself down. It didn’t work. “It’s their

fault we don’t have what is rightfully ours, it has to be, because all

the other Houses are gone! I have to know how they can live with

themselves when they’ve sentenced the rest of their family to inevitable

death. Immortality is my birthright, and regardless of what

my father allows or forbids, I will not sit back while they deny me

that!”

Creon shouldered his carry-on, wheedled the ticket out of his

mother’s reluctant hands, and moved past her. He hurried down

the ancient stone steps at the back of the citadel, his heart still

pumping with excitement.

Outside, there was a nondescript black sedan waiting. His mother’s

driver was behind the wheel, ready to take him to the airport.

Creon realized that Mildred had known all along that he would kill

that girl. She had probably known he would do it the moment she

arranged for Creon to meet her.

“Son?” she called out to him from under the arched gate. “Did

you kill her just to have a reason to leave?”

He turned and faced her, forcing patience. “Did you send me

there to kill her?”

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His mother smiled at him, but her eyes were far away and out of

focus—thinking many thoughts at once. She walked toward him

slowly, making him wait for her even though she had to know that

he was vibrating with adrenaline. She stepped close to him and

looked up into his face. Her elegantly sculpted lips were pulled

tight in a thin line of warning.

“Stay away from Hector.”

Tuesday morning, Helen ran out of the house and toward Lucas’s

waiting car before Jerry could get it into his head to come out and

“have a talk with that young man,” as he had been threatening.

Helen wasn’t entirely sure if her dad was serious or if he was just

trying to get a rise out of her, but she wasn’t about to take any

chances. It wouldn’t be fair to put Lucas through the traditional

parental screening when they weren’t even officially dating.

“Ready?” she asked quickly, trying to distract Lucas.

“Should we wait?” Lucas asked when he saw Jerry standing in the

front door.

“No, just drive. Quick! I don’t know if he’s really going to do it or

not,” Helen responded desperately as she waved good-bye to her