Tempted (27 page)

I wanted to go back to a time when I didn’t know anything about Kalona or A-ya or death and destruction. I wanted normal. I wanted it so bad I felt sick.

I walked slowly into the cafeteria, which was also completely empty, and darker than the hallway had been. There were no yummy food smells, no clusters of kids gossiping about other kids, no professors giving dirty looks to kids sneaking Doritos.

I stumbled over to the picnic bench–like booth I usually shared with my friends and let my knees give out, sitting heavily on the well-polished wood. Why had Stark told me to come in here? Was he going to attempt to cook for me? For a second the vision of him with an apron tied around his waist was almost funny. Then I realized why he’d pushed me to come in here. One of the fridges in the massive school kitchen was kept filled with baggies of human blood. At that moment he was probably grabbing several bags o’ blood and would bring them for me to drink like thick red juice boxes.

Okay, I know it’s gross, but the thought made my mouth water.

Stark was right. I had to recharge, and a bag o’ blood (or two) would be a good way to do that.

“Zo! There you are! Stark said you’d be in here.”

I blinked in surprise and turned to see Heath walking into the cafeteria—alone.

And I suddenly understood that I’d only been partially right. Stark had gone to get me blood, but instead of it coming from the side-by-side, stainless steel kitchen refrigerators, my blood was coming from the cutie football player Heath.

Ah, hell.

Awakening was difficult. Even in the wispy realm that was the boundary between the conscious and unconscious mind, even before he fully felt the pain that wracked his abused body, Rephaim was aware of her scent.

At first he thought he was back in the shed and the nightmare had just begun—just after the accident when she’d come, not to kill him, but to bring him water and bind his wounds. Then he realized it was too warm for him to still be in the shed. He shifted slightly and the pain that coursed through his body brought full consciousness with it, and with consciousness came memory.

He was belowground, in the tunnels she’d sent him to, and he hated it.

It wasn’t a hatred that bordered on paranoia, as did his father’s. Rephaim simply despised the confined feeling of being beneath the earth. There was no sky above him—no green and growing world beneath him. He couldn’t soar belowground. He couldn’t—

The Raven Mocker’s thoughts ended abruptly.

No. He wouldn’t think of his permanently damaged wing and what that meant for the rest of his life. He couldn’t think of that. Not yet. Not while his body was still so weak.

Rephaim thought of her instead.

It was an easy thing to do, surrounded by her scent as he was.

He shifted again, this time being more careful of his shattered wing. With his good arm he pulled the blanket over himself and burrowed, nestlike, into the warmth of the bed. Her bed.

Even underground there was an odd and illogical sense of security that came to him from being somewhere she’d called her own. He didn’t understand why she had this singular effect on him. Rephaim just knew that he’d followed Stevie Rae’s directions, stumbling through agony and exhaustion until he realized what he was really following was the scent of the Red One. It had led him through the winding, apparently deserted tunnels. He’d stopped at the kitchen and forced himself to eat and drink. The fledglings had left behind refrigerators filled with food. Refrigerators! That was one of the many miracles of the modern age he’d been observing for the long years he was only spirit. He’d spent what felt like an eternity watching and waiting . . . dreaming of the day he could touch and taste and truly live again.

Rephaim had decided he liked refrigerators. He wasn’t at all sure whether he liked the modern world, though. In just the short time his body had been returned to him, he’d realized that most modern humans had no real respect for the power of the ancients. The Raven Mocker didn’t count vampyres among the ranks of the ancients. They were nothing more than attractive playthings. Amusements and distractions. No matter what his father said, they were unworthy to rule beside him.

Was that why the Red One had allowed him to live? Because she was too weak and ineffective—too
modern
to take the steps she should have and killed him.

Then he thought about the strength she had exhibited, and not just her physical strength, which was impressive. She also commanded the element earth, so fully that it ripped itself apart to obey her. That was not weakness.

Even his father had spoken of the Red One’s powers. Neferet, too, warned that the leader of the Red Ones was not to be underestimated.

