Page 51

VIOLET

Rowan and Leif sit beside each other on the same rock as earlier, Rowan’s head in his hands again.

Neither want to use blood magic to travel, which I accept and understand.

Although nobody has physical injuries, the effect of the spell could hurt already damaged minds.

I’m content to wait a little longer but we face a longer trip if using traditional methods, but I’m keen to return to the academy soon.

The pair’s figures blend with the night, as does Grayson who stands nearby, hands buried in his jacket pockets. He occasionally glances in the direction we emerged from. Is Grayson worried Dorian will return and ask questions?

I have questions too, and in the silence, I drift away, attempting to make sense of everything that happened. What are Josef’s plans? There’re schemes filled with lies and liars, all playing each other. If Josef set up Cornelius, what’s his next step?

And is Grayson in deeper than he’s admitted?

The worst part about the bonds is that I sense the distress of those I love, or, at worst, I experience their emotions.

Currently, I feel nothing but my own anxiety because both Rowan and Grayson have shut themselves down, their mental blocks firmly in place.

I’ve no desire to push past their barriers and intrude—I don’t need to. The effects are clear.

Leif holds himself together, protesting earlier that the spell had less effect on him, and that he wasn’t lost in traumatic memories because he shuttered his mind.

What would my trauma be? Cornelius’s question struck me hard.

His spell failed against my mind, and he presumed that resistance came from my hybrid.

Partially, yes, but there’s a greater truth.

I have no trauma for his magic to latch onto.

Worrying about my friends’ lives and making stupid decisions, my father threatening to disown me, and dying?

These events caused stress and unpleasant emotions, yes. Trauma, no.

The smile Cornelius gave when suggesting that would change soon chilled me. Once, I would’ve dismissed anything could illicit such a strong response. Now the possibility lurks, and I don’t know how close.

“Dorian has Cornelius in custody, and he’s prepared to provide names to help my father’s investigation.

This is a most excellent development. The witches involved with Cornelius must be those related to the shifter murders and associated necromancy.

We’ve also the opportunity to offer closure to Julius as?—”

“Shut up, Violet.”

Rowan’s weary voice is muffled by his hands, and he doesn’t look up.

As I pause in surprise, Leif stares at the side of Rowan’s head. “Whoa.”

“Right now, I don’t give a shit. Let Dorian deal with it.” Rowan finally meets my eyes. The dull, closed-off energy rolling off him warns me not to push. “My head is screwed.”

“I’m aware that Cornelius attacked your mind in an unpleasant manner.”

“ Unpleasant manner ?” He shakes his head. “I can still see that dying witch’s face at the funeral home. I saw him and myself, as if I was a spectator watching… what I did. Over and over. The shadows didn’t help me tonight when I fucking needed them.”

“Which is a good thing,” I press.

“No, it isn’t. The shadows persuaded me you were in danger once before and triggered the bond. Why not this time?”

Rowan’s agitation grows again, as he picks at the edge of his jacket.

“Perhaps we should focus on returning to the academy. You’re all injured.” I glance over at Grayson. “All three of you.”

“Do you think Cornelius will hand over the correct names?” asks Leif.

“The man has no choice. Although Viktor’s ‘death’ is pre-Dorian, the deaths he aided and abetted in are recent, and it’s in his favor to cooperate.”

Rowan stands and gulps in air as if he’s still inside the damp of the magic-filled cave. “I can’t deal with all this. Can we leave?”

His voice cracks.

Leif nods at me, and I tug on Rowan’s hand, leading him farther into the darkness. When we stop, he looks down at my hand and absentmindedly plays his fingers across my palm. There’s no sign of shadows, but where’s his magic?

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” I say quietly and rest my other palm on his face. “I never intended to face Cornelius alone and would not have placed us in such a position. Not after the Viktor debacle.”

He repeats ‘debacle’ and makes a small sound in his throat. “Cornelius didn’t kill us, nor did he intend to.”

“Correct. He’s aware I’d reciprocate. If I lost the people Dorian has threatened to kill, I wouldn’t care if that witch died. Cornelius looked into my eyes and saw that I’d tear him apart if any one of you died.”

