Blood Prophecy (33 page)

“I don’t know,” I admitted as we passed between the trees and cut through the field of dirt bikes. “Just random hunting, I guess. No speech in the world is going to avert hunter-vampire war if we don’t stop these killings. So you know, clear my name, stop some murders, avenge my brother. The usual.”

Nicholas stopped me with a hand on my arm. His face was serious, gray eyes so pale they were like frozen moonlight. “Don’t go avenging me, Sol. I’m not dead.”

“They
tortured
you.”

“I mean it, Sol. This has to stop somewhere. You said so yourself.”

I shrugged out of his grasp. “You could have died. You nearly did.”

“So did you,” he reminded me lightly. “Quinn would say the
reason everyone’s always trying to kill us Drakes is because we’re so pretty.” He passed me a stake. “Now are we going to hunt, or what?”

I refused the stake, showing him the tranquilizer gun I’d gotten off Uncle Geoffrey before leaving the farm. “Let’s try something new.”

“Okay, but I’m not having a chat with a rabid
Hel-Blar.”

“Agreed.”

Walking through the quiet forest was soothing. The silhouettes of the trees gleamed with ice, the leaves and twigs underfoot bristled with frost. There were rabbit prints and gouges on a tree from where a deer had rubbed its antlers. When we crossed the river, it looked as if it were filled with bits of broken mirrors. We found traces of old blood and footprints, but nothing terribly useful. We wandered aimlessly until I led us to the place I felt safe, without even realizing it. The tree where Kieran and I had slipped underground into the tunnels to escape Hope’s rogue Helios-Ra unit. We’d spent the day in a safe house and he’d stayed with me, watching over me when I was at my weakest.

The tree was just as mossy, spreading out its branches in a wide circle, dripping delicate and deadly icicles. The points looked as sharp as stakes. The roots made a complicated nest, like the Celtic knot work patterns on some of Bruno’s tattoos. Nicholas searched the path for strange scents or any other kind of clues, just as we’d been doing all night. I couldn’t help myself, I crouched down to slide my hands in the tiny caves the roots created. I felt around for some kind of note or letter, just as he’d mentioned that night on his front porch. It felt like a lifetime ago.

I reached deeper into the roots. The wind rattled the frosted branches overhead, icicles tinkling like wind chimes. I smelled snow and pine and cold. I touched dirt, stones, a startled beetle. Nothing else.

It was empty.

Disappointment was a palpable burn in my belly. I sat back on my heels and chided myself for being an idiot. What had I been expecting? A love letter? Of course Kieran hadn’t left me a message. I’d bitten him on the neck and drunk his blood. I’d kissed Constantine. I’d generally behaved like an ass.

And Lucy wondered why I was too embarrassed to phone him.

I pushed to my feet, swallowing hard against the lump growing in my throat. Ex-vampire queens probably shouldn’t cry over their ex-boyfriend’s perfectly reasonable decision to have nothing to do with them. A tear slipped through anyway, scalding hot on my cold cheek. I hurried to wipe it off before Nicholas could see me. The crack of a twig underfoot and the familiar mixture of mint and cedar had me spinning around. I knew that scent.

Kieran.

He was standing right there behind me, on the edge of the roots. I had no idea how long he’d been there. The wind had covered his scent and my own misery had muffled the sound of his heartbeat. He was perfectly still, wearing a dark gray fisherman’s sweater and his usual black cargos. His dark hair was ruffled by the wind and there was the faintest scrape of stubble on his jaw. I couldn’t look away, even as scared as I was to see what might be reflected in his black eyes. I expected anger, disgust, even fear. But
he only looked as startled as I felt, as if he wasn’t even sure I was real.

Nicholas came around the tree and we still hadn’t moved.

“Kieran.” He was the first to speak, breaking the silence that was starting to feel like a spell, weaving around us. Kieran and I might have stood there staring at each other for the rest of the night otherwise. If he didn’t speak, I couldn’t hear the recrimination in his voice. I straightened my spine, wanting to hear whatever he had to say. I owed him that much, at least.