And there he was, drawn by her scent to her bed, where he was practically nesting.

With a cry of disgust, he lurched from the comfortable warmth of blankets and pillows and thick mattress and staggered to his feet. He stood there, leaning against the table that was near the end of the
bed, struggling to remain upright and not let the unrelenting darkness of this place pull him under.

He would trace his path back to the kitchen. He would eat and drink again. He would light every lantern he could find. Rephaim would will himself to heal, and then he would leave this tomblike place and return aboveground to find his father—to find his place in the world.

Rephaim pushed aside the blanket that served as a door to Stevie Rae’s room and limped into the tunnel.
I’m already better . . . stronger . . . I don’t have to use the cane to walk,
he told himself.

The darkness was almost complete. There were intermittent lanterns, though many of them were guttering. Rephaim picked up his pace. He’d refill and light the lanterns after he stuffed himself. He’d even drink the bags of blood he’d found one of the refrigerators filled with, though it held no special appeal to him. His body needed fuel to mend, just as the lanterns needed fuel to burn.

Fighting against the agony each movement caused, Rephaim followed the curve in the tunnel and finally entered the kitchen. He opened the first refrigerator and was pulling a bag of sliced ham from it when he felt the cold blade of a knife against his lower back.

“One move I don’t like, birdboy, and I cut your spinal cord in half. That
will
kill you dead, won’t it?”

Rephaim went absolutely still. “Yes, that would kill me.”

“He looks part dead to me anyway,” said another female voice.

“Yeah, that wing is totally fucked up. He don’t look like he can do shit to us,” said a male.

The knife didn’t move from his spine. “Others underestimating us is what got us here. So we don’t
ever
underestimate
anyone
. Got it?” said the voice that belonged to the knife.

“Yeah, sorry, Nicole.”

“I got it.”

“So, birdboy, here’s how we’re gonna play this: I’m gonna step back and you’re gonna turn around—real slow. Don’t get any smart ideas. My knife won’t be on you, but Kurtis and Starr both have guns. Make a wrong move and you’ll be just as dead as if I’d cut through your spine.”

The point of the knife pressed hard enough against Rephaim to draw a bead of blood.

“He smells wrong!” said the male voice that belonged to Kurtis. “He ain’t even good eatin’.”

Nicole ignored him. “You understand me, birdboy?”

“I do.”

The knife pressure left his spine and Rephaim heard the shuffling noise of moving feet.

“Turn around.”

Rephaim did as he was told and found himself facing three fledglings. The red crescent moons on their foreheads identified them as part of the Red One’s flock. But he knew instantly that though they, too, were red, they were as different from Stevie Rae as was the moon from the sun. He gave Kurtis, a huge male fledgling, and Starr, an ordinary-looking, light-haired girl, cursory glances, though they were holding handguns up and pointed at him. It was Nicole on whom he focused his attention. She was obviously the leader. She was also the one who’d drawn his blood, something Rephaim would never forget.

She was a small fledgling with long dark hair and large eyes so brown they appeared black. Rephaim looked into those eyes and felt a moment of complete shock—Neferet was there! In this fledgling child’s eyes lurked the distinctive darkness and intelligence that Rephaim had seen so many times in the Tsi Sgili’s gaze. That recognition shocked the Raven Mocker so deeply that for a moment he could only stare, his single thought was
Does Father know she has attained the ability to project herself?

“Damn! He looks like he seen a ghost,” Kurtis said, the gun bobbing up and down with his chuckles.

“I thought you said you didn’t know any of the Raven Mockers,” said Starr, her tone clearly suspicious.

Nicole blinked, and the familiar shade of Neferet was gone, leaving Rephaim to wonder if he’d imagined the presence.

No. Rephaim didn’t imagine things. Neferet had been present, even if only for an instant, within the fledgling.

“I’ve never seen one of these things before in my life.” Nicole
turned to Starr, though she still kept her gaze trained on Rephaim. “Are you saying you think I’m a liar?”

