Vendetta (10 page)

My pulse edges a degree. "Well, you didn't. And I'm not sorry," I tell him. "So get off it."

I continue eating, ignoring the heavy silence wedged between us.

When I finish, I push my plate aside. "We should go to the beach tonight. Before curfew,"
I announce.

"I think Mara wanted to . . ."

"Forget Mara," I say, groaning. "Let's get out of here for a while. You and me. Do something
real
for a change. It'll all be waiting for me tomorrow. Do you hear me, Mara?" I ask, voice rising. "I deserve a night
off, too!" I turn to Seth. "Is she hanging around?"

He shakes his head. "It's not safe," he says.

"It's not safe to stay locked up in a pool house all day, either. You know my money will eventually run out, right? I'll have to get a job. I can't hide out f
orever."

"But until we figure out what Viola wants and how we can eliminate her, you should stay close to home."

"There's a better way to handle this."

He lifts an eyebrow, and I make a cutting motion with my index and middle fingers. "Best two out of thre
e. You win, we stay in tonight. I win, we go to the beach."

His shoulders fall in a resigned exhale, and, on the first count of three, makes a rock.

"Paper beats rock," I say, waving my flattened palm.

"One. Two. Three."
This time I make a rock and he makes scissors. "Scissors beats rock," I reply, unable to hide my smile. "You really,
really
suck at this game."

T
WELVE

I pull my old Honda into one of the public access lots, turn off the headlights, and kill the en
gine. The lot is half-covered in sand, but I wait until I reach the rickety steps before kicking off my flip flops. I glance around, pushing the hair away from my eyes, looking for Seth. The warm sand squishes between my toes, and a line of broken shells s
nakes across the beach from the last high tide. I step over it, continuing toward the sea, until I'm ankle-deep, the dark water flowing over my feet. 

The moon hangs low, suspended in the sky, and the evening stars twinkle overhead. I scan the horizon, ga
zing into the night. Still no sign of Seth.

The beach is empty. It's dangerously close to curfew, and the police will be making rounds soon. A rush of air swirls past, raising goose bumps on my arms.

I sit down at the water's edge. The tide is coming in,
and I watch the sea ebb and flow. Drifting in and out. Waves crashing, thundering in front of me. I brush my fingers across the damp sand, making pathways, and find myself writing.

I AM NOT AFRAID.

The deceitful words slant across the sand, mocking me. B
ecause I
am
afraid. I'm afraid of what is. What was. I'm afraid of what might happen. What I've become. I wipe my hand over the words, erasing them.

I feel a sweep of fingers on my shoulder and flinch, startled.

"It's just me," Seth says, lowering himself
to the ground. I lean into him, letting him wrap his arms around me. He tickles the back of my neck with warm kisses, and squeezes me tighter. 

"You miss me already? It's only been ten minutes," he says.

"I notice when you're gone."

The early moon casts
long shadows around us. I close my eyes and focus on this feeling. The cool night air blowing across my skin, the salty humidity, the heat passing from my body to Seth's and back again.

This is what it would be like all the time if Seth were like me. Or i
f I were like him. Immortal. Indestructible.

"Seth? How do you become a Guardian?" I finally ask.

"You can't become one. You just
are
."

"So . . . if something happened to me, becoming like you isn't a possibility?"

"No."

I dig my toes deeper in the sand. I
t's cooler there, beneath the surface. I gaze across the ocean, watching the waves break.

"It's not something to strive for," he goes on. "You're tied to one location. Your charges come and go. They have free will, so you're never fully in control."

"You
don't seem very loyal," I point out. "To the Council, I mean. The rules." 

He shrugs. "I'm loyal to you."

A silence descends between us. I close my eyes, breathing in the briny, sea air, and feel everything—the anxiety, the fear, the burdens—slip from my
body, melting away.

This is perfect.

I'm just about to say this—out loud—when I feel Seth grow rigid behind me.

"Seth?"

His body tenses, arms gripping me tighter. "We have to go."

In the next moment he's on his feet, lifting me to mine.

"Move." He spea
ks quietly, his tone insistent, and I know not to ask questions. I grab my flip flops and follow him as he drags me along, hurrying toward the parking lot, the sand making it nearly impossible to run.

In an instant someone else is on me, separating us. He
wraps his fingers around my throat and pushes me backward. I fall into the sand, grasping against my leg, feeling for the sheath that holds my knife, but there's nothing. And I remember: I took it off before my shower and never put it back.

I'm unarmed.

The
Diabol
emits a satisfied laugh. I kick at him as he reaches for me. He takes every one, unflinching. I spin, rolling over on the sand, clambering to my feet. The demon grabs my ankle, twisting me back around.

Everything happens so quickly.

I see the
glint of the blade in the moonlight before I feel it grazing my skin, because in the next moment Seth intertwines my fingers with his and pulls me to my feet, driving me into him. I crash against his body and, all at once, we're falling. My head swirls diz
zily as we tumble to the ground. 

The gritty sand scrapes my palms and knees. I can barely see it's so dark. I examine my hands. A few grains sparkle, shimmering, but everything else is swathed in shades of gray. The entire world is blanketed in a sheer g
loom, as if permanently veiled by thunderclouds or nightfall.

