I clutched the bench to hold myself steady.
“Rodney is here for a reason. He knows something, how much I’m not sure, but I need to know what he is up to. Your question earlier may have hit the nail on the head, but I cannot say for certain, and even if he did talk to Sarah, what that means.”
“You told me he’s your ally.”
“He is.” He paused, his jaw taut. “But where power is involved, few can be trusted.”
“Then I should stay and try to find out what he’s after.”
He shook his head. “No. You should do no such thing.” Dark shadows found a home on his features. “If he … he already doesn’t trust you. Please go to our room, get some sleep, and I will wake you up when I come up and give you every detail, if that’s what you need for you to be alright.”
As if I could sleep while he was here, my mind assaulting me with images of his hand in her hair, his lips on her throat, her hands on his body. As if I could be alright with being cast aside, left alone to rot amongst my thoughts, my heart shattered by rejection.
He’s doing it to keep me safe, I repeated in my head.I should be grateful he cared so much, I should nod, turn, go to my room.
“What I need to be alright is for us not to hide,” I whispered. “What I need is to feel like I fit in, somewhere, any-fucking-where.” My lips trembled and tears slipped down my face as every broken piece of me all just came rushing out. “What I need is to be loved fully and wholly for what I am, all that I am. Not hidden, not persecuted … I need to be loved and accepted for me.” My hand slipped to my heart as if trying to contain the burn. “That’s what I need, Karson.” My words choked on a sob.
He stared at me, emotion surging through his expression as if the broken pieces of me hurt him too. His throat bobbed. I hated that I gave a fuck about his emotions right now.
“I’ll go.” Defeated, I dropped my head and strode toward the door.
“Amelia,” he rasped, his fingers taking hold of my hand so gently, I could have pulled away if I wanted to, could have kept walking. And yet, my body stopped. “I want you to?—”
He froze, his grip tightening. “Stay here,” he ordered. A flash of black and the door snapped shut behind him. A sudden wind wailed through the foyer. When did a storm erupt?
Then I heard something else that turned my muscles to mush—chanting.
Chanting and screaming.
Chapter 42
Fucking Witches
“El mecca day want de sorva, el mecca day want de sorva,” female voices chanted.
Instead of rushing to help, I was frozen to the spot. The chanting crawled from the darkest places in my brain like a ghoulish stain. Ghosts revisiting. I was in shock. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. I couldn’t decipher if this was real or another nightmare roaring to life. Why would witches be in Karson’s house? As if the vampires would let them past the gates.I’ve gone to bed, fallen asleep and this was a fucked-up nightmare. It must be.
In the distance, a cry speared through the chanting, gurgled and choking.
Karson.
A far greater fear yanked my legs forward. The door slammed back against the wall as I reefed it open. Everything happened all at once and so fast, and yet I somehow registered each horror as if it was in slow motion. The chanting became a deafening roar. The whole foyer was a cloud of red as if the sky itself had fallen and was bleeding. A terrible, coppery scent and something else pungent coiled up my nose, scorching down my already burningthroat. My hand jerked up to block my nose and mouth, my eyes stinging and beginning to water.
I squinted through the blurry haze, trying to make out what was happening. The first shape I made out was Eric. He was in the middle of the foyer, flat on his stomach, his claws dug into the floorboards as he dragged his body slowly forward, trying to escape the dust. His face was stained red, his mouth open in an O shape as if he’d tried to scream and failed. Blood ran from his eyes like crimson streams.
I blinked furiously, wildly scanning for Karson. Buried within the dust, I could make out eight shadowy shapes. They were spread out in a wide arc just inside the closed door, chanting. Then they stepped forward like brides of horror.
Karson was on his knees, staring aghast at something I couldn’t see. “No, no, no,” he cried, terror and anguish riddling his voice.
“Karson!” I screamed.
“Amelia, get back!” he roared, his voice wild with panic as he stumbled to his feet. I took an abrupt step back as his silhouette staggered between me and the witches. His face was twisted in pain, his legs shaking violently. I didn’t have time to cry out, even if I could have risked the breath, before he dropped to his knees again, his eyes squeezed shut.
Monique, Michael, and Kenneth rushed into the room, ready to fight. Their faces crumpled in agony, stopping as if they had slammed into a wall.
Monique clutched at her head and screamed as she collapsed to her knees.
Michael looked at her wildly, desperate to go to her, but his legs folded, and his attention turned upwards, holding his arms up like he was fending off an invisible predator.