Nicole hadn’t raised her voice, but Rephaim, who was accustomed to being in the presence of power and danger, recognized that this partic u lar fledgling seethed with an aggression that was barely controlled. Starr obviously recognized it, too, as she instantly backed down.

“No, no, no. I didn’t mean anything like that. It’s just weird that he freaked when he saw you.”

“That was weird,” Nicole said smoothly. “And maybe we should ask him why. So, birdboy, what’s with you being down here in our territory?”

Rephaim noted that Nicole hadn’t actually asked him the question she’d implied she was going to ask.

“Rephaim,” he said, willing strength into his voice. “My name is Rephaim.”

All three fledglings’ eyes widened, as if surprised he would actually have a name.

“He sounds almost normal,” Starr said.

“He’s anything but normal, and you better remember that,” Ni-cole snapped. “Answer my question,
Rephaim
.”

“I escaped into the tunnels after being wounded by a warrior from the House of Night,” he said truthfully. Rephaim’s instincts, which had served him well for centuries, told him to remain silent about Stevie Rae, that even though these must be the rogue red fledglings she had been protecting, they were not truly of her flock, nor did they follow her.

“The tunnel between here and the abbey collapsed,” said Nicole.

“It was open when I entered it.”

Nicole took a step toward him and sniffed the air. “You smell of Stevie Rae.”

Rephaim made a dismissive gesture with his good hand. “I reek of the bed I slept in.” He cocked his head to the side, as if confused by what she’d said. “You say I carry Stevie Rae’s scent. Is she not the Red One, your High Priestess?”

“Stevie Rae’s a red vampyre, but she isn’t our High Priestess!” Nicole snarled, and her eyes took on a red glow.

“Not your High Priestess?” Rephaim pushed. “But there was a red vampyre priestess called Stevie Rae who stood with a group of fledglings against my father and his queen. She had your markings. Is she not your High Priestess?”

“That was the battle where you were hurt?” Nicole ignored his question to ask her own.

“It was.”

“What happened? Where’s Neferet?”

“Gone.” Rephaim didn’t hide the bitterness in his voice. “She fled with my father and those of my brothers who still live.”

“Where’d they go?” Kurtis asked.

“If I knew that, I would not be hiding in the earth like a coward. I would be at my father’s side where I belong.”

“Rephaim.” Nicole gave him a long, considering look. “I’ve heard that name before.”

The Raven Mocker stayed silent, knowing it was better for her to come to the understanding of who he was without him having to brag about his position like a braying ass.

When her eyes widened, he knew she’d remembered where it was she’d heard his name.

“She said you were Kalona’s favorite—his most powerful son.”

“Yes, that is who I am. Who is this
she
who’s been talking about me?”

Again, Nicole ignored his question. “What covered the door to the room you slept in?”

“A checked blanket.”

“Stevie Rae’s room,” Starr said. “That’s why he smells like her.”

Nicole acted as if Starr hadn’t spoken. “Kalona took off without you, even though you’re his favorite.”

“Yesssss,” Rephaim drew out the hiss of anger that came with the acknowledgment.

Nicole spoke to Kurtis and Starr. “You know this has to mean that they’re coming back. This birdboy is Kalona’s favorite. No way is he going to leave him here forever. Just like we’re her favorites. He’ll come back for him; she’ll come back for us.”

“Do you speak of the Red One, Stevie Rae?”

In a motion so fast her body blurred, Nicole moved to Rephaim’s side, clamped her hands around his battered shoulders, and in one smooth motion lifted the huge Raven Mocker off the ground and slammed him against the side of the tunnel. Eyes blazing red, she breathed rancid breath into his face as she said, “Get this, birdboy. Stevie Rae, or the Red One as you keep calling her, isn’t our High Priestess. She isn’t our boss. She isn’t one of us. She’s tight with Zoey and that bunch, and that’s not cool. See, we don’t have a High Priestess, we have a queen, and her name is Neferet. Now, what’s with this obsession with Stevie Rae?”