Seth crouches low beside me, eyes trained on the
Diabol
. He's surrounded by a halo of light—the only light—everything about him enveloped in a soft, ethereal glow. I brush my fingers across it
and it moves, swirling, disappearing. His skin is smooth, but harder. He feels stronger, somehow. Less like a human and more like something godly. Everlasting. The light flows through my fingertips as I touch him and wraps me in a white haze.

"Seth, play
fair." The demon is taller now. Darker. More beautiful than before. And I find myself trapped in his gaze, his steady, hypnotic eyes burning into mine. There's a wild look behind them. A hunger.

"You're not wanted here," Seth replies.

The demon moves clos
er, stopping at the outer edge of light.

He extends an arm, but can't penetrate the glow radiating from Seth that surrounds me. It's like a wall, a barrier meant to protect us.

"Genesis," he whispers. "Come to me."

The voice is soft. Silky and attractive
.

I blink a few times, watching him, trying to make sense of it. My fingers loosen, and I'm tumbling, sinking beneath its weight.

Seth grips me tighter. "Genesis, no," he commands. "Don't listen."

"I won't hurt you," the
Diabol
assures me.

"He lies. He's
already hurt you," Seth counters.

I reach just below my left shoulder. My arm. The demon frowns. I slip away, eyes downcast, and, when I see my fingers, they're covered. Black.

"You're lying," I accuse.

His features harden, both beautiful and
menacing at the same time. He sneers, eyeing me scornfully, and emits a low, feral growl.

More Guardians appear, moving closer to us, each bathed in the same, soft glow. They're armed with swords and knives. I'm comforted immediately, even as they stare a
t me with an inexplicable, morbid curiosity. And the
Diabol
, sensing he's outnumbered, slowly backs away.

Seth rises, grasping my waist protectively, pulling me with him. My stomach drops, and, in the next lightning moment, we're back on the beach. Alone.

I gasp, mind reeling at everything I just witnessed.

"I can't believe I did that," Seth says, breathless. "I had no idea . . ."

A deep sting radiates in waves down my arm. My spine stiffens, muscles turning rigid as my body tries to block the pain. I ins
tinctively move to cover the wound, heart crashing in my chest, blood pumping, flowing faster.

"I mean, I thought there
might
be a chance, but . . ."

I exhale, staggering. "Seth." My voice is small. Weak. The sharp, fiery pain extends from every point of t
he gash in my arm.

He mutters something unintelligible, color fading from his lips, as the world goes weightless.  

T
HIRTEEN

An overwhelming sense of relief washes over me as we pull into the driveway. The car door slams shut and Seth runs arou
nd front, illuminated by the beam of headlights. I press the rag deeper into my shoulder. It's soaked, and blood oozes between my fingers, running down the length of my arm.

Seth rips open the door and reaches inside, pulling me into his arms. I swallow b
ack the whimper perched at the edge of my throat. I can't let him feel this. I don't want him to know this hurts.

But he knows. "It's okay. I'm going to fix it."

I lean my head into him, burying it in his neck, clenching my eyes closed. A cool tear escapes
, leaking, trailing down my cheek.

He moves swiftly, carrying me up the walkway. The front door bursts open, the lights inside already glowing. Joshua stands in the entry, waiting for us.

"Get Mara," Seth demands.

We cross the room and he lowers me onto
the couch. My legs tremble, shaking like mad as I shiver, freezing. "I feel so. . . ." But if there are words to describe how I feel, I can't find them.

"I know. Stay with me, okay?" he urges. He bolts to the kitchen, ripping through cabinets, yanking ope
n drawers, silverware rattling inside.

He blurs, moving out of focus, and the world begins to shimmer, sparkling. Disappearing.

"Genesis?" Another voice, from across the room, and it's enough to pull me back.

Seth is beside
me, replacing the blood-stained rag with a fresh towel.

"What's going on?" He stands at the entry watching us, face white, unsettled.

Carter.

Panic clouds my vision.

He can't be here right now. He can't see this. He can't know about Seth. About us.

I plea
d with my eyes, urging Seth to leave, but he refuses to meet my gaze. "Seth," I mutter, voice low. "He can't . . ."

"Screw it, Genesis. I'm
not
leaving you like this. It's over."

Carter sprints across the room, feet thudding against hardwood and carpet, b
efore collapsing to his knees at the couch.

"Jesus Christ! What happened?" he demands to know. His voice is raw, saturated with fear.

"Carter," I begin, shaking my head.

"Joshua!" Seth growls, interrupting. He cranes his neck, searching the room. "I need
Mara!" To Carter it's as if he's calling to nothing. No one. "It's going to be fine," he promises me, voice softening, struggling to lighten. "It's just a flesh wound."

"Can someone tell me what the
hell
is going on?" Carter's voice rises with every anxio
us word. "Who is he?"

This isn't how it's supposed to happen. It was
never
supposed to happen.

"Don't talk, okay?" Seth insists. And then, to Carter: "Hold this. Tight. Do
not
let go."

Everything in him seems to pull back, hesitating, but only for a momen
t. He moves closer, pressing the rag firmly against the wound. I wince, the pain shooting up and down my arm, exploding at my fingertips, ripping through my chest.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean. . . ." His voice wavers, giving out on him. He gulps for air. "W
hat happened?"