Читать книгу Venators: Promises Forged - Devri Walls - Страница 8

FAÇADE

Grey slept most of the day, waking only for dinner. Food was welcome, but after the meal, he anxiously escaped the tension-filled company of the council and returned to his room, anticipating more rest. Despite the many hours of sleep he’d already had, his body was still thoroughly exhausted from werewolf hunting, running for his life, and escaping a dragon—a dragon. He’d almost been charred alive by death on wings.

But this time, when sleep came, Grey tossed and turned—caught in that horrible someplace between wakefulness and nightmares, tortured vividly by a very specific hell. Namely, the inescapable weight of responsibility for another person’s death. After the second time he awoke shouting Valerian’s name, Grey escaped the bed and fled to the peace of the balcony.

The night was still, and the forest spread out below him, ambiguous in its shadowed texture. The muted light of night washed away the defining features of Eon and offered the illusion that he could’ve been anywhere. A cabin, maybe, in the mountains on his side of the gate.

It was in this space—a tiny sliver of reality where the fantasy felt real and smelled real and granted him the ability to ignore the full truth of his situation—that Grey allowed himself to breathe. He stared out across the distance, unmoving lest he break the illusion, until his legs and feet ached. He ignored the pain. He didn’t want to go inside.

Couldn’t go inside.

The room the council had given him was beautiful but filled with dated, museum-quality décor. Each piece of archaic ornamentation acted as a mouthpiece, whispering, as he woke, that none of the nightmares had been a dream. The walls, the rugs, the unlit chandelier, all pressed in with one suffocating truth: this world he’d so desperately dreamed of was nothing more than a new variation on an all-too-familiar cycle in his life—a cycle of being used and abused. He trembled under the built-up pain that, over the last few days, had been morphing to rage.

When the ache in his muscles refused to be ignored a moment longer, Grey reluctantly turned, deciding to read a book, only to remember there were none in his room. In fact, he hadn’t seen any at all.

Grey swore under his breath and scrubbed his hands over his tired eyes. At home, he’d drowned his angst in books. The total escape of fiction and the research of nonfiction both distracted his mind with the same effectiveness. But he wasn’t home—he was here. In Eon. Stuck in a room in a barbaric castle without books, internet, TV, or anything else that might distract him.

He was faced with only two choices: dreams he couldn’t control or an illusion he could.

There was a knock at the door. Grey jolted and surged forward, reaching for a weapon.

Woah! Relax. Although their position in the council house was precarious, given his and Rune’s actions two nights ago, it was unlikely an assassin would announce their presence by knocking at the door. Right? Probably unlikely.

The knock came again.

Grey grabbed his shirt off the back of the chaise and headed for the door. He jerked the black shirt over his head and struggled to tug it down around his chest and stomach with one hand while grabbing the doorknob with the other.

The door was half open when he froze.

Wearing a pale-blue silk dress that slid over her curves like a second skin, Tashara waited in the hall. The succubus’s hip was cocked to the side. One hand, pale and delicate, rested at her waist. She was stunning, perfect in an uncanny way that was nearly off putting.

Nearly.

His cheeks heated, and he couldn’t decide where to look.

“No, no, no.” She tsked. “Grey, you’re blushing. We talked about this. Try again.” Tashara reached out, took the handle, and pulled the door shut between them.

Grey groaned and dropped his head against the door. He’d gone to Tashara for help after they’d returned from the hunt, asking for assistance in becoming someone other than who he was before he managed to get himself killed. It had been an impulsive, desperate move—one he regretted.

He was so damn exhausted with pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Prior to crossing through that portal, he’d honestly thought it couldn’t get much worse. Irritation at the miscalculation poked its head up, looking to lash out. He shoved it away.

Tashara knocked again. The vibrations tickled his forehead. He’d have ignored her if he’d thought for a second it’d work. Grey growled, straightened, and jerked the door open.

The succubus had reset her stance and adjusted her dress—the slit was now open to the top of the thigh. He swallowed.

“Grey!” Tashara put a hand on his chest and pushed him to the side. She slid past him, a wave of floral aroma trailing behind. “During yesterday’s lesson, you almost had control. What happened?”

Grey pushed the door shut, stammering. “I . . . You . . .” He pointed, gesturing first down and then up, and finished with a wave that was supposed to indicate that all of it was what had happened.

She scoffed. “I look no different than last we met. In fact”—she smoothed her hands down her sides, trailing the well-defined curves—“I’m more demurely dressed.”

Grey cocked an eyebrow.

“It’s true. The only difference between now and then is that you haven’t had time to desensitize yourself.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, just—give me a second.”

“You don’t get the luxury of time. Your initial reaction is what will be scrutinized. Both with the council and others. It’s imperative you appear distant and disinterested, no matter your emotional or physical reaction. It’s one of the few advantages you can truly own.”

