Page 14

R.I.O.T

S he calls herself Haze.

According to the dictionary, Haze is a form of mental confusion, but in my opinion, Haze causes mental confusion—and she damn well knows it.

Something about this Nightwalker aggravates Reece. I've known her for nine years, and I've never seen her so disturbed.

While they argue back and forth, Eden and I watch Reece. Her eyes are hard and angry. Practically seething. She's never had such a look on her face, not even for Damien.

I decide to intervene, turning to the Nightwalker.

"Leila's death should matter to you in this case."

The Nightwalker looks at me, those mismatched eyes burning into mine as if she's reaching to see my soul. It should anger me. Looking at me like that is basically a challenge. But every time her eyes meet mine, I can't help but do the same.

I don't, of course. Such a thing is dangerous and unpredictable.

I don't mind questioning why her eyes are so dead, but I'll claw out my own brain before I dare explore it.

"And why's that?"

I turn to Reece, my gaze flicking to the door. She nods, and both she and Eden leave. The moment the door clicks shut behind her, I turn to the Nightwalker.

"Her father, General Dame Thorne of District 2, has made a blood promise to the Gods."

Her brow furrows.

"A promise made in blood can't mean anything good, and the Gods are involved… Should I be worried?" she wonders, her tone sounding genuinely confused.

"A promise like that has to be met. The General will either kill you in twenty-three days, or he will die." The Nightwalker shrugs, concluding her little dilemma and slinks back into her seat with a heavy sigh.

"That sounds boring. Generals are weak, so they're no fun to play with." She pouts, disappointed.

I narrow my gaze, leaning on my desk. "I wouldn't be so sure. The Gods may favour him since they're not exactly a fan of your species. If they're desperate enough to destroy you, he can rise beyond the power of an Emissary."

"Why are you warning me?" The Nightwalker tilts her head, staring at me cautiously.

"Watch your back, Nightmare. I went through a lot of trouble to secure you; if you die, it'll have been for nothing. That'll really piss me off."

She rests a hand on her cheek, her mismatched eyes holding mine. I stiffen, because when she looks at me like that, I can almost feel the force of her as she tries to see into me.

"That's not much of a threat. I actually happen to like the taste of anger." She turns her head towards the backdrop of the half-broken world beyond my castle. "There isn't much of it out there anymore."

'I want to be angry. If I stop being angry, I've accepted my fate, and Ricci will have won. That wouldn't be fair.'

I grit my teeth at the reminder that Her voice in my head will forever be just in my head.

"What was that?" My gaze snaps to those inspecting ones, brows drawn together curiously.

"What?"

"Your eyes just now," she says, a smile on her face. "They died. Just like mine. What could have possibly caused that?"

I glare, only now wondering if maybe this Nightwalker is as swept up in my gaze as I am in hers. I smile; there is nothing amusing about it.

"You first, Nightmare."

Her smile falls, as I knew it would, because of everything she's willing to share.

Her pain isn't one of them—that I know for certain from the way she's looking at me right now.

Her mask is gone, and her cold, barren eyes have shadows so deep that they appear much darker than I imagined they could be.

"Careful," I muse, leaning forward on my elbows. "Or you'll make it easy for me to hurt you, Nightmare."

"Hurt me… You?" she scoffs, her voice low and dark. "What could you possibly do to me?"

Looking at her now, with those empty, mismatched eyes, I’m not sure there is anything I can do. "I'm not sure, though I can certainly find something."

She barks out a fake laugh. "I have very little doubt." The smile remains on her face when she says, "I truly hate to disappoint you, but you will only ever know what I allow you to know."

"Is that right?" I challenge, leaning back into my chair. "So, I should assume you allowed me to know that you can sense them… The Nightwalkers."

She blinks once before a smirk stretches across her lips. For a moment, I find myself lingering on those lips. Full and plump and so very red. Like blood. How can that be when I know how deep the black in her veins runs?

"No, not quite. Nightwalkers can't be detected, true. But that's exactly how I find them.” I can't say I expected her to lie. From what she's shown me this far, she doesn’t seem to care whether or not I know of her abilities; in fact, she seems eager to show me.

I narrow my gaze and scowl; her smile only widens. "I don't like riddles."

She hums. "Neither do I, but if it gets that look on your face, I might start to."

She's definitely messing with my head, and not just mine. It's effortless how she does it; I wonder if she knows the effect she has when she opens that mouth of hers.