Rowan takes my hand from his face. “Finally, you confirm what Dorian really said when you were in Scotland, Violet.”

I hold his gaze. “Did I ever need to?”

“No.” His voice is soft as he draws me to him. “But you’ll make the right decisions.”

“That’s obtuse.”

This time his laugh holds a genuine edge, and he holds my face to place a gentle kiss on my mouth. “Sorry that I told you to shut up. Everything you said is true. This evening helps.”

“You frequently tell me to cease talking, so when you spoke up, I knew Cornelius didn’t destroy my Rowan.” I touch the side of his head. “I’m happy your mind locked onto the witch’s murder in response to Cornelius’s spell.”

“What?” He steps back. “That’s messed up, Violet. And why wasn’t my trauma your death?”

“Because my death never changed you. This proves the shadows acted the night at the funeral home, not you, and that we can fight them. You don’t genuinely possess an underlying desire to end lives.

If you did, your mind wouldn’t latch onto the murder as the most traumatic, disabling moment in your life. ”

Rowan rubs a hand across his mouth. “Your death was the most traumatic, disabling moment in my life, Violet.”

“You needn’t worry. My hybrid immortality will always solve that problem.”

“Yeah? But watching you die is a different story.” His voice trembles slightly. “If a hybrid can’t be killed, why is your father worried about losing to these people?”

“Dorian worries about the death of the world that he created and lives in.” I pause. “And the deaths of others he loves, albeit in his Dorian way—Zeke and Ethan aren’t immortal.”

Rowan stares at me as if about to speak but sighs instead. “I don’t have the energy for these kinds of conversations.”

“Understandable.”

He draws me closer and places his chin on the top of my head as we hold each other tight against the night. “How was Cornelius at the caves, Violet?”

“Valid question. There’s no vehicle nearby, and he’s incapable of blood magic. This would suggest somebody assisted. Are you concerned that other witches may be nearby?”

“No, Violet.” He takes me by the shoulders and holds as he looks down. “How was Cornelius at the caves? He came for Viktor, but why? He’d hidden his son’s body in a place nobody else knew about.”

“We’re aware that Josef tipped Cornelius off. Grayson told us this morning.”

“About the mausoleum . Nobody else knew about our planned visit to the caves apart from Dorian, but the missing man we’re desperate to catch conveniently appears.”

“A coincidence? Cornelius wouldn’t choose to come to the caves if he knew we’d be there. That’s completely illogical.”

“You don’t believe in coincidences, Violet.”

“Dorian will find the answer to that puzzle.”

I’m slotting together what happened and say nothing. Grayson was played too. Has Josef threatened to kill Grayson? Or promised him something? Whatever the reason, it prompted Grayson to contact his uncle once we decided to head to the caves.

I should never have left Grayson alone for those few minutes at the lodge.

But Cornelius? Why did we presume Josef would kill him? Grayson genuinely never expected the witch to appear, and neither could he predict Cornelius’s actions. Grayson would’ve expected his uncle, and maybe a head to head between Josef and Dorian,

Instead Josef handed Cornelius to Dorian at a risk to the other guys’ lives.

Grayson didn’t know but he helped.

“Where is Grayson, by the way?”

Rowan jerks his chin at the spot Grayson occupied a few minutes ago.

Empty.

Not again. “I am increasingly irritated by Grayson’s propensity to abscond at random moments.”

“Uh huh. Especially as he has the propensity to tell his uncle everything.”

I tell Rowan what I’m attempting to convince myself. “Grayson won’t approach his uncle. Cornelius’s arrest won’t remain a secret for long, and Josef already knows Sarah’s secrets—possibly that she possessed the items hidden at the lodge. There’s nothing for Grayson to report.”

“Leif?” Rowan calls. “Where’s Grayson?”

He looks up from where he’s scuffing a circle in the stones with a boot. “Over there… oh.”

Rowan glances at me, then back to Leif. “Grayson didn’t tell you he was leaving?”

“He’s worried Dorian might return,” I say.

Leif and Rowan exchange one of their annoying looks of silent communication. I bite back ‘no, he isn’t going to Josef,’ because I can’t be sure.

