Unbound

  As she watched, Daniel ground the child’s bones into powder. It was an odd sight: he stood in a business suit at a table alongside an average-looking barbecue grill. On the grill were bones, a child-size skull, and several small lizards. On the table were assorted plants, an empty mixing bowl, a glass jar of what looked to be blood, and a modern electric meat grinder. Daniel was barefoot in a pile of earth that seemed more out of place than all the rest.

  Muttering something and gesticulating, he lifted the skull from the grill. Then he raised a large hammer, closed his eyes, said something in what she suspected was to be a reverent way, and smashed the hammer onto the tiny skull until it cracked. Shards of bone lay scattered in the earth.

  “What do you want?” He didn’t look at her when he said it, so for a moment she thought he was talking to someone else.

  She wondered if he could find her in that unerring way she had with him. They were bound together in a way that made no sense to her. Is it the magick? Is it because I’m hunting him? Something existed between them, and she wasn’t sure what it was—or if she really wanted to know.

  “Eve?” He tossed the hammer aside and began picking up the bone shards. Once they were all gathered, he turned to stare directly at her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…” She didn’t have words for what she wanted, not words she wanted to share. She wanted to kill him, wanted to reorder the world, press down the chaos that buzzed in her skin before she crossed a line that would change everything. She wanted to end her hunt of Daniel with something bloody and satisfying. She settled for a socially acceptable statement: “What you’re doing is wrong.”

  He was utterly nonplussed. “Praying?”

  “That’s not praying.”

  “Sure it is. It’s just an older religion.”

  An older religion? All faiths had a place, but humans like Daniel were the reason mainstream humanity thought Old Faiths were evil. He was using the veneer of religion to sate his greed.

  “What will you do with it?” she heard herself asking, as if his admission to her would change anything. She knew exactly what he did with his poison: drugged people, addicted them, and sold them.

  He dropped the bone fragments into the grinder. The whirring noise seemed loud in the empty room. “How about I make you a deal…”

  She felt like her skin was crawling with stinging things as she stepped toward him. She wanted to go to him, despite everything. “What are you offering?”

  He was a bastard. He preyed on the innocent. He used earth and bone to enslave people, not as punishment, but randomly for avarice and malice.

  He lifted the corner of his mouth is a sardonic half smile. “For starters, drop that piece in your hand. Then tell me what you want from me.”

  She glanced at the .38; she hadn’t realized she had raised it. She lowered it with effort. Her arm hung at her side, but her finger still rested on the trigger. Did I take off the safety, too? She wasn’t sure, but she suspected she had. The habitual movement would’ve preceded raising her weapon.

  “I want you to stop mixing that,” she told him.

  The look he gave her was curious. “And if I don’t? Are you going to stop visiting me? Stop stealing my toys?”

  She had an intense craving to show him exactly what would happen if he didn’t stop. Why this one was different she didn’t know, but in that instant she wanted to let her Other heritage reign. Sex and death. The room was already filled with death; her body was screaming for sex. If she had both on the same night, she’d become just like the rest of her family—like Nyx wanted, like her mother wanted. She’d have eternity. Steal the lives of mortals, enjoy those dual pleasures, and she’d be stronger, faster, live for centuries…

  She swallowed against the dryness in her mouth and said, “Please?”

  “Please what?” Daniel gave her that same tempting smile he’d offered in the clubs so often. “I don’t like them mindless, Eve. No medicine for you. Aren’t you tired of provoking me? It’s been fun to have someone try to thwart me. Ballsy. I like it. Let me give you what you want.”

  Her hand tightened until the ridges on the grip pressed into her skin. Her tongue was slow in her mouth as she told him, “You can’t.”

  “Are you sure?” Daniel stood there with a jar of blood in one hand and the stuff of death all around him. “You see what I am, but you’re not disgusted, are you? Come closer.”