The information was not new. She’d hammered it home yesterday. And it was valid, but the lessons had left him feeling frustrated and completely overwhelmed. He’d been careful not to let her see it at the time, but right now, he was beyond exhausted, and pent-up frustration hammered at the back of his lips.

“What?” Tashara slid one hand beneath her waterfall of blonde hair and pushed it over her shoulder. “There’s something you want to say.”

“No. Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.” Grey ducked his head out of habit. “It’s just not important.”

Tashara leveled on him a sultry gaze. She put one foot in front of the other, stalking forward. “You think you can brush me off so easily? You’re adorable, Grey, but incredibly naive.”

She looked human but moved with the grace of a wild, predatorial thing. A lump formed in his throat, which irked him because he knew she wasn’t using magic—he’d felt the flex of that and knew the difference; this desire was his alone. And while he didn’t have a problem feeling attraction for another, he despised feeling this much attraction for a predator.

She ran a finger coyly down his cheek. “Your ears are turning red again.”

Her touch, that look—he felt like a parakeet waiting for a cat to pounce. Grey shoved her hand away with a snarl and stepped around.

Tashara’s voice turned cold at his back. “Let’s not forget, you came to me for help.”

He gripped the rolled top of a heavily upholstered armchair to keep his hands from balling into fists. Breathing in tightly through his nose, Grey fought to keep his voice even. “What do you want from me? I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

“Tell me what you’re so angry about.”

“Who said I was angry?” He’d attempted the statement as a light deflection. It came out as a confirming punctuation.

“You did—the way your chest jerks, that tightness in your jaw. I’m an expert in the human form, as you know, and I—”

“Fine, I’m angry.” He’d held on to one hope in life, one, and that was escape. The fact that his dream of a new life had turned out to be a different hell in another realm racked him with bitter disappointment . . . and a healthy dose of shame for his childish thoughts. “Did you want to hear everything I hate about his place?” The question came out as snidely as it felt. “Or would you prefer examples?”

“Start talking, and let’s see where it goes.”

Grey didn’t have to see Tashara to visualize the wry twist of her mouth. Irritated at her amusement, he glared at the balcony doors. The thick, wavy glass panes distorted the view.

“When I stepped through that gate, I allowed myself to entertain the idea that I could finally be myself. I thought that since I belonged here, I wouldn’t have to hide anymore.”

“Hide what? Your abilities? Or hide from whoever hurt you so badly?”

He considered denying the obvious, but Tashara had already seen more than he wanted to acknowledge. “Both. My entire life, I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not. I’ve always been too scared to let anyone in.”

“Why?”

Part of him wanted to stop talking. His traitorous side wanted anything but. He sighed, and his head drooped.

“I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror without seeing the demons. How could I possibly hide them from a friend?”

Grey’s past lurked in the back of his eyes with desperate hollowness. Some days, he didn’t look, pretended it wasn’t there. Other days, he did, and it made him nauseous.

He continued. “And it seems I was right. I couldn’t hide what was inside from you for more than two minutes.” Grey glanced over his shoulder, bitterness leaking out.

Tashara’s brow furrowed. “Grey, I’m a bit of an exception.”

“I couldn’t take the chance.”

It was the first time he’d really admitted why he’d shied away from friends, and the silence that stretched out between them was more uncomfortable because of it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You must’ve been a very lonely child.”

Grey snorted at the understatement. “Not only did I have to hide what he did . . .” No. Grey bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. He wasn’t ready to talk about that.

“He,” Tashara repeated. She wasn’t asking for clarification, simply putting another piece into the puzzle. “But being on this side of the gate means you’re away from him. You’re free now. Why aren’t you happy?”

“Free?” That word, thrown out so cavalierly, broke something inside him. Grey spun to face Tashara. “I’ll never be free! I harbored a childish hope my whole life that Tate would come back for me,” he yelled, “because I thought if he did, my life would get better. Then I could be who I truly was. I could be free. Tate came, all right, and he brought me here, where the last thing anybody wants is the real me.”

Grey pointed at Tashara as if she’d been the one who yanked him through the gate. “You want to use my abilities. Use me. I can’t show emotions of any kind or speak a word as to how wrong this world is. The only way to stay alive is to let go of everything that makes me who I am.” He pounded his chest. “To stay alive, you want me to stop caring. But that’s who I am. That’s what I do—I care!”

Wanting to run but unable to, Grey paced around the room, years of pain flowing out. If his agony had been tangible, it would surely have drowned them both in its waves.

“Grey—”

“Stop! The council wants me to destroy for them. What kind of man would I be if . . . I can’t . . . Tashara, I can’t . . .” He let loose a guttural yell and kicked a chair across the room. It slid until the legs caught on the rug, tipped over, and smashed to the floor.

