Mark of Betrayal
Page 59

“I've never been in the Garden of Strategy before,” I said, strolling over the squares of marble and grass, patterned like a chessboard.
“Elysium has one just like it,” Jason said.
“Did anyone ever hold a game here?” I nodded to the decaying ruins of stone pawns and knights, their cracks bleeding vines and moss.
“Once.” He nodded, keeping his gaze ahead of us. We strolled along, quiet then, until we reached the end of the manor, just below his room and, above that, my windows. We both looked up, my head turning slightly to the side to catch his thoughtful gaze.
“What is it, Jase?”
“Can I talk to you in private?”
“Sure. We could go to the Garden of Lilith,” I suggested. “The guards aren’t allowed in there.”
He looked over his shoulder to Blade, standing in the shadows, playing with his phone, not too concerned about what we were doing or saying. “I’d rather go someplace else they’re not allowed to go.”
“Where?”
“Up.” He grabbed my hand, grinning, and jumped into the air, taking me with him. I felt his arms wrap my waist and barely had time to hold my breath before we flew through the open window and into his room.
“Jerk!” I shoved him when he released me to the safety of the floor.
He just laughed and wandered over to light a lantern. The room came to life under its golden flame and he sat down on the foot of his bed, placing the lantern on his blanket box. “Come. Sit.”
I plonked down right on his hand; he moved it, clearly finding my sudden moodiness quite amusing.
“I'm going to get in trouble now, you know. You should have told me you were gonna do that,” I said.
“Why? Then Blade could’ve stopped us.”
“Exactly.” I folded my arms.
“Don't do that.” He shoved his hand between the fold and pushed them down. “You know damn well you would have come anyway, if I asked you.”
I smirked at his smirk. “Okay. Fine. I would. But, just tell me next time you're going to hoist me a few feet into the air.”
“Sure thing.” He laid back on the bed, his hands behind his head.
I could smell the strong, aromatic spice of his cologne, coming up from the heat under his shirt, and I wanted to lay on his chest and sniff him. He was just so gorgeously human.
“You like human?” he said.
“Stay out of my head!” I slapped his chest, letting my hand fall down on the bed right by his ribs. In truth, I didn't really want him to stay out of my head; I liked it. I missed when David used to be able to read my mind. Things had become so complicated since I had to explain my thoughts and emotions to him now.
“So, he can’t read your mind anymore—at all?”
I shook my head. “We were working on projecting thoughts, and I could sometimes read his mind—” when we were having sex, “—but I can’t really control it yet.”
“Maybe I can help you.” He rubbed the side of my arm, rolling up a little. “I'm kind of an expert.”
“It’s not really that important.”
“Sounds like it is.”
I shrugged one shoulder, looking around his room; it had so much personality already, like he’d gathered things from his childhood and brought them here. There was a baseball glove and ball on his drawer top, his wallet on his nightstand, a gold-trimmed picture frame with a drawing of what I assumed was Arietta, and a pair of jeans, a shirt and two socks on the floor by the foot of his bed. It seemed like he was kind of untidy, like me. I glanced over at the stack of books on the wooden table by the fireplace, sitting under his Yankees cap, but couldn't make out the titles on the spine. I wondered if he sat up late reading them, avoiding sleep—avoiding the nightmares. “Hey, Jase?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure. Anything.”
“What are your nightmares about?”
“Anything but that,” he said dismissively, looking at the bedpost.
“Why?”
“I…” He shut his mouth and sat quiet for a second. “I guess I don't really want to let you in to that part of myself, Ara.”
“What part? And why?”
“I'm not really sure how to describe it.”
“Well, what, like, the deeper part of you—your emotional soft spot?”
He laughed. “No, you’re already in there.”
“Well, can you try to explain it to me?” I touched his hand. “I actually just want to help.”
“You can't help.”
“Why?”
“Because unless you can cure guilt, then I just have to let this run its course.”
“Guilt?” I closed my eyes, flashing back to that cell, where he beat me and cut me open and did things I had scars from but no memory. “David said there were things on that list, Jase, that—”
“Ara, please?” He shut his eyes tight.
“No. I want to know.”
“To know what?”
“Did you erase anything—of what you—”
“Ara.” He held his hand up. “Don't ask me that.”
“Why?”
“Because, if I lie, you’ll know, and if I tell you the truth, you’ll pester me for more information until I give in. And I can't, sweet girl. I can't tell you, and I find it really hard to resist you when you bug me.”
“So, you did erase things?”
He shook his head to himself, angling his face to look away from me, making the shadow of his nose, down the underside of his arm, longer. My thoughts flashed to the scar I had on the base of my spine—the one Eric seemed to know something about but would never tell me, and with that, came a flashback of the horrible dream that woke me last night.
“How did you see that?” he asked, startling me with the sudden panic in his tone.
“See what?”
He sat up and grabbed my face. “That dream.”
I sat confused for a second. “Oh, the one I had last night?”
“Yes.”
“I…I dreamed it, I guess,” I said sarcastically.
Jason sat back, staring into nothing.
“What?” I waved a hand in front of his face.
He shook it off—whatever it was, and smiled. “Arthur was a bit…uh, pissed-off tonight.”
I laughed, letting him slink away to the land of dark secrets concealed for another day. “Yeah. What was with him?”
A few seconds of silence passed. “I've never seen him behave like that, you know?”
“Really?”
“Mm.” He rolled onto his side, softly tracing a strand of hair that fell down my back. “I don't know what you said to him yesterday, Ara, but one thing I do know is that what you saw tonight wasn’t anger, it was heartbreak.”
