chapter twenty-two

I stood in the backyard, beyond the gazebo and sheltered by the tall aspens that bordered this side of Daniel’s property. I didn’t want anyone to see me, not yet. Though I knew Father would know about me, I wasn’t in a hurry to show myself to Daniel.

Or James. I couldn’t even think about what he’d already seen. Too much, that’s what.

With a shiver, I released the warmth. It shrank back into the secret part of my soul where I’d kept it protected for so long. I watched as the tendrils of color on my arms faded from view. Tracing a finger over my right arm, I sighed. The skin felt cold, but I remembered the heat of that golden light and already missed it.

I marched across the lawn, my steps only faltering a little as I passed the gazebo—as white and shining in the darkness as it had been that night. That night when I found them. Before I . . .

With a fierce shake of my head I forced the thought from my mind and continued toward the house.

I paused on the patio. I so wasn’t ready for this. I’d been changing and I didn’t know who I was anymore. But I couldn’t let Daniel get a whiff of my unease. I needed time to work things out, to understand what it all meant. To decide what I wanted to do. Who I wanted to be—the demon I knew I could be, but despised? Or the angel I only hoped I could be—something that both elicited joy and fear in my conflicted heart?

But then I was at the door, and James pulled me into his arms.

“You all right?” he asked, his lips on my hair, his arms flexing around me. He leaned back a little so he could see my face. “You smell different,” he said. “Like . . .”

Not honey. Not sulfur. Not sun. Not ice.

“Paint.” His eyebrows drew together and the left corner of his lips curved upward. “What have you been up to, princess?”

I sighed, and my shoulders sagged with relief. Just paint.

“I helped Miri paint her room.” I let my gaze meet his, let him see all the truth there—a luxury I usually couldn’t afford. But James was just a human, still a boy, really—even though he was eighteen and had probably seen a whole lot more than a human of any age should see.

“Miri, hmm?” He stepped back, slipped his hands into his pockets. A flicker of doubt passed over his face. “She wouldn’t answer any of my texts.”

I cocked my head, and considered him. Tried to get a read on what was going on behind that smooth exterior.

And there it was.

“Huh,” I said, before I could stop myself.

“What, ‘huh’?” James asked, his eyes growing wide like he knew I knew.

“You really do love her.” And it was true. Now that I was looking, I could see it so plainly it was like a smack in the head with a two-by-four. “Huh.”

James squirmed. “Well . . .”

I held my hands up to stop him, laughter bouncing in my voice as I said, “No, don’t. It’s cool.” And I thought, maybe it really was. At least, it could be—for them.

“Well,” said James, slipping his hand into mine, “you’ll have to share your mad, gypsy fortune-telling-skills with me later, because right now . . . there’s someone here to see you.” A tinge of fear hid in his voice and I thought I saw worry in his eyes.

I squeezed his hand. “I know—it’s okay.” I pulled my hand from his and moved ahead of him—it wouldn’t do to let Father think I’d become attached to James, or to show any kind of weakness at all.

Unerringly I walked in the direction of Daniel’s study where the essence of a First Order drew me.

I swallowed against the bile rising in my throat and took several long, deep breaths. Father knew what I had done. What I had Become. Of course he knew.

I pushed the study door open and walked inside.

A man sat at Daniel’s desk—ebony skin and high chiseled cheek bones, dressed in a starched high-collar shirt, silver bars holding the corners down around the black cravat at his neck.

Not Father.

His hands rested casually on the desk’s surface, a heavy silver ring on his left hand catching the light. And there, leaning against the desk, just a hand’s width away, stood the staff I’d wrestled against my whole life.

Akaros then.

He smiled, and the feeling of snakes crawled over my skin. I could almost hear them hissing.

“Desolation.”

I stared, and he stared right back. I’m not sure I even breathed while I processed the improbability of finding him in Daniel’s study. He wore his human form with ease, even if he couldn’t quite pull it off—there was no human charm, no careless sensuality. Akaros felt as coiled as a rattler and just as likely to strike.

He spread his hands wide as he regarded me. “What, no welcome for your tutor?” His voice was warm and smooth, and made me think of caramel and rich, black coffee. “I should think you’d be happy to see me.”

I blinked. Twice. “Wha—” Shaking my head, I struggled to regain my composure. I became intensely aware of all I had done since I left Hell. Of the way the spark had grown. Of all that had changed—how I had changed. “Why are you here?” I finally croaked.

He stood and crossed the room, ducking his head a little so he could look me in the eyes. He placed his hands on my forearms, pulling my hands toward him. “Isn’t it obvious? To celebrate, of course.” His eyes shone, but he did not look celebratory. More like predatory.

I cleared my throat, desperately trying to dislodge the frog that had taken up residence there. I had to protect the secret inside me at all cost, and that meant I had to harness all the cold, hard darkness I possessed. Good thing I had a lot—and that I came by it naturally.

“Celebrate what, exactly?” But of course I knew.

“Ah, Desolation. So humble. That is such a—” he waved his hand in the air as he sought the right word for whatever I was, “that is so cute.”

I pulled away from him and crossed my arms. “So, really. Why are you here?”

Akaros sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. The forced attempt at ease somehow making him appear all the more dangerous.

He stepped closer. In slow motion he trailed a cold finger along my cheek. My skin felt chalky beneath his touch and I resisted the urge to flinch. “My child, I am so proud of you.”

I froze beneath his gaze. I’m sure even my breath stilled within my body. I was nothing. There was nothing. Only Akaros.

I felt his touch on my mind. If he dared, he could speak to me in that most intimate way. But his presence slipped away and he placed his mouth near my ear, instead. “You have chosen.” He looked into my eyes again. “You have Become.”

I breathed.

He breathed.

With speed quicker than lightning he gripped the back of my neck and held me to him. He sucked air in through his nose and fear, immediate and urgent, slammed into me—he’d smell it. The honey.

When he finally released me, I stumbled back, resisting the urge to rub my neck where the skin stung from his grip.

Akaros’ eyes were shadowed and unreadable, but his lips pressed into a smile-that-was-not-a-smile.

“I see,” he said, trailing the fingers of his right hand down the staff. “You really have chosen.”

The staff.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it.

I’d seen that weapon a million times.

Felt it pressed against my throat as I pounded the floor with my fist in defeat.

Felt the sting on my body as it struck me again and again.

I’d seen it, and had not once recognized it.

But now.

Now I saw it and I Remembered.

It was mine.

I could remember its warmth in my hands.

The designs Akaros’ long fingers now caressed, I’d drawn with the tip of my own blade.

So much made sense now.

Why the staff never broke.

Why Akaros never let me hold it. Or even touch it.

And why my fingers practically burned with the desire to claim it.

I’d always thought I longed for the staff because it represented Akaros’ power over me. If I could only get it, wrest it from him in battle, I’d prove to him—and to Father—that I didn’t need to Become to beat him. That I couldn’t be kept under either of their thumbs my entire life. That I could be myself.

Now I watched Akaros as he stroked my weapon and fiery anger burned within me.

And I Remembered.