I’m resolutely ignoring the jagged pain that threatens to slice through me when I contemplate not seeing Jackson again. My own self-preservation needs to come before my body’s desire for him.
My security team arrives in record time; all four dressed in sharply tailored suits that do little to disguise the shoulder holsters for their licensed firearms.
I recognize the lead guy as Tristan Matthews. He was hired specifically to babysit me by Philips, my family’s longtime bodyguard.
Tristan is his younger protégé of sorts, tasked with my protection until Philips retires and takes his place.
Silently, they file into my room, pick up my bags and any items I missed and escort me out into the hallway, my body tucked protectively to Tristan’s surprisingly solid side.
The team forms a loose square around me as we move through the dorm block with students staring inquisitively at me. I try not to look at anyone in return and focus my energy on picking up my feet instead of stumbling along with heavy, numb limbs.
Tristan can feel me struggling beside him so he moves his arm from around my shoulders to hold me firmly around the waist, allowing him to half lift me and take some of my weight. It doesn’t seem to slow his steady stride and before long we’re outside heading towards a blacked-out Audi SUV.
That’s when I look up and see Jackson sprinting towards us calling my name. The team maneuvers me towards the vehicle, their hands reaching for their holstered weapons in case Jackson is a threat.
He is, just to my heart, not my body.
“Don’t, just get me out of here.”
I don’t want them hurting him – if that’s even possible – although, from the look on Jackson’s face, running away will do exactly that.
My security detail won’t hurt him, I will.
Tristan orders everyone into the vehicle; one of the guys I don’t know taking the driver seat while Tristan picks me up and bundles me onto the back seat with him.
I hear Jackson call my name one last time, his voice laced with hurt and restrained fury, before the SUV speeds off and I burst into tears, pain slicing through me and a growing, aching void developing in my chest.
Tristan sits awkwardly motionless as I sob into his side, cocooned in the soft fabric and manly scent of Jackson’s stolen sweater.
Chapter Ten
My parents pace back and forth across the dining room of their grand Fifth Avenue Penthouse. They look stressed as they pace a hole in the hardwood floor.
I sit at the head of their dining table fuming and yelling at them; Philips and Matthews stand in one corner acting professionally while I have my meltdown.
My cheeks are tear-stained, my eyes sore and puffy – the contacts had to go – and I’m still wearing the abducted sweater.
It turns out my parents knew about my supernatural heritage all along and I’m not exactly feeling forgiving. My parents always spoke about love and honesty whilst keeping my past a secret from me. They lied to my face, for years. How am I supposed to trust them after this?
I always suspected that they found out something about my birth parents they didn’t like, and I never pushed for the information because I wasn’t lying when I told Jackson I was content with my adopted family. But I also never dreamed that the secret could be so explosive. I thought it would be something along the lines of my birth parents being drug addicts, not a secret about my entire existence.
This deception is breaking my heart…and it has the power to break our family.
Philips disappears for a moment and returns with a mature looking woman with kind brown eyes – somehow, he was able to hear her knocking at our door above my noise. Her blond hair is paling into gray, but her face is smooth and with very few lines; I find it impossible to guess her age.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice Wilhelmina. This is our daughter, Emilia,” my father says gravely. “Emilia, this is Wilhelmina Price. She is a matron at a sorority of young ladies like yourself at Columbia.”
“An angel sorority? Perhaps someone should have suggested that to me before I went on my merry way to meet the vampires of Dartmouth!” I snap.
“We were unaware that there was a coven at Dartmouth when your parents and I discussed safe options for your education,” soothes Wilhelmina, acting oblivious to the tone of my outburst.
“I don’t think they’d appreciate being called a coven,” I automatically defend Jackson, feeling guilty for just calling him a vampire when he said they hated the name and thinking that ‘coven’ isn’t much nicer.
I’m also choosing to ignore the comment that my parents discussed my education and safety with someone I see as a total stranger.
We’ll get to that issue later.
“No, you’re probably right. But still, we were unaware of their presence at Dartmouth.”
I notice that Ms. Price has a serene sounding voice, melodic and soothing and I remember something Jackson said about pushing my serenity to its flaming limits.
“Are you a Guardian?” I ask. I don’t think she is unless Guardians come in middle-aged varieties.
“No, I am a Halfling. My mother was a Guardian and my father was human. I have some of the Guardian strength, but not all, and I do age, albeit slowly.”
“If you all knew what I was then why did no one say anything? And if there was a place where I could be with my own kind then why wasn’t that encouraged? I would have listened to reason, eventually…after I got over the shock. And to be clear, keeping something this big from me shocks me to my already shattered heart. I’m clinging to the tattered remains of my comprehension for the world around me and I find out you knew all along.”
My accusations are calmer this time; Wilhelmina Price really is a calming influence.
“I’m unsure how forthcoming Mr. Smoak has been with you, so please tell me if there is anything I say that you don’t understand. Supernaturals, on average, take three to six years to reach their prime once maturity has started. This process usually starts at around twenty-one years of age, by which time college is nearly complete. My sorority is designed for those who begin maturity early and need an extra level of guidance and stability through crucial years of development that can already be daunting and trying for a young adult without the added complication of becoming immortal. You didn’t display any symptoms to suggest early maturity, so we didn’t believe you needed the support.”
“So you sent me off to college completely oblivious where I could’ve started maturing at any time and would have had no clue as to what was happening to me or why? I’m certain that the girls in your sorority are aware of what is happening to them.”
I don’t try to hide my accusation; what they did was just plain stupid.
One glance at Tristan’s brooding eyes confirms that he thinks the same, even if he does disguise it behind a passively professional expression.
“We believed you hadn’t hit maturity. We thought we had more time,” my mother pleads.
“That’s not an excuse to send me out into the world clueless!” She pales under my damning words.
“Don’t shout at your mother, young lady,” my dad bellows, obviously out of patience with my temper.
“You EARNED it, YOU. LIED. TO. ME,” I shout each word for maximum effect and my mother’s sobs start all over again. “And don’t you DARE call me ‘young lady’ in that patronizing tone; I found out today that I was killed one-hundred-and-twenty years ago…long before you were even born! Every nightmare I’ve ever had was actually a terrifying memory and you kept it from me, apparently for my benefit.”