“Don't say that, Jase.” I sighed. “I feel really bad as is.”
“Don't. He’s a grown man. He’ll get over it.”
“I don't know if he will.” I shook my head. “I told him it’d make me sick to have sex with him.”
“Ouch.”
“I know. I…I didn’t mean it to sound so nasty.”
“Mm, well, I wouldn’t worry. For the sake of whatever his plan is, he’ll have to force himself to get over it.” He moved forward and lifted my arm, sliding under it so his head rested in my lap. “If you think he’s gonna drop this child thing just ‘cause I'm here, you're kidding yourself.”
I gently ground my teeth together. “Well, I better hurry and fall pregnant then.”
“You need my brother here for that,” he said, inching away from me as though I was going to jump on him and steal his seed.
“Ha-ha. Jerk.” I poked his upper arm. “I know. But, can you talk to him for me—to David? I can't fall pregnant if he never comes to see me.”
“Yeah.” He smiled softly, his beautiful fangs showing under those perfect dark lips. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll threaten to impregnate you myself if he doesn't.”
“Don't do that. He might think you're serious.”
“Who says I'm not?”
I rolled my eyes. “So, when are we going to announce our imaginary pregnancy?”
“When they believe we’re in love.” His grin set my heart ablaze, those fangs showing again, and without mind for territorial boundaries, I smoothed my thumb over his lip and touched it gently to his fang.
“You okay?” he asked, removing my hand.
“It’s been so long now since I've been bitten. Mike won’t let anyone bite me, or feed from me. I'm like a golden shrine.”
“Does he let you bite?”
“No— I have to get my vamp-immunity from approved veins, and even then, only through a pre-cut slit.”
“Mm. Appetising.” He winced.
“Nah. It’s okay. I feed from Eric sometimes. And Lilithians don't crave the bite like vampires do. Well—” I looked at his mouth again, “—we’re not supposed to. I miss it, though, and I miss being bitten.”
He looked at my neck for a second too long, then let out a deep breath, focusing on the roof. “I wish we could share blood. But, before you freak out listing all the reasons we can't, just know, not only can I not do it, but I wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because there is no way I could resist going further with you.”
“Okay, so that's the why, what’s the can’t?”
“I'm not immune—I don't drink Lilithian blood.”
“Oh, right.” I whacked my own brow with the heel of my palm. “I forget you haven’t been here. Are you going to, though—be immune, I mean?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I like knowing I can escape from life.”
“Death? Why would you want death?”
He let out a breath through his nose. “It doesn't matter. Look, it’s getting late. I’ll walk you back to your room.”
“Jase?”
He stood up and appeared by his open door, not looking at me. “Come on. Mike’ll go crazy if he can’t find you.”
I laid on my belly, my forearm under my chin, one fingertip in the cool pond, watching my reflection under the backdrop of a cloudy sky. The Garden of Lilith had a kind of presence to it, as if all life, all living things gathered here to celebrate the beauty of nature. And it was peaceful. Private. Secluded.
A frog jumped up from the water, sending ripples out in circles that grew and overlapped each other, stopping on the marble edge of the pond.
“Are you a prince?” I asked him. “Would you like a kiss?”
He croaked at me and hopped back into the water, and as I sat up and looked across the reflection, I thought I saw a child on the rope swing.
I spun around quickly to look at the tree; the leaves rustled in the soft, warm breeze, and the swing rocked purposefully back and forth, but there was no child there. “Hello?”
No one answered.
When I looked at the pond again, the ripples were gone, leaving a definite image of a little girl in the reflection—swinging on the swing. But, sure enough, when I looked up, she was gone.
I got to my knees, leaning right over the water to focus on her, gasping when her eyes met mine. I jumped back, landing on my butt and hands in the grass, while a soft giggle trickled around the treetops then, following the child as she hopped off the swing and ran through the gates, out of the garden, leaving me feeling very alone.
The clouds closed in above me, bringing the night sky with them, and a cool chill settled on the pond, making plumes of fog rise up off the surface in whorls.
I got up and walked backward toward the gate, squealing when an ill-mannered crow yelled at me from the brick wall.
“What are you doing here?” I asked it.
It buried its beak in its wing, pulling something silver and long from within. I walked slowly toward it and held my hand out, looking up quickly when it dropped my silver key into my palm.
“That’s mine!” The little girl appeared beside me, snatching the key.
The crow cawed again, swooping at me as I covered my head.
When I looked up again, the girl was gone, the garden gone, the crow, everything.
I sat up in my bed and looked around.
The key.
On my dresser, the music box sung when I opened it and moved my treasures aside; David's moonstone bangle, my coral earrings, my engagement ring and—phew, still there—my key. I closed my hand around it, feeling its warmth, then tucked it safely back in the box and closed the lid. But somewhere, maybe resonating from within that dream, I thought I could still hear that child giggling—like the sound was coming out of my fireplace again.
I shook the idea off quickly. If there were actually ghosts haunting this place, I was not going to go looking for them.
Outside, the sun was quite high in the sky, and despite today being Sunday, it seemed odd that no one had come to wake me. I wandered over and looked out my window, seeing Jason down in the Garden of Strategy, running about with Petey and some old rag they were using as a chew toy.
He stopped as Petey ran off to fetch the cloth, and looked over his shoulder, right up at me.
I waved; he waved back and went about his game.
He was a different kind of guy when he played with that dog, almost like a younger, freer version of himself. I liked that version—a little too much.
I turned away, shut my curtain and headed to get ready for the day.