  And in that instant, she wanted to swallow his final breath more than anything she’d ever wanted. She reached out her other hand to touch him, but stopped short of actual contact. “You don’t want to give me what I want, Daniel. Trust me. Please. If you have anything good in you, change your path. Stop making these drugs. For everyone.”

  And then she ran, away from temptation, away from the room of death and blood and bone. She was a mortal. She could walk away. She’d chosen humanity. She just needed to keep choosing it.

  Eavan went to her car and began one of her tried and true reordering plans. Absently, she drove out to Chapel Hill. There was the first stop. Step one. Routine. It was a strange loop she’d adopted when she was a student—like walking her perimeters, demarcating territories. Like an animal.

  No, she reminded herself, proving that I am not an animal.

  It made her feel more focused.

  I am not a monster.

  At UNC, she measured her steps, pacing them out just so as she crossed campus to reach the courtyard outside Davis Library. That bricked vista felt reassuring—line after line of red bricks. There was order, structure. She clung briefly to that. Order. Follow the lines.

  They’d just opened for the day.

  How long was I driving?

  She went inside and wandered through the wide open layout. People, regular mortals, were already going back and forth between shelves and tables. Some were curled into cocoons of their own projects—papers and books and furrowed brows. It was normalcy. It was her world—the one she chose.

  The one I’m staying in.

  She’d find another way to deal with Daniel—talk to Muriel or one of the lupine-clan or even Nyx if necessary. She had found a limitation she wasn’t going to test.

  I can’t keep stalking him.

  She crossed back over the campus, smiling at the green spaces. Even those were in order. The paths were angled. The layout was defined and orderly. Sure, there were people who weren’t walking down those paths, but they were following other guidelines. They wore their school colors or their Greek letters on their clothes. They defied grouping by assigning themselves another group. It gave form to the world. It was not-chaos.

  She drove past Durham, not wanting to stop by Duke’s library when she was feeling so tentative. Step two. Choosing. The Perkins Library building was gorgeous, and the order she craved was more obvious inside, but walking through the stacks made her feel predatory. But I will not hunt. Good mortals, smart humans, didn’t stalk and attack. Knowing what she could be wasn’t always reason enough to resist. She wanted it to be, but it wasn’t.

  For that, she needed her routines, her tried-and-true tactics. She hadn’t needed to work this hard in years. She left the library and drove to Raleigh.

  NCSU was twisted among the city; the campus twisted between houses and restaurants and stores. University buildings nestled around tattoo parlors and coffee shops and convenience stores. Students and professors ate next to construction workers and strangers. Everyone is welcome here. Sure, there were those that wore letters and insignias, but those who didn’t could still blend. It was a feeling more than a quantifiable element, and the feeling was one that soothed her unease. Here, she could restructure herself. Here, she could create the order that kept her anchored to the world that she had chosen.

  As she walked across the brickyard, she felt herself settling. Maybe it was the routine; maybe it was the familiarity. It didn’t matter, not really.

  She went inside D. H. Hill Library and went up to the second floor. She walked through the eas
t wing and then the west wing. She went to the study carrels. She stroked shelves and paused at water fountains. It was all about the anchors. It was all about order.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Cillian was behind her; her new temptation was right there in reach.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really? So why were you at Brennan’s warehouse the other morning? Why are you here tonight? Brennan’s a factor somewhere here, Eavan. I just don’t know how.”

  Eavan bowed her head. If Cillian knew about Daniel, Nyx would know, too. Unless she already does. “How did you know where I went?”

  “GPS.”

  “Did you install it?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

  “No,” Cillian admitted. “They were preinstalled.”

  Eavan paused. “They?”

  She’d really thought that the car was tracker-free. Her mechanic hadn’t removed anything the last time. He’d pronounced her car “clean.” He’d lied.

  “Your car, phone, the red jacket…”

  Eavan schooled her face as she turned and said, “Shh.”

  “What are you doing?” Cillian repeated, softer this time in deference to their location.