“Fine. Can we go?” asks Rowan. “If Grayson left, he left, wherever he’s chosen to go. Situation normal. As usual, he’ll come back.”

But after the magic attack he suffered? Reliving the agony and terror of his death on repeat in his mind?

Grayson has metal fortitude but total resilience.

He broke down in front of me once before, the evening I sensed something happened and eventually found him entering the sports hall.

He can’t be alone tonight. None of them can.

Grayson managed to blank his mind while standing with us, but if he’s distressed, he’ll leave for elsewhere rather than reveal his perceived weakness to anybody.

Cornelius pulled out every memory that Grayson suppresses about Josef’s vicious treatment, and he relived them in the manner Rowan did his.

Are any of those memories of recent days? Is that what influenced Grayson’s actions?

In the cave. His words. The guilt. My stomach lurches.

“Grayson can’t be far. I’ll find him. Follow.”

I don’t pause for their reply and dash away from the limestone toward the narrow track that leads toward the distant trees. I can’t sense him. Has Grayson moved too far and too fast?

My heart thuds like a human’s would do running at this speed but for other reasons. Grayson does not get to do this again. He does not leave me eaten by worry. Whatever he’s done, I will protect Grayson from Dorian. From Josef. I’ve told him this.

Adrenaline surges as I sense movement in the bushes close by, and a tall figure runs. I’d shout after them, tell Grayson to stop running from me, but that’s pointless. Grayson moves at vampire speed when evading somebody. This person does not.

Whoever Grayson encountered wasn’t Josef either.

The scent hits me first. On the night Wesley died, a faint trail of blood led me to run in the wrong direction because I picked up on the scent. Later, I discovered whose blood caught my attention, and this time I’ve no doubt whose scent this is.

“Grayson!” I shout, feet thudding from the worn pathway and into the trees.

The smell of blood fills the air, the metallic tang overwhelming me to the point where I don’t know which way to go next. Holding myself preternaturally still, I reach out for his presence—heart, thoughts, warmth of his body. Anything.

Grayson’s heart beats faintly, barely audible over blood whooshing through my ears.

“Grayson!”

I veer toward the thick bushes the figure ran from, shoving through the thorny branches. My boot hits something, and I stumble to a halt.

In this moment, the clarity of my supernatural sight is a blessing and a curse. My mind flashes back to Holly on the ground after the shifter attack, but this time I don’t have the breath to scream.

Grayson lies in his pooling blood in dirt between the bushes, and I drop to my knees, hands shaking. My eyes go straight to his chest.

There’s no surge of relief that his attacker left his heart intact, or that the escaping figure left his body behind, because the blood around Grayson spreads into a dark pool flooding from the severed arteries in his neck.

Blood slides across my hands as I hold them against his skin, but my healing saliva is pointless for such a huge wound.

A pair of shoes appear beside me. Another sick reminder of the night of the attack that half-killed Holly. “Fuck.”

Leif.

“He’s bleeding out!” As Grayson’s life ebbs, I turn wild eyes to Leif, and to a panting Rowan who staggers into view. “What do I do?” Neither reply. “What do I do?” I scream out.

“He- he’ll be okay,” says Leif. “He has his heart. Somebody could give him some blood?”

I almost laugh at Leif’s comment, but tears blur instead, and I swipe them away. Emotions are not helpful. Not now. So why can’t I hold them in?

“ Some blood ? Look at how much he’s lost! If Grayson bleeds out completely, he won’t come back.”

“But taking the heart… burning…” stammers Leif. “That’s how vamps… don’t come back.”

“That’s final, to ensure there’s no chance the victim could return.” Rowan pauses. “Violet. Somebody chose to leave Grayson.”

Something inexplicable breaks inside me, shattering and pulling apart everything I am, heart and soul.

I stare numbly at Grayson’s broken body, at the blood that won’t stop, and the world I’ve clung to tonight crumbles into nothing.

Not from the unbearable truth that Grayson is dying but because someone calculated this.

Grayson’s attacker didn’t leave him .

They left me a choice knowing exactly which one I would make.