I see it as my attacker moves, thrashing about. The pain must be unbearable. With balled fists, the rogue slams his hands into the earth—once, twice, three times. He bellows with agony and tears at his chest, shredding his shirt. His skin is bared to me, and I cringe at the sight.
Our gazes meet briefly; his eyes betray not only his agony but also his confusion. He’s just as lost as I am.
“Wh-What have y-you done to me?” the rogue stutters behind a clenched jaw.
I trudge toward him, pushing through the snow to reach his side. My chest is heaving as my nerves begin to settle. My wound has healed, the blood at my neck slowly freezing. Later, it will be caked to my skin, and I’ll have to scratch it off in the shower.
I lower the zipper of my jacket only an inch or so and let my cross drop freely. In our struggle, it must have poked through enough to touch the rogue, because his skin is tainted by burns. Cratering into his flesh, the cross branded him deeply.
What’s more shocking than this rogue vampire cowering before me as he clutches his wounded throat is his eyes. He is not surprised by the revelation that I, a vampire, can touch a cross. I hold it in my hand, running my stiff fingers over the cool, silver metal. When I tuck it back inside my jacket, I make sure to place it beneath my T-shirt so the rogue can see it’s gracing my skin. Still, his eyes do not waver.
I drop to my knees beside him. He cringes, grunting fiercely as something eats away at his tissue. The cross affected Jasik too, but not like this. This wound spreads, viciously tearing through the rogue’s skin. It’s as if the cross knows true evil, and it’s banishing this demon straight to hell.
“What did you mean?” I say from my knees beside him. I don’t fear for my safety. He can barely contain his own pain; he doesn’t have the strength to inflict more on me.
He howls as his wound deepens. Soon, I’ll see bone. If I want answers, I need to act fast.
“You said I make three. What does that mean?”
Someone approaches, and I jerk my head to find Jasik approaching. Coated in white, he races to my side, sliding to his knees and withdrawing his dagger. Just as he plunges it toward his victim, I grab on to his wrist, stopping Jasik from killing the rogue. Confusion flashes in his eyes, but he withdraws his weapon.
“You’re okay?” Jasik asks. He fingers my jawline before brushing hair from my eyes. His gaze drops to my neck, and he freezes. Anger flashes behind his crimson irises, and I know I have only seconds to convince him to let the rogue live—for now.
“I’m fine,” I say.
I return my attention to the rogue vampire, hoping Jasik will understand why I stopped him, why I need the rogue to respond.
“Answer me,” I order.
The rogue grumbles under his breath, an inaudible confession that flares my frustration to life. He’s wasting time, and unfortunately, time is a luxury he no longer has. If he won’t willingly explain himself, I will force him to. With only moments before his inevitable demise, I make a rash decision.
In a swift motion, I pull the dagger from Jasik’s hand and plunge it into the rogue’s chest. I miss his heart—intentionally.
“Either you can make this harder than it needs to be, or I can make your pain go away,” I say. “Your choice.”
“Ava,” Jasik says, his voice soft but pointed. He places his hand over mine, and I dare a peek at him. Before his eyes become unreadable, I see the flash of disgust in them. “We don’t torture rogues. That would make us no better than them.”
I understand what he’s saying, and he’s right. We fight to rid the world of evil, and if we resorted to torturing rogues for information, we would be no better than the monsters we slay. In my heart and even in my mind, I know this to be true, but my mouth and my hand have their own plans. I’m simply a bystander in their crusade. I face the rogue, ignoring Jasik’s plea.
“I said, what did you mean?” I twist the knife in his chest, nicking bone. The rogue cries out and hacks up blood. I’ve just shortened his life by several more minutes.
“You’re not the only one,” the rogue shouts. “I’ve fought others like you.”
Jasik’s breath hitches, and I don’t miss it. His shock fuels my desire to know more, to learn the truth once and for all.
“What do you mean, there are more? More what?” I’m shouting, my voice screechy. With sloppy hair frozen to my forehead and disheveled clothes, I’m sure I look like a crazy person right now. I imagine my eyes are wide and hungry, betraying my own inner demons.
“Half-breeds,” the rogue whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut as tiny red lines spider-web from the center of his wound through his torso. I bet he hasn’t been this close to death since the day he transitioned.
“You’ve met more witches who were turned?” I clarify. “How many? Where? Who? Did you kill them?”
A million questions are racing through my mind, but the rogue doesn’t answer any of them, because in one swift motion, Jasik reclaims his dagger and plunges it into the vampire’s heart.
I scream as the rogue combusts. The pristine snow is stained gray, tainted by his ash. In a second that passes far too quickly, the rogue is gone—and so are my answers.
I stare at my sire, my mouth wide with shock, with disdain, with fear. Jasik offered this rogue far greater leniency than he ever deserved. This monster never knew or showed such compassion, and now I’ll never know the truth.
Once again, I’m left in the dark, but this time, I’m forced into seclusion by my own savior.
By the time we return to the manor, the silence between us is deafening. Not only have I refused to speak with Jasik, but he also hasn’t even tried to look at me.
Lost in thought, I kick off my boots as I enter the foyer. Jasik slams the door behind us, jolting several nearby vampires. They retreat from the ensuing fury by taking the stairs in the sitting room to the second story.
It’s unnaturally hot in the manor, and the snow at my feet is beginning to melt. I try to soak up the pooled water with my sock, only succeeding in swishing around what my sock can’t absorb. Now a sopping mess, my socks cling to my feet and squish between my toes. I grimace. There are few things more uncomfortable than wearing wet socks.
“Everything okay?” Malik says. I look up from my feet to see him approaching. He’s wearing lounge jogger pants and is holding a book. He snaps it closed when he sees our faces and sets it on a nearby bookshelf. It looks just as out of place as I feel.
“Gather everyone. We need to talk,” Jasik says. He pushes past his brother, leaving me behind as he enters the parlor and plops onto a chair directly to the right of the fireplace.
While we were out, someone started a fire, and a pile of logs is stacked in the corner of the room. The earthy musk of freshly chopped wood is overwhelming, but not as much as the sounds, smell, and heat coming from the fireplace. The second I step into the room, I’m struck by a heat wave so fierce, it steals the breath from my chest.
It doesn’t take long for the other hunters to meet us in the parlor. Even Holland joins us. I smile at Jeremiah’s ex-boyfriend. In a room full of worried vampires, Holland is the only friendly face. I wonder if the fact that he’s a witch affects my judgment. After all, the vampires seem to think I’m blinded by those deemed magical.