The Wicked Within (6 page)

He’d never wanted it, never wanted to become a true vampire. Before, he’d had a choice. As long as he never ingested blood, his body would stay the way he was. But once he took it, he’d change. . . . He’d have to live on blood forever. Athena had known that; she’d tempted him to the point of killing him. And for what? To get to me.

“Sebastian?” I asked, unable to stop myself. “Are you okay?”

His silence raked through my nerves. Finally he glanced over and shrugged, pain clearly eating away at him. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he let me in, let me help? “It’s only been a couple of weeks since we got back from Athena’s temple,” I said. He groaned, not wanting to hear it. “You’re allowed to be pissed off, Sebastian. You’re allowed to
not
be okay, to give yourself time to—”

“Time to what, Ari? What’s done is done. I can’t go back, can’t fix it.”

He stood, paced, and then stopped, trying to compose himself. But that was my point. He didn’t need to put on an act, to be
composed
and okay all the time. I wanted him to feel like he could be himself around me, to know that he didn’t always have to be the strong, calm voice of reason.

“Sebastian . . . ”

He drew in a deep breath. A tempest of emotion swirled in his eyes. “Just leave it alone for a while, okay?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. We’d been through so much horror together, so much triumph, too. And now this thing . . . he was doing alone. He had every right, of course. I could understand that better than anyone. And yet, his reaction still stung. I’d tried to push him and the kids away when they found out what I was, and none of them had let me. They’d convinced me I wasn’t alone.

I didn’t know whether to leave him alone or to push.

“I don’t get it,” I said honestly. “You and I . . . we’re . . . ” I got to my feet and brushed the leaves from my rear. “A team. Together, I thought. I
want
to be there for you. I’ve never said that to a guy in my entire life.” I stepped up to him, my throat growing thick with emotion. “I’m not hiding who I am from you.”

His hands found my hips and pulled me close. “I don’t want to hide either.”

“Then don’t.”

He didn’t say anything else. He might not
want
to hide, but he was doing it anyway. His head bent down, his cheek grazing mine. My breath went shallow. He smelled good, and it did funny things to my insides. He breathed me in too, deeply, and then his exhale bathed my neck in shivery warmth.

Seconds passed, each one growing more intense than the one before.

His kissed my forehead, my temple, my cheek, then paused, his mouth hovering a fraction above mine. I gripped his waist tighter. Our breaths mingled. I wanted him, this heat, this closeness, this connection. He didn’t move, so I tilted my head and pressed my lips against his, the contact so warm and soft.

He moaned against my mouth, an impatient, desperate sound, before turning his head and delving inside. Our tongues met, hot and urgent. Instant desire flooded in, searing a path through my body.

And no sooner had it begun than it was over, leaving me gasping as he set me back and raked a shaking hand through his hair. He didn’t trust himself, I could see it plainly on his face.

Heart thundering and feeling a little weak in the knees, I sat on the cooler, dazed by my reaction just as he was dazed by his.

No one knew how the child of a Bloodborn vampire mother and a warlock father would turn out, what powers they’d have, or when they would manifest. Sebastian’s abilities manifested after I’d brought him back to life from stone. He had incredible power to control others, and the extent of that power had shocked not only those minions whom he killed—simply by telling them to stop breathing during the battle—but the entire Novem. I’d be lying to say it hadn’t freaked me out a little when I first learned what he’d done.

Sebastian was worried, concerned his powers of persuasion could manifest through simple thought, through want and desire. Add that to the fact he was now a vampire, with a whole new set of wants and needs . . .

The fire collapsed. A skull tumbled out of the coals. Sebastian nudged it back in with his foot, then dragged a bucket over to me, flipped it, and sat down. He picked up a small rock at his feet and rolled it between his fingers. “If my grandmother hadn’t hidden the Hands,” he said, moving us back to our earlier conversation, “we’d have them by now, and your curse would be history.”

“Too easy.” I gave him a bland smile, trying to switch gears as well. “So we do things the hard way. We’ve done it before.”
Not without paying a huge price.
“What I don’t get is why Josephine has such a vendetta against Athena in the first place. Why is your grandmother so determined to hurt Athena, even if it brings all-out war to New 2?”

