“Um, this may be a dumb question, but why are we just sitting here?” Angelle asked. She had been sitting there silently, her eyes bouncing back and forth between everyone as if she was watching a Ping-Pong match. “Shouldn’t we be out scouting the area and trying to track them?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Eric said, which floored everyone. He looked around the table, counting them off and mouthing each number, twice. “I think we need to talk to Erin.”
“What?” Lola snapped. “What’s that baby going to know that we don’t?”
“She’ll know where Tristan is,” Mitchell said, plucking the answer from Eric as if they shared the same brain, but really, he had just noticed the same thing Eric had. Erin wasn’t there.
“Erin left twenty minutes ago,” Sally offered.
Mitchell gritted his teeth, biting back the overwhelming urge to snap her neck. “You heard her leave?” he growled, seeing nothing but red. Had he read the witch wrong? Was she merely meant to be a distraction?
“No, no. I didn’t hear her, I saw her,” Sally said, tapping her finger against the side of her head. “She needed to go in order for the pieces to align and to present the next step to us. Whoever she ran after is involved with the girls, and Erin loves him against all reason.”
“Tristan,” Mitchell breathed. He sucked in a sharp breath, and his anger ran cold.
“Mitch,” Tyler said. “Tristan’s a punk. He couldn’t really do all this, could he?” He tried for conviction, but the way his eyes darted back and forth gave him away. He was nervous. “And Erin hates him. She wouldn’t run after him.”
“Can you see where they are being held?” Mitchell asked in a barely audible whisper. He couldn’t answer Tyler’s question, because the truth was, he knew that Tristan was crazy enough to try.
“No,” Sally said with a wide smile that made Mitchell’s stomach clench and twist into painful knots. She glanced at the ground, searching the marble floor. “But I can track them.”
CHAPTER 8
It could have been five minutes or five days. Amelia wasn’t sure. Time stood still as she watched the big screen. She didn’t want to watch, but despite all efforts to look away, Amelia was glued to the TV.
Megan was still out cold, and Amelia was beginning to wonder if it was magic keeping her unconscious. At first, she had thought that Megan was already dead, but when she narrowed her eyes and stared really, really hard, she could just make out the slight rise and fall of her shoulders with every intake of breath.
Erin had stopped screaming. She sat pressed against the bars as far away as she could get from Megan’s hanging form, her knees pulled firmly to her chest in a ball. Her blazing eyes were fixated on the slow drops of blood that fell from Megan’s wrists. Amelia knew it was only a matter of time before Erin gave into the hunger. And the worst part about it was that Amelia’s brain was telling her this was all okay. It was okay that Megan was going to die. It was fine that Erin would kill her. It was for the best, and the sooner it happened, the better life would be.
That doesn’t seem right, Amelia’s subconscious told her. You don’t want Megan to die. But the thought lacked conviction.
A sharp pain pierced the back of her neck and radiated upwards through her skull. Amelia pulled at her arm, wanting to rub the pain away, but the restraints held tight. The pain didn’t last long before it began to fade. Warmth spread through her body, touching her skin like the sun on a hot summer day. She closed her eyes, letting the heat soothe her aching head. She pulled in a lungful of sweet air and released it slowly, and the last bit of pain floated out with her breath.
Amelia heard the door open, and she smiled as a new wave of cotton candy and gumdrops drifted around her. The door clicked shut, and the sound of the deadbolt turning probably should have bothered her, but it didn’t. She kept her eyes shut, breathing in the sugary, sweet air around her.
The restraints around her wrists loosened, and her ankles were suddenly free. Josh, she thought. Her heart rate picked up, her stomach fluttered, and she sighed.
That didn’t feel right, Amelia thought. Josh wasn’t the person her heart beat for, or the person that made her skin tingle. There was someone else. She was pretty sure of that. Someone that she should remember.
“Get up,” a voice hissed in her ear. The voice didn’t sound right either. It was hard, cold, and rough.
Amelia’s eyes snapped open, and the chubby face that looked down at her sent a slithering chill racing down her spine, and suddenly she thought she was going to be sick. Mitchell’s sky blue eyes rushed back into her head. His smile, his wavy mess of brown hair, and perfectly sculpted face. Those chiseled abs and strong arms. How could she have even thought about Josh the same way?
“I said get up,” Cole growled. He grabbed her ankle and flung her off the bed, tossing her across the room, and she crashed into the wall.
