Now? How could she say that now? Why now?
The inky presence inside me stirred. Eterran’s focus cut across my mind like a blade.
Calm down, Ezra.
Be quiet!
Whirling, I was across the basement in a flash—and my fist slammed into the punching bag. It swung away, and as it came back, I hammered it again. And again. And again.
It did nothing to calm the storm inside me.
How could she say that? She didn’t know me. I didn’t know me. Who was I without this demon, this power, this doom hanging over me?
Eterran’s thoughts and emotions flickered at the edge of my awareness, his black presence a mocking contrast to Tori’s words.
Be quiet! I slammed the bag, a heavy-duty brand Aaron had chosen to withstand my strength. Be quiet! Another hit, my knuckles driving into thick leather. Be quiet!
He was still there. Always there. Never gone.
Sometimes, he was so quiet I could almost forget about him—almost. He would slip into a sort of trance where his mind would go very, very quiet. As long as I kept my thoughts and emotions calm, he would hibernate and I’d be free of him. The longest he’d ever slept was three weeks, but the constant monitoring of my own state of mind had been a different distraction, a different strain.
There was no way out. For ten years, I’d fought him—fought for control, for emotional separation, for distance, for silence, for privacy, for peace. I was so fucking exhausted.
So am I.
“Be—quiet,” I gasped, hitting the bag again. Hammering it. Now my muscles were truly burning, and I welcomed the pain. “You never leave me alone.”
How can I?
“Go to sleep.”
I can’t do that when you’re like this.
I slammed the bag again. You’re not even trying.
No. A piercing cut of hatred. I will not sleep again, Ezra. Not until this is over, one way or another.
Anger burned through me, followed by cold despair. Tori’s message was a flicker of light in the darkness—but she couldn’t mean those words. Maybe she thought she did, but she’d only glimpsed the nightmare of what I really was.
“Then I’ll end it now,” I snarled. “I’ll put us both out of this misery.”
Eterran’s mind scraped against mine, our thoughts tearing at each other.
Liar. You don’t want to die.
My teeth clenched so hard pain shot through my jaw. I squeezed my eyes shut as I panted. “I’ve never wanted to die. That’s why I’ve waited this long.”
I know.
I want a life. A real life.
Then why won’t you fight for it?
It’s impossible.
Eterran shoved a memory at me—Burke’s demon, rage and triumph burning in his stare as he drew his arm back, glowing talons aimed for my chest. In his other hand, he held the Vh’alyir Amulet.
It is possible.
I opened my eyes. The punching bag swayed like a pendulum, and I slowed my breathing to match its measured rhythm.
You’ll betray me, Eterran. You hate me.
His thoughts whirled in an ebony maelstrom, fueled by a driving, burning need that eclipsed even the blackest despair.
You want to survive, he whispered inside me. Beneath your guilt and self-loathing and blind determination to protect your friends, you want to live as much as I do.
My chest tightened until I couldn’t take a full breath. Tori’s message glowed like a beacon. She didn’t know me—the real me, the person I’d lost when I’d let a demon into my body—but maybe we could … maybe …
No. It was impossible.
Yet, by most standards, she’d already accomplished several impossible feats. She was fighting for me right now. How could I give up when she was fighting so hard?
Emotions crashed over me like a wave—all the anger and hurt and betrayal flooding through me again. I flung my fist out. As it crashed into the punching bag, my fury sparked and died. My despair swelled and faded. My pain struck and retreated.
Eterran’s fury rose and fell. His despair. His pain.
My fist hit the bag. My breath rushed in and out. The rhythm beat inside me, and Eterran’s thoughts turned, aligning with mine. We focused on the bag. On the strike. On the impact of knuckles against leather.
Emotions calmed. Our minds steadied. Our thoughts flickered back and forth, debate, ideas, rebuttals, decisions.
Finally, decisions.
I pivoted away from the punching bag. Calm. Focused. Aligned. My concentration turned inward, slipping into the midst of power I could never fully embrace—not when part of my consciousness was always, always occupied by fear of the demon inside me and what he might do.
Spinning on my heel, I slashed my hand sideways, cutting across nothing. The air rippled like a blade.
The bottom half of the punching bag crashed to the floor, sand spilling down. The top half swung from the chain, barely disturbed by the razor blade of air that had cut cleanly through the leather.
Eterran and I studied the ruined bag.
I walked away. After a quick shower, I hastened up the stairs, a towel around my waist and my phone in hand. As I passed the living room, I glanced at the man lounging on the sofa.
Girard, my current babysitter, looked from the TV to me. Darius had ensured I wouldn’t be alone at night until Aaron and Tori returned. He, Girard, and Alistair—the only ones besides Aaron, Kai, and Tori who knew my secret—were taking turns watching over me.
“How’re you doing?” Girard asked, concern softening his eyes—and grief.
He was already grieving for me and I wasn’t even dead yet.
“Fine,” I said, ignoring the way his gaze flicked over my scars. I rarely let others see them. “Heading to bed.”
“Sure.”
I continued up the stairs and into my room. Locking the door, I pulled my towel off and dressed in combat gear. Sliding on my long gloves with metal-plated knuckles and elbows, I paused to listen. The TV rumbled through the floor.
Tori’s message filled my phone’s screen when I unlocked it, and my throat tightened. I selected a different name from my list of contacts, typed out a quick message, and hit send.
Will she take the bait?
We’ll find out.
I walked to my bedroom window. Careful to steady the panel so it wouldn’t make noise, I slid it open and popped out the screen.
The two-story drop was no issue—I didn’t even need the wind to cushion my fall. Cold air filled my lungs as I breathed deep. Determination was a fire in my chest, chasing away the despair that had hung over me since my near destruction at Varvara’s hands.
“Will this work?” I murmured to the silent night. “Robin won’t give up answers easily.”
It will take us both.
I nodded. Both of us. Aside from brief moments during combat, we hadn’t worked together since I’d escaped the commune eight years ago—since I’d doomed my family to death.
As I strode away from the house, I hoped I wasn’t about to repeat the worst mistake I’d ever made.
Chapter Twenty
I almost, almost got to fly to Salt Lake City in the Yamada Syndicate’s fancy private jet. But some asshole executive who outranked Makiko decided his desire to go golfing in Bermuda was more important, and he’d commissioned the jet right out from under her.