Minutes Before Sunset (13 page)

“Lying?”

I nodded. “You don’t believe me?”

His shoulders dropped. “Care to test your talent?” he asked, barely speaking, and I tensed.

“Go for it,” I dared, and he tapped his steering wheel.

“My favorite color is silver, I’m seventeen, and I wish I was still a kid.”

I watched his face, but his expression never changed. His eyes never flickered, his throat never tensed, his hands hardly moved. He was impossible to read. His solid expression suggested one thing, all truth or all lies. And he couldn’t be telling the truth. “They’re all lies,” I said.

He shook his head, and his brown hair shifted along his brow. “None of them are.”

I swallowed. Hadn’t his childhood been horrible?
I didn’t understand.

“It’s not much of a talent if you’re not good at it,” he said, returning to his cynical self.

“I’m good at it,” I argued, tightening my hold on my bag. “You’re just intimidating.” The words left me before I knew them.

He smiled. “Intimidating?” he asked. “I’ve never heard that one before.”

My jaw dropped. “You must be joking.”

“Lying actually,” he said, barely glancing over. He illuminated. “Another one of my talents—which, by the way, you didn’t catch. Again.”

I grinded my teeth. “I can do it.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckled as he turned the steering wheel, missing the shortest route to my house. Did he do that on purpose?
“I believe this means you owe me two of your talents.”

I dug my nails into my palm, positive he was two steps ahead of me. Arguing with him was not only impossible, it was a trap. I turned away and glared out the window, wishing he hadn’t missed the side street.

“You look mad,” he said, quieter this time.

I wouldn’t look at him. “I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t get you,” I admitted. “I have no idea why you’re acting this way, and it makes me feel like I don’t know you.”

“I didn’t realize you wanted to know me,” he said, and I turned around, momentarily meeting his eyes. They were dark, shadowed by an expression I hadn’t seen before.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, feeling heat crawl over my neck. “We’ve already spent a lot of time together.”

“For a project that’s completed, Jessica,” he said, and he shook his head, driving silently through my neighborhood. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. Soon, we were at the end of my driveway. Eric shoved the gears into park, and I reached for the door, but he locked it.

“Why are you so interested in my life?” he asked, and my heart pounded. I didn’t say anything. His eyes met mine, filled with an intensity that made me shudder. “It’s not that great.”

“I know,” I managed. My voice was shaking.

His face reddened. “But you ask questions.”

“And you answer them.”

His mouth opened, but then it snapped shut. He sighed, turned away, and grabbed the steering wheel as if he were driving again. We remained parked. “I’m Eric James Welborn,” he stated, his voice wavering into an awkwardness I’d never heard with his normally confident and cocky attitude.

James?
His middle name felt personal—like he had opened up a side of himself he’d forgotten about. But I didn’t feel intrusive. I felt comforted, like I already knew the answer before he’d spoken it. But I hadn’t.

“Your name doesn’t tell me who you are,” I said, surprised by my fluidity.

He barely smiled. “Maybe I like it that way.”

“I don’t.”

His head dropped. “You don’t always get what you want, Jessica.”

“Most of the time, you do,” I debated stubbornly, knowing my desperation was evident. I didn’t even believe my words.

His face scrunched, and he peered at me through his hair. “I don’t know what world you come from, but I can’t relate.”

“What do you mean?”
What did he want that he couldn’t have?
I wanted to know.

His lips thinned. “That’s a different story for another time.”

“A different story or a different lie?”

“I don’t know.” He smirked. “Use your talent and tell me.” His eyes darted behind me, and he straightened up. “I think your mother wants you inside,” he said, and I spun my torso.

My mother was leaning out an upstairs window, waving her hands wildly. “Jessie!” Her shout broke the barriers of the car, and my entire body tensed.

Eric chuckled beneath his breath. “Jessie?” he asked.

“Don’t,” I said, raising my hand to him as I grabbed the handle with my free one. He unlocked it before I even remembered to check, and I opened it, stepping out. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Thanks for the conversation,” he said. “See you later, Jessica.”

“Bye,” I said, shutting the door to our conversation and my embarrassment. He drove away, and I watched his black car zip through the street. What had gotten into me? I didn’t know, but I hated to admit the truth. I liked it, and I hoped he meant his words.

I wanted to see him again.

24

The light’s hands spaced apart as she quavered, stepping backward. Her shadowed eyes widened, and her coarse breathing raged against my eardrums. She was going to die, and both of us knew the moment was coming. It took seconds.

I locked my feet with the ground as a bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face. In a moment of concentration, my descendant sword spun out from my fingertips, and I grasped the handle. I lunged forward, every muscle in my body bracing for a counterattack, as I sliced her body. The sword went through her too easily, as if she were air, and my eyes closed involuntarily at her death. I didn’t want to watch, even if she was a replica—another simulation created by Urte.

Good thing Urte wasn’t here. I breathed, knowing her body would disappear with the training session. He’d make me look.

Body heat from another individual thundered against my back, and I tensed, spinning around with my sword to strike. But I froze.

“Whoa.” Pierce raised his hands into the air, and his green eyes flickered over my blade, inches from his neck.

My blood singed against my veins as my sword dissipated, returning to my body. “Sorry, Pierce,” I said, stretching my arm over my head. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to join me.”

“I can see why,” Pierce said, running his hand over his neck. I wondered if he had felt the blade’s heat. “Was that—?”

I nodded. “Urte wants me to be comfortable with the sword again.”

Pierce grimaced. “My dad says you’re doing really well.”