Amelia’s brain raced as if it was running a marathon. The air became thick and stale. The haze that fogged her vision evaporated, and invigorating energy coursed through her veins. Amelia smirked and rolled up to her feet. “Gutsy,” she said, eyeing him closely. The restraints hadn’t just held her onto the bed; they had kept her from accessing her magic. She raised her eyebrow, and her laugh was icy. “You think you can take me without the dampers you’ve been using?”
“I want you to feel every second of this,” Cole said. He stalked towards her slowly, and the way he moved was as if he was trying to taunt her, begging her to try to attack. His coiled movements might have intimidated some, but not Amelia. She had spent too many hours, days, weeks, months, training with vampires to allow his stance to scare her.
Cole was being careless. Amelia could see it and feel it in his stare. She let her magic swirl around her, waiting for the moment he slipped up in his approach. He would slip up; she was sure. They always do when they get too comfortable—too cocky—with their strength.
“What’s taking you so long?” Amelia taunted. The closet-like room was tiny, and Cole was taking his time.
“Careful now, Amelia. Josh isn’t here to protect you,” Cole shot back with a snarled sneer.
Amelia felt the color drain from her face. What the hell is that supposed to mean? she almost screamed. It was the laughter in his eyes that made her swallow it and realize that he was trying to distract her.
It was soon clear that he didn’t need to distract her. Amelia! The scream was loud and deep and panicked, and with it came a forceful pull, knocking her off balance, and she fell to the ground.
Thoughts buzzed around her brain painfully loud, and another pull heaved against her body, dragging her along the floor towards the door.
Suddenly, Amelia couldn’t breathe, and she realized the damper was what had been blocking her bond to Mitchell. She tried to call to him, but neither her voice nor her brain could form the words. He was sifting through her memories so quickly that she couldn’t even pinpoint what he was seeing before he moved on to the next.
Cole’s laugh reverberated through the room, and when Amelia looked up, he was looming above her. She tried to scream, but the only sound she managed was a hiss as the last bit of air escaped her lungs. Her throat swelled shut, her magic dissipated as her panic threatened to take over, and her lungs burned.
“Don’t look so scared, Amelia,” Cole said. “You’re the one that created this whole mess.” He reached a hand out towards her, and for a second, Amelia thought he was going to grab her. She gasped; air hit her lungs hard and fast, and she tried to get up. Golden strands of power rushed at her, weaving together, and forming an arm, as if his hand was growing and being replaced by the magic. Long talon-like claws sprung from its fingers, ready to swipe at her. Amelia jumped back, Mitchell’s thoughts dimmed, and her heart raced. She tried to gather up her energy and launch a counter attack.
The claws sunk into her chest quickly, and a turbulent wave of power slammed into her. It was paralyzing; all Amelia could do was stare wide-eyed at her own wisps of white-blue magic as it seeped from her body, through the hand, and into Cole.
He moaned, and his eyes drooped. “Josh said you were strong, but this is amazing,” Cole murmured. His breathing became heavy, and when his eyes met Amelia’s, she saw something dark, far darker than anything she could have imagined seeing in another person. It was destructive and cold and verging on sadistic.
Amelia opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Hot agonizing pain washed over her, her legs gave way, and she fell back down to her knees.
Cole threw his head back and shouted, “Past lives that have gone astray, show us.”
The air rippled like disturbed water, and suddenly Amelia was staring at a disheveled image of herself. Tears streaked the girl’s dirty cheeks, leaving muddy streams down her face. She looked down, falling to her knees, and she screamed, a heartbroken sound, as she buried her face in a thick chest.
“This is where it all started,” Cole said, his voice low and strained. He dug the claw deeper into Amelia’s chest, and the stream of magic that he was pulling from her quickened. She screamed out as a fresh wave of hot pain convulsed through her body.
The girl in the image continued to wail and sob. Amelia struggled to watch herself through her own agony. The girl pulled someone into her arms, and her lips met his in a soft kiss. “I’ll avenge your death, Mitchell. I swear I’ll make this right.”
Cole gasped, and Amelia’s blood ran cold. “No!” he shouted. “He’s not supposed to be part of this.”
Amelia zoned out Cole’s frantic screams, and she focused on the image. There he was. Mitchell. Lying dead in her arms, a chunk of flesh ripped from his neck.
The claw retracted from her chest, and Cole frantically swiped at the smoky image in the room, as if he was trying to brush it away. Amelia pulled herself from the ground; steamy power rushed from her body hitting Cole with such a force that he flew across the room and smacked against the wall. She cinched a thick strand of magic around his throat and held him tight.