Who am I kidding? Of course she does.

No one has looked so relaxed in my presence, not even my mates.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. Dammit, everything this woman does is a goddamn distraction. I glare at her. "We need to go over the rules."

"Rules and I don't get along," Nightmare says, a cold smile tilting the corner of her lips. "I keep breaking them… A bad habit. Fragile things sound so pretty when they snap."

"I promise you, Nightmare, you'll want to follow my rules."

She cocks a brow. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," I echo, leaning back in my seat. "How else do you expect to get your revenge if you can't break something as simple as a bad habit?"

Nightmare’s eyes sharpen, and a smirk tilts the corner of my lips. Play your games, Nightmare. I can play, too.

"Let me guess," she drawls, crossing her arms below her chest. "Your human pet cannot be harmed, or I'm dead?"

"Hm." I run my tongue along my teeth, nodding my head in approval. "You're good at this, Nightmare."

"Or you’re just predictable."

"Is that right?" I chuckle, knowing damn well the amusement in my eyes pisses her off. "Then why are you here?"

"Boredom," she answers, her dead eyes boring into mine. I narrow my gaze at her eyes—an imperfection Ricci would have destroyed.

"Don't reveal your identity down there," I tell her, my tone taking on a serious edge. "You'll stay human, pretend to be one of them. Reece will report back to me every night, so try to behave yourself."

She tilts her head, eyes blinking up innocently at me. "Okay, Daddy, is that all?"

A low growl vibrates in my chest and her smirk widens. Gritting my teeth, I add, "You'll spend the nights in the dungeon, and every morning you'll meet with Reece at the cupola. When you return, you'll eat dinner with the rest of us, and you'll go to your cell right after."

"Pass on the dinner." She sighs. "I have no interest in looking at your face more than is necessary."

She jumps onto her bare feet, and I glance down, her legs stained black from her blood, before meeting her gaze. She glances down at her attire, realising she only wears Valadez's button-down shirt.

"I need clothes," she murmurs, mostly to herself. Before her eyes flicker to mine and run down my shirt, she clasps her hands together. "Give me yours."

"No."

"What?" She pouts and stomps her foot. I glance down again, because she hadn't made a sound in that movement. "Why not?!" She frowns.

"For one, I'm wearing it." I return to my paperwork. "Secondly, you're not walking around the castle with my goddamn scent all over you."

"I only suggested yours, because I wouldn't want to run into a member of your little pack here and have to kill them because they think I'm an intruder." She sighs, skipping over to the door. "But, since you care so little for their lives, I guess I'll be on my way."

She stops by the door. Her hand hovers mere inches over the doorknob, and she glances over her shoulder at me.

At the anger burning in my veins and weeping out of my skin; it was slight, the way her feet shifted, ready to protect herself, but I saw it.

And I saw the way the mask on that lying fucking face of hers cracked and shattered—only for a split second—before she repaired it.

"Is that a threat?" My words are low and calm. Too calm.

Her hand falls to her side, and she shifts to face me, a soft laugh slipping from her lips. "A threat?" she muses, raising a brow at me. "I thought I've established by now that I don't make threats."

I push out of my chair and slip around my desk.

Her smile widens as I take her by the throat and slam her into the door.

"You like playing mind games, don't you?

" I murmur, and with a simple thought, her body tenses as I tug on the enslavement mark.

I know she feels it; the pain searing through her veins.

"Go on, Nightmare. Play with mine. I dare you. "

She clenches her jaw, her eyes flicking between mine. "I'm not afraid of pain."

"No?" I challenge, pressing myself closer to her, running my nose along her jaw, to her ear. "What about the kind of pain that turned you into what you are, hmm? I'll have absolutely no fucking problem throwing you back into that dungeon and letting your memories consume you from the inside out."

Her body spasms, those mismatched eyes flickering golden, and I drop her and pull away. She gasps; it's the first authentic sound that passes her lips as she almost collapses to her knees but manages to balance herself on her hands.

She laughs, but there is nothing amusing about it, with her eyes still on the ground as she shakes her head.

"You think you can match his evil, do you, Saviour?

" She slowly rises to her full height, her golden eyes piercing mine with a smile so wide, it has to hurt.

"He did many evil, cruel, vile things to turn me, I admit.

But in the end, it was a force far more wicked to turn me into what I am. "

"And what was that?"

She slips past me, tapping my chest on her way out the door, the smallest whisper passing her lips, "Myself."