“Maybe there’s something in my mother’s things . . . ”

Sebastian never really mentioned his mother. I’d lost my mother too, so I knew what that felt like, and I knew that sometimes, it hurt to revisit the past. “You don’t have to—”

He tossed the rock into the ashes. “I have to look through them sometime, right?”

“How long has it been?”

“Almost eleven years. She died when I was seven. My father saved everything. And when he disappeared, it all just sat. Everything’s still there. He hasn’t touched anything since he’s been back. I don’t think he will.”

Michel must have loved her very much. I hadn’t been in New 2 long, but even I realized very quickly that falling in love outside of your own kind was frowned upon—especially within the Novem families and their leaders. Michel had lost his wife and then been imprisoned by Athena for almost ten years, losing his son during that time as well. Sebastian had grown up thinking his dad had abandoned him after his mother died.

“I’ll look tomorrow or maybe after the meeting tomorrow night,” he said.

“What meeting?”

“The Council of Nine. The heirs are invited. It’ll be at Presby, since the council room is being redecorated. I promised my father I’d go.” It was clear from his tone he had little interest in attending or being part of anything Novem. “He also wants us to do some training sessions together, learn to work off our strengths and weaknesses.”

A crooked smile spread over my face. “He thinks we’re going to get into more trouble, huh?”

“He
knows
so.”

Violet shifted, yawning in her sleep. She looked so cute and
strange curled around the top of the statue, her cheek resting atop its head.

“I’m worried about her,” I said, and proceeded to tell him about our trip to the bayou and the River Witch’s message. “He’s tied to all this somehow. He’s connected to Athena in some way. I’m not sure he can lift my curse, but he freaked me out about Violet.”

“Sorry I missed going.”

I shrugged it off, my thoughts still on Violet. “Back when we were in Athena’s temple . . . You were blood drunk when Athena tried to turn Violet into a gorgon. But it didn’t work. It was like Vi was immune or something.”

“I remember. I knew what was going on, I just couldn’t focus or do anything about it.”

“She doesn’t fear Athena, even though she should. Athena didn’t seem to know what Violet is either.”

“You should ask her.” Sebastian and the others had already tried, but all she told them was that she was what she was.

“If she didn’t tell you guys, I doubt she’ll tell me.”

“She might. She likes you. She’s more animated, more outgoing when you’re around. She talks more too.”

I let out a tired sigh. “Maybe . . . ”

Sebastian and I stayed until the coals beneath the ashes faded. Magic could be a very cool thing, I thought as I watched
him use it to lift the ashes from the patio and move them high into the night sky. He swept his hand wide, and the ashes dispersed into the dark.

With a yawn, I led the way into the house and then settled in for the night, knowing tomorrow the hunt for the Hands would begin.

“W
ELL, THAT WAS A TOTAL
failure. Good job, Selkirk.”

I shot Bran an exasperated glare. “Thanks.” The table was not supposed to turn from wood to rock. A little mess-up on my part—too much power when I’d tried to turn a simple plastic cup to stone.

Cup and table were now fused together.

The only good thing about today’s lesson was the realization that the training
was
working. It was getting easier and easier to call upon my power. And to control it. I stared at the table. Well, most of the time. Would that I’d had this extra training before—

My feet were swept out from under me. I was airborne for two seconds before I slammed onto the mat, the breath knocked from my lungs. “Jesus!”

A frowning face came into view. “You want to daydream, then don’t waste my time, Selkirk. I have better things to do.”

He didn’t offer me a hand up, just stepped back, crossed his arms over his chest, and waited for me to get up. “I wasn’t daydreaming.” One brown eyebrow arched. “Okay. Fine. I was. Sort of. But it was still about training,” I muttered, getting up.

“Oh, this should be good. What about
training
?”

I really didn’t want to share, but since he asked, telling him would be a hell of a lot easier than skirting around what was on my mind. “I was just wishing I’d had more time to train before I went to rescue Violet and my father from Athena’s temple.” I’d been unprepared, and so much had gone wrong. Henri getting shot, Sebastian being turned into a vampire . . .