“Hey, man,” Nicholas continued, as if he wasn’t surrounded by frozen mimes. “It’s good to see you.”

Kieran tore his gaze from mine as if it was physically painful. “Nicholas.” They didn’t shake hands but clasped forearms as usual, like fellow warriors.

“Well, I guess it’s safe to leave you here for a bit,” Nicholas said. He eyed Kieran’s friends, who were equally frozen behind him. “I’m going to go for a walk.” He tossed me a grin before loping away and becoming just another shadow in the forest.

What exactly did you say to the boy you’d kissed senseless and then nearly killed?

I licked my lips. “Hi.”

Oh my god, I really
was
an idiot.

Kieran blinked. A ghost of a smile nearly tugged at the side of his mouth. “Hi.”

We stared at each other for another interminable moment, longer than any history exam Aunt Hyacinth had ever set me. I squirmed. He slipped on a pair of nose plugs.

“I’m learning to control the pheromones,” I said quietly. He didn’t take them off.

But he also didn’t look away, even as he spoke to his friends. “Go away, guys.”

I could hear them leaving, one of them whispering, “That’s her? She’s so tiny.”

And then it was just Kieran and me alone in the woods.

I’d literally never felt so awkward in my entire life.

“Are you okay?” we both blurted out at the same time.

“I didn’t kill those people,” I added miserably. “The ones in the paper. I promise. Though I don’t know why you’d believe me.”

“I believe you,” he said quietly. “You’re as much of a victim of Viola as the rest of us. More so.”

“But I . . .” I motioned vaguely to his neck. There was a scar from where my incisors had ripped through his skin, just barely visible above the neck of his sweater and the collar of his coat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said. I could tell he meant it and it nearly undid me.

“I could have killed you. You should hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” he said quietly. “And I know what it feels like. After my dad died and I was on a vendetta, I did some things I’m not proud of.”

“Did you throw your own brother into a tent post and threaten to snap your best friend’s neck?”

“Who’d you throw?”

“Duncan.”

He whistled, looking briefly impressed. “Bet he loved that.”

I wrinkled my nose. “He still looks at me like I might do it again.”

“He’ll get over it.”

“I’m bad luck, Kieran. Without me and that stupid prophecy, so many people would be better off. London would still be alive.”

“Without you,” Kieran pointed out, “Logan wouldn’t have met Isabeau, Hunter wouldn’t have met Quinn, and Connor wouldn’t have met Christabel. Did you ever think of that?” He paused. “And we wouldn’t have met either.”

“But I drank from you. And you’ve been attacked too many times because of me.” I wasn’t sure why I was arguing. But I had to make him understand.

“It was worth it.”

“How can you say that?” I gaped at him even as he stepped closer, bridging the distance between us.

“Because it’s the truth,” he replied hoarsely, his thumb trailing softly over my jawline. “You’re worth it, Solange. All of it.”

I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop my lower lip from wobbling embarrassingly. Of all the things I’d ever imagined him saying to me, that had never even made the list. The sob trapped in my chest morphed into a laugh. But I couldn’t let it out. Not quite yet. “How can you still be so nice to me?” This was the part I’d been dreading, the reason I’d avoided him. Hearing him say that final good-bye. I clenched my fists. “Your friends and family, the entire League; they’ll hate me even more now—and you if . . . if we . . . if we stay together.”

“To hell with them,” he said roughly.

“I know why I want to be with you,” I said. “You’re strong and honest and forgiving. But how can you still want to be with me?” I whispered. “When I’m like this?” I lifted my wrists showing him the blue veins under pale skin, knowing my triple set of fangs were extended, my irises ringed with red.

