“Never without them,” he says with a shrug. “Although I haven’t used them before. My targets are dead, not captured.”
My body senses the setting sun, and I nab my restraints, threading them through the cell bar, Del doing the same.
We secure ourselves around the bars of the cell, relief drenching me. Because if a bond formed between us, I don’t know that I could kill Del if it came down to it. I made a rash decision with Fash to protect the desires for my own life and avoid pain I was nowhere near ready to handle. But now, I can’t convince myself to believe that my happiness is worth the price of Del’s life.
I sigh, thankful I don’t even need to worry about it now, and my mind wanders to the rest of our people as the full moon closes in on us.
“Gods, I hope the girls are surviving out there. They said they knew how to ride. I just hope they hauled hard,” I say.
Del huffs, lying down on stone, his ankle chained. “You and I both, Veya.”
“They should be nearing the wall by now,” Emmanuel adds.
My fingers flex in anticipation of our impending dreamwalk, my desire to escape this cell raging. Hunter magic puts any sane vampire in a state of unease.
“We’re taking Goreon when the full moon is over. Nerian crossed a line with this tonight,” I say.
“Agreed,” Del growls, and Emmanuel groans.
“We have to get out of herefirst,” he says.
There are only two ways out of a cell locked with Hunter magic: the key for the lock or a Hunter.
“We’ll get out,” I assure Em. “Second will get a key. And the male might burn down the castle just for the offense.”
“I really hope not. This castle is beautiful; it just needs some cheering up,” Del drawls.
“It needs afullworkover,” I retort.
“Is that our first act of Goreon rule? Castle makeover?” Del laughs, as I push at the delirium setting in.
And then it does, and I’m gone.
Momma braids my hair while we wait for Father to come home. He’s been gone for days, and I miss him. We’re getting pretty first and then making him dinner.
“What should we cook, baby girl?” Momma asks me.
I shrug as her fingers pull another section of hair into my braid. “Eggs,” I suggest.
She laughs. “It’s dinner.”
“But he loves eggs.”
Momma grabs another section of hair. “True. Eggs it is, then.”
The rain falls harder outside, like drums on the roof. I love the sound of the rain.
She ties off the braid and rubs my arm. “All done. Let’s make some eggs.”
I scurry to the kitchen. I love helping in the kitchen.
Momma pulls ingredients from the icebox. “Break the eggs in the bowl while I chop,” she says, handing me supplies.
I try to count the eggs, but I think I missed a number.
“Count the shells again,” Momma says. “You can do it.”
I scrunch my lips and count again.