Tashara looked indifferent to the verbal assault. She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and crossed her hands in her lap. “Are you ready to talk about the one who hurt you so badly? Because I think—”

“No!” he shouted.

“Very well. What else?”

He spun, incredulous. “You’re enjoying this.”

“I’m not. But Grey, you’re going to have to get this out before we can work.”

“No.” He gripped his head. “No. I never should’ve come to you for help.”

“Yes, you should—”

“You want me to be someone I’m not! What’s the point of any of this if I become someone I detest?”

A flash of pain crossed her face, and she stood, moving toward him, one hand outstretched.

Grey inhaled sharply and took three quick steps back.

Tashara stopped. “Very well.” Hurt edged her acknowledgement, and she dropped her gaze. “At a distance, then.”

None of the versions of Tashara Grey had previously met were in the room at the moment—and he’d met several. Seductress, benefactor, teacher. This woman, the predator, now held herself in a way he recognized intimately: as a victim.

Despite the immediate recognition, Grey couldn’t reconcile the truth of it, and he brushed it away.

“I don’t want you to become someone else,” Tashara said. “I need you to pretend to be something else. In order to survive. That’s all.”

“What’s the bloody difference? Turning into someone else and acting like someone else is the same damn thing!”

“No,” she said fiercely. “It’s not. You pull on a persona like you would a pair of pants. As it can be pulled on, so it can be discarded. You choose when and where to disrobe, and you do so only in safe spaces.”

“Disrobe? Safe spaces?” Grey barked a laugh. “Is this an innuendo I’m not catching, because I’m really not in the mood for—”

“It means that in the castle, you are Grey Malteer—the Venator.” A soft smile tented the corner of her mouth. “And when you’re out with Rune or Tate, you are Grey Malteer—rescuer of the weak.” She lowered her eyes and looked up through thick lashes. “That is who you want to be, isn’t it?”

A portion of Grey’s anger melted against his will. “And what . . .” He swallowed. “What am I supposed to be around you?”

Tashara took a cautious step, watching his reaction. When he didn’t flinch away, she took another, then another. As they stood there, toe to toe, her voice poured out like honey. “That’s up to you. I won’t force you to open up or be anything other than the persona I will teach you to be. All I ask is that you be honest with me.”

He started to object, but she shook her head. “It’s imperative. Otherwise, your anger and frustration will build up behind whatever persona you choose, and those emotions will reveal cracks and holes in the façade that we will build. Those well attuned to the nature of others will be able to see exactly what you’re playing at.

“If you can convincingly pretend to be the ruthless Venator Dimitri is seeking, he’ll grant you more freedom, giving you opportunities to be yourself away from prying eyes and ears. But if you fail—if he realizes that it’s simply an act . . .” She trailed off, her silence implying the consequences would certainly involve death. “Do you understand?”

As much as he didn’t want to, Grey could see the wisdom. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Yes.”

“Good.” She clasped her hands together, like the matter was settled, and smiled. “We work together, then?”

Together.

“Tashara, why are you helping me?”

“You asked.”

Suspicion rose, and he shook his head. “That’s not why.”

Annoyed at being pushed in the same manner she’d pushed him, Tashara scowled. “Perhaps someday you and I can both be ourselves . . . and I’ll tell you more. But not today.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“No. I don’t.” She stepped neatly around him and stretched out languidly on the chaise, her left arm resting on the rolled end. “Sit.”

She waited patiently until he righted the chair he’d kicked across the room and sat. “I didn’t come here to chide you. Those blushing cheeks of yours distracted me. There’s been an interesting development.”

“Interesting sounds like a code word for bad.”

She laughed lightly. “Not bad. Not yet. While you and Rune slept, Dimitri called the council together to explain that it was he who sent the Venators out for Cashel’s head.” She smirked. “As you can imagine, I found this story most curious. What happened that made Dimitri fabricate a story implicating himself?”

That was an excellent question, but Rune hadn’t been forthcoming with what happened in that office.

“I honestly don’t know,” Grey said. “Rune had something to do with it, but she wouldn’t go into detail.”

“Really? Hmmm.” Tashara’s fingers drummed across the top of the chaise. “It seems Rune is more than she appears.” She sat like that for a moment, brows pulled together in thought, fingers drumming out a five-beat rhythm. Then she took a breath and continued. “The council is furious Dimitri acted alone, and so foolishly. Your attack on Cashel’s pack was sloppy, loud, and incomplete.”

The word incomplete caught Grey, but she continued before he could ask for clarification.

“In the past, Dimitri has always done what he wants, but recklessness is not in his nature. That alone has made a few suspicious. It’s imperative that you and Rune not do or say anything that would discredit Dimitri’s story—your act must be flawless. If you make the council members doubt Dimitri, he will ensure that neither you nor Rune ever makes a fool of him again.”