He touched my wrists, lightly stroking the veins, moving up my arms to dig his fingers in my hair and tilt my head back so I’d look at him directly instead of at my feet. “You were brave and beautiful when I first met you as a human. You’re still brave and beautiful, Solange. That hasn’t changed.” He tugged me a little closer. “Besides, Hart is still negotiating with your dad. They still want peace and if anyone can pull it off, especially now, it’s those two. And we’ll help,” he added. “All of us.”

I desperately wanted him to be right, already feeling the ice that had clawed at my insides melting away. “Kieran, you’ve already lost your dad. I can’t ask you to lose everyone else that you love.”

“Then don’t ask me to lose you too, Solange.”

Chapter 29

Hunter

Saturday night

“Grandpa!” I knocked on the door. “I know you’re in there!”

I tried to peer through the peephole even though I knew it was equipped with several layers of safety mechanisms. I also knew the house and lawns were sprayed down with holy water on a daily basis. Grandpa had a barrel of it out in the backyard, attached to a garden hose. He’d made me wash my hair with it until I left for the academy.

I kept pounding on the door. The UV bulbs in the security lights over the porch were so intense I could get a tan standing here, even though it was just past twilight. I gave up before my nose could get sunburned and shoved my key into the lock.

It didn’t fit.

My own grandfather had changed the locks on me.

My stomach dropped as if I were suddenly hollow inside. I knew he was still angry but we were the only family left to each other. He’d always been there for me. He’d been the one to show me how to use my first crossbow. He’d given me my own stake, which he’d whittled himself. He’d even learned to braid my hair, when I was seven years old and pitched a fit when he suggested I cut it short.

And now he’d locked me out.

I could feel dismal about it and stand here trying not to cry, or I could feel dismal about it and pick the damn lock on principle.

No contest.

“This isn’t over, old man,” I said to the security camera fitted into the eaves of the porch roof. I was glad I’d brought my full hunter’s kit with me, just in case. I’d never be able to break the door down since it was outfitted with so many locks, bars, and booby traps. I’d wondered if he might arm them out of spite, but I didn’t think he’d go so far as to call a locksmith.

From the outside, the house looked like any other bungalow on the street, set back against the edge of the woods. The driveway was interlocking brick, the hedges were trimmed neatly, and the garbage was taken out every Wednesday morning at 7:00 a.m. exactly. No one saw the cameras or the sensors, and no one realized the decorative bars on the windows were actually sturdy military-strength steel.

The biggest problem was making sure the neighbors didn’t call
the police before recognizing me—especially Mrs. Gormley, who had a crush on Grandpa and spied on him through her blinds. She wore sweaters that looked like doilies, hung curtains that looked like doilies, and brought over casseroles draped in doilies. Grandpa had actually incorporated her into his security plans. So much so, that the side and back doors had way more locking mechanisms since they weren’t being guarded by the Doily Dragon.

It took me a few minutes to defeat the first lock—only three more to go. By the time I was done, my fingers were cramping and my ears hurt from straining to listen to the soft snick of the tumblers. I straightened and stepped inside.

I hadn’t been home since the school year started, since Grandpa had caught me with Quinn, to be precise. He’d filed formal complaints against the academy and Bellwood in particular, for letting vampires onto campus grounds. And he’d refused to speak to me ever since I called him from the hospital after being poisoned by Ms. Dailey—a
teacher,
not a vampire, something that I pointed out to him repeatedly.

And yet he claimed
I
was the one who was as stubborn as six mules.

“Grandpa!” He wasn’t in the living room, watching me on the security screens. As I went down the hall, premonition crawled on trembling mouse feet over the back of my neck. The house looked the same. I hadn’t expected it to change; it was just that everything else in my life had undergone such a drastic transformation, it was almost shocking to see the same rugs, the same photos on the wall, the same lumpy clay dinosaur I’d made Grandpa for Christmas one
year. The plants in the window were still thriving—I was the one they curled up and died around. Grandpa had a green thumb and grew his own tomatoes every year. They were so big the neighborhood kids liked to climb over the fence to steal them for food fights.