  For a heartbeat, she considered telling him, giving him the answers she’d never spoken to anyone. Instead, she said, “Walking.”

  “Walking. Driving. Going in and out of libraries. Aimlessly pacing sidewalks…” He stepped closer, moving into her personal space as if such a thing was acceptable “At least you don’t have a pattern. I can’t imagine how your potential stalker could—”

  “That is my pattern, Mr. Owens.” She spoke evenly, forcing emotion to stay in check. She’d need to be more careful; she’d need to figure out how to cope with the cage that was tightening around her—but not now, not when she was still feeling unsettled. She stared at Cillian and said, “I drive. I walk. It’s how I make the world make sense.”

  “Well, next time, you’ll take me with you.” Cillian looked frazzled. “You drive like you’re invulnerable. I thought you were going to get killed coming off the interchange.”

  She didn’t have the heart to ask which interchange. She didn’t recall parts of the drive. It was the anchors—red brick, cold metal shelf—that mattered. That was the world.

  “I’m going home,” she told him.

  “Please, Eavan, I need you to try to cooperate.” Cillian’s expression was about as frayed as her emotions had been. “Even if you don’t think you’re in danger, Nyx does. Slipping away from me puts us both in danger.”

  “I’m going home,” she repeated. “I needed air. Now, I need sleep.”

  For a moment, she thought Cillian was going to say more, but instead he nodded. “I’m driving. The car will stay here.”

  And Eavan was too shaky to fight him. She didn’t hand over the keys, but she did walk quietly to his car with him.

  7

  Eavan stayed in her apartment for the next three days. She’d called and quit her job without notice; being around mortals right now was untenable. Of course, being around Others wasn’t a good idea, either. Nyx had been tracking her; the older glaistig knew something was going on. Eavan couldn’t risk going out, couldn’t face talking to Nyx, and couldn’t be sure she had the resolve to resist killing Daniel. She was trapped by her own biology. Her inability to deal with hunting Daniel was wearing on her. Cillian’s kindness only made matters worse. Being trapped with him, a temptation always in reach, was slowly wearing away whatever control she still had left.

  “I called the grocery to deliver food. Your kitchen was barren.” He stood in her doorway, not crossing the threshold, but clearly expecting her to let him in. “Eavan?”

  She blinked at him, aware that she’d been staring. He had the loveliest green flecks in his eyes. And kissable lips…

  She turned sharply and walked away. “I was fine with takeout.”

  She ordered; he accepted the delivery in the hall, and once the delivery people left, he knocked on her door. Not that he needed to knock. She was watching through the peephole every time.

  “Groceries are being delivered here. Just go in the bedroom when they arrive and—”

  “I’m not in danger from delivery guys,” she snapped. Being housebound was not getting easier. Knowing it was self-imposed wasn’t helping, either. “I’m not in danger from any…” She started coughing. The words weren’t ones she could force out: they were a lie.

  He stepped closer. “Why are you—”

  “Fuck it,” she muttered.

  And then she pinned him to the wall.

  It wasn’t her first kiss; it wasn’t even the first time she’d lost control this badly. She had a leg hitched around him, pressing herself against his responding body, trying not to grind against him—and failing. He’d wrapped an arm around her, supporting her weight. A gentleman even now…

  With decided effort, she pulled back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “Eavan?” Cillian looked stunned.

  “I’m sorry.” She backed up, bumping into a small bookshelf in the process, sending paperbacks crashing to the floor.

  He reached out to touch her face. “It’s okay. You’re under pressure and…it’s okay.”

  Eavan ran to her bedroom while Cillian let the delivery guy into the apartment. She could hear his muffled voice, like a siren’s song in her safe harbor. She stood with one hand palm-flat on the bedroom door and the other on the knob. Hunting Daniel had made both hungers all-consuming. For the first time in years, Eavan wasn’t sure she could stop herself from losing control of at least one appetite. Sex is safer. She hadn’t killed anyone; she could bring Cillian to her bed. It was