“That’s not what he says to me.” I chuckled, knowing Urte was pushing me to do better with harsh words. He hadn’t complimented my growth once. “How’d you know I was here?”

Pierce’s eyes lit up. “Your car.”

I wanted to frown, but I couldn’t. It was my dream car—a classic black, two-door coupe—and my father had gotten it for me, no questions asked. But I knew why. It was possible that I only had one year to live, and his gift felt more like a departure gift than an encouragement for the future. I wasn’t sure how to be completely grateful when it was partially meant to comfort my dad’s conscience.

“It’s really nice,” I admitted, but thoughts of Jessica flickered through me. She was the only person I’d driven in it so far, and, honestly, I wanted to keep it that way.

“I’m happy for you,” Pierce said, rocking back on his feet. “Even if it is a strange time to be happy.”

I smiled, “Thanks.”

He shrugged, and that was the end of our conversation. The training room door burst open, and Brenthan, Pierce’s little brother, rushed in. “Shoman!”

“Hey, kid.”

“Brenthan.” Pierce grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”

He blinked. “I want to hang out with the first descendant, too.”

Pierce released his brother, knelt down, and sighed. “Shoman is still Shoman, Brenthan,” he said. “Learning about the prophecy shouldn’t change that.”

Brenthan ignored his brother and gazed up at me. “But you’re important.”

“Everyone is,” I said.

“But they talk about you, and they always will,” he countered, straightening up. “I wish I had powers like you.”

“You will one day,” I said, trying not to grimace.

Brenthan shook his head. “I’ll never have a sword.”

“Brenthan,” Pierce smacked his brother on the backside of his head. “You’re being an idiot,” he said, knowing the repercussions of expectations being the first descendant held.

“What?” Brenthan rubbed his head. “It’s so awesome.”

“I’m glad you look at it that way,” I said, forcing an uncomfortable laugh.

“Can you teach me something?” he asked, and I finally grimaced.

“He’s busy, Brenthan,” Pierce said, attempting to steer him to the doorway, but his little brother dodged him.

“Are you training?” he asked me. “Can I watch?”

Pierce crossed him arms. “No.”

“I asked Shoman,” he said, and I stepped between the brothers, trying not to laugh at their obvious brother connection.

“Your older brother is right, Brenthan,” I said. “You’re not even allowed in the training rooms yet; it’s too dangerous.”

As the words left my mouth, the room shook, and the lights flickered like fires suddenly ablaze. The protective glass exploded from the ceiling, and I grabbed Brenthan, blocking my eyes as I hovered over him. Pierce hissed, and we fell into darkness, our heartbeats echoing in the empty room.

“What was that?” Brenthan nearly shouted, and I clasped my hand over his mouth. I could feel it, the raging energy of sizzling electricity. It was as if Luthicer was digging his nails into my arm all over again, except I wasn’t in pain. It was a memory recognizing what I was sensing in the shelter.

“The Light is here
,
”
I telepathically talked to Pierce. Brenthan wouldn’t be able to hear us.

“What?”
Pierce’s voice was a migraine of panic.
“Are you sure?”

The training room shook again, and I knelt down, holding Brenthan in front of me. I no longer blocked his lips, but he didn’t speak. Even he knew something was wrong.

“Get Brenthan to the back of the room,”
I said.
“And be prepared to fight.”

“Wha—?”

Smoke bellowed beneath the door, and the tile floor splintered throughout the room. “Now,” I shouted, pushing Brenthan toward his brother. Pierce grabbed the boy, nearly tossing him to the other side of the room, and positioned himself in front.

“What’s happening?” Brenthan whined, but Pierce ignored him.

I zoned my senses, bringing them in before throwing out, reading the shelter as far as I could in the mist of suffocating smoke. I couldn’t see what was down the hallway, but I could hear the tapping.

Footsteps.

Whoever was coming was close. My fingers spread out, crackling with the desire to activate my sword. But it was practical suicide. If this person was a light—and I was almost positive they were—they’d sense me, and they’d attempt to kill me. I couldn’t risk an attack when I had Pierce and Brenthan by my side.

I locked my jaw, preparing to kill the intruder with my bare hands if that meant protecting a child. The footsteps got closer and closer, and the shadow of a body curled beneath the doorframe. I held my breath and waited for any sign of movement, listening to Brenthan’s panicked gasps and Pierce’s grinding teeth.
This was it. This was the moment of my life I would have to adapt to killing others in order to save the Dark
. I had no choice. It was my destiny.

I activated my powers, and my sword tore through the door, ripping the wood into pieces.

“Shoman,”
Camille’s scream vibrated my skull.
“Deactivate, now!”

My sword disappeared before I even made the mental decision. No light could imitate my guard. I knew her better than I knew myself. Her energy was unrepeatable.

Through the smoky debris, Camille’s white hair spiraled down her arms, and her face was coated with dirt. Urte was next to her. His eyes were wide. “Are my boys with you?”

“Dad!” Brenthan pushed past me, wrapping his arms around his father’s wide torso.

Urte’s chest sunk as he exhaled, acknowledging Pierce. “Good to see you guys,” he said, barely looking at me. “You missed Camille by an inch.”

Camille raised her brow. “Way to almost kill me,” she said, but her lip pulled into a smirk. She was proud.

“What happened?” I asked, ignoring the small talk. The entire hallway smelled like fire, and I could smell blood, jarring and fresh. The shelter radiated with Light energy, and I knew it wasn’t Camille’s or any other half-breed we’d taken in. It was too asphyxiating.

“We’ll explain in the office,” Urte said, herding us down the corridor as the ground rumbled, signaling the continuation of the attack.