The second death threat in five minutes. It was becoming par for the course. “Is the council angry at us or Dimitri?”

“Both.” She smiled. “Ambrose never liked the idea of bringing Venators back, and she’s hell bent on proving she was right. Silen is on a rampage, furious that the heir got away.”

“Beorn,” Grey said quietly.

“Silen and his pack have been out hunting Beorn since yesterday, and the last thing he wants to see is a remorseful Venator mourning the loss of a human.”

“Because humans are inconsequential.”

“To Silen, yes. Dimitri’s story to the council did not include any orders to save any humans. But when it’s brought to light that it happened—and there are witnesses, so it will be—you must act indifferent to their loss. Your story must be that you decided to rescue the humans once you were already there. Your efforts failed. That is all.”

At this, Grey lost it. “Oh, come on! After the way I acted in the dining hall? As soon as I brush it off like I don’t care, everyone will know it’s an act. It’ll only make them more suspicious.”

“It would’ve.” She gave a rueful smile. “But Verida has been a busy little vampire, telling the council how very traumatizing the adjustment is from your world to ours. And in a very clever move on her part, she’s repeatedly reminded the council that as your Venator powers further manifest, your humanity will fall away. Turns out I may have underestimated her.”

“My humanity will . . . What?” Panic bolted through Grey. “Is that true? I could lose it?”

“Lose what . . . ? Oh. Your humanity.” Tashara gave a dainty shrug. “I don’t know. But Verida claims to have already seen evidence of it on the way to the castle. A sudden change of character from you—if consistent, of course—will be a relief to the council and verification of Verida’s claims, nothing more.”

Grey’s shoulders sunk, and he let out a deep sigh, sounding as weary as he felt. Free, he was not. But Tashara had presented an option that included life while still retaining who he was—at least part of the time. “What do you want me to do?”

“That’s more like it.” She crooked a finger. “Come here.”

Rolling his eyes at the theatrics, Grey obeyed, moving in front of her.

“Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Good. Those pesky emotions are still written all over your face. Find a place inside to hide them.” She continued on by explaining how this was to be done. But Grey was well acquainted with such a place, and he shoved everything away, leaving a cool, indifferent mask. She stopped, blinking. “Well . . . you made that look easy.”

“Yeah, well—it’s not like I haven’t had to do it my whole life.”

“Hmmm, so it seems. Now, today you could be hit with anything. Be prepared at all times.” She swung her legs around without warning and stood. Her body slithered up his.

Grey’s mouth went dry at the contact, but he forced himself not to react.

“Very good.” Tashara watched him intently. “You’re getting it.”

The door flew open.

“Grey, we need to . . .” The sentence trailed off. Tate froze in the doorway. The firelight in the sconces glistened off the puckered white scars on his neck, making them shine even brighter against his blue skin.

“What?” Rune’s voice came from behind Tate. “What’s wrong?” She poked her head into the room. “Oh.”

Tashara didn’t look in Tate’s direction. Nor did she make any effort to put space between her and Grey.

“Grey,” Tate said. “Are you—?”

“Of course the boy’s all right.” Tashara patted Grey’s cheek. “Look at the color in his face.”

Grey felt a subtle pull of succubus energy.

Tashara’s eyes widened, and she jerked back, rubbing her hand against the side of her dress. “Do forgive me, but I must go.” She turned, hesitated, then stretched up on her toes to whisper in Grey’s ear. “I find myself suddenly famished.”

During their first encounter, she’d promised not to flex her magic or feed off him. If she wasn’t using him, that meant someone else was in danger. Anxiety escaped the weak façade he’d just finished erecting.

“Grey, Grey, Grey.” She tsked softly, lowering from the balls of her feet. “Your concern is showing. Do better.” Tashara sauntered away.

Rune’s suspicious gaze followed the succubus’s every step on her way to the open door.

But Tate was more concerned with Grey, staring him down like a disappointed parent. When Grey refused to offer any sort of explanation, Tate’s lips flattened into a thin line. “Fine. We will be training outside.”

Grey didn’t move. The thought of setting foot outside this room after the information he’d just received triggered an unexpected cascade of fight-or-flight endorphins . . . with a heavy preference on flight.

Tate’s eyebrow cocked at Grey’s inaction. “I said outside.”

The persona isn’t permanent. Just a temporary fix to keep me alive.

He could do this. He had to do this.

Grey threw his shoulders back, sucked in a mouthful of air, and raised his chin. His emotions went underground. And just like before, he wrapped himself in a faux persona. Instead of acting withdrawn, like he did on earth, he pushed out confidence. Instead of slouching, he stood tall. Instead of hiding his concern beneath a waterfall of hair, he shoved it down deep, where he hoped it couldn’t reflect in his eyes.