An unsympathetic, slightly bored expression crossed Bran’s tanned face. “So what were you supposed to do exactly? Not go? Say, ‘Gee, sorry, guys, but I’m going to take a few weeks to hone my skills; hope you’re not dead by the time I’m ready to rescue you’? Athena not torturing and threatening to kill your father and Violet until you were good and prepared to face her . . . that would’ve been convenient, wouldn’t it?” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes you can’t wait. Can we get back to work now, or do you need more psychobabble from Dr. Bran?”

There were just some people in life you wanted to hit and hug, laugh with and scream at. Bran was one of those people. He
got under my skin at every opportunity. He took great pleasure in egging me on, pissing me off, and knocking me down. And then he’d display pride when I got back up and kicked his ass.

He tossed a leather-bound book on the table. “Do this one.”

With a sigh, I picked it up. “
Little Women
?”

An evil grin split his face.

I shook my head, biting back my own smile. Bran had wormed his way into my heart with his tough-as-nails attitude, insight, and sick sense of humor. He was a demigod, a leader and a warrior. He was the grandson of a Celtic war god, and one of the nine Novem heads that ruled the city. And he was my instructor of all things kick-ass.

Except today, when I was turning cups and little women to stone.

This should have been my last class of the day, but training had been pushed back until after school due to a conflict in Bran’s schedule. It was nearly dark outside, and my stomach was grumbling. And turning things into rock for thirty minutes had worn on my nerves. I wanted to hit something, to sweat, to take the Big Guy down a peg or two—or at least enjoy the attempt.

“This is the last one,” I warned him before closing my eyes.

I drew in a deep breath and pictured the book in my mind, focusing on my center and opening myself up to my power. I called it, drawing it, letting it grow and electrify my entire body.
It was a creepy, slithery sensation that took some getting used to.

Directing the energy down my arm and out my hand was a simple thing this time. The power snaking under my skin made me rub my arm and hand when I was done.

Bran didn’t seem impressed. “You’re a regular circus act, Selkirk. I should start taking you to parties.”

“Yeah, we’d make a good pair. Stone girl and meathead,” I said flatly. “We could even charge.” I glanced at the clock as Bran snorted. “I’m meeting my father in fifteen.”

Bran unfolded his arms and moved his head from side to side, stretching his neck. He cracked his knuckles and nodded toward the clock on the wall. “Think you can last for ten?”

With a wide smile, I shrugged out of my jacket and dropped it on the table. “All I need is five.”

*  *  *

Sparring with Bran was less like training and more like being trapped in the ring with a maniacal giant. There was always a moment that began with my inner voice saying, “Oh shit, what did you get yourself into?” But then everything quieted and my reflexes took over. In the end, I wasn’t sure who was more sadistic—him for doling it out or me for taking it and coming back for more.

In the girls’ bathroom, I leaned over the sink and used a paper towel to wipe the trickle of blood from my left nostril,
courtesy of Bran’s elbow to the bridge of my nose. But I’d gotten the Big Guy in the solar plexus, and he’d had to hold up his hand to catch his breath.

I washed my hands and then unwrapped the thick bun at the nape of my neck. I finger-combed my long white hair, smoothed it back, and twisted it into a bun again, trying to make myself presentable and wondering why I cared. It wasn’t like my father hadn’t already seen me at my worst.

A faint bruise was forming beneath the inner corner of my eye. I leaned closer to the mirror with a sense of satisfaction, not minding the marks on my body or the aches in my muscles. They reminded me that I was strong. That I could hold my own, even against a Celtic demigod.

I did enjoy my training time at Presby.

I’d gotten admitted into Presby because I had something the Novem didn’t have—the ability to fight their worst enemy. The school was my resource. It held a wealth of information about the gods: their powers, their early history, and some of what had happened to them in the two thousand or so years since the decline of ancient Greece. The rest of the world only knew myths of the gods from ancient times,
not
what had happened to them in the ensuing two millennia. That particular history might be lost to the rest of the world, but it was not lost here. Not with the Novem. Not within the walls of Presby, where kids learned every
day about the gods, their cyclical personalities, and the War of the Pantheons in the tenth century that tore them apart and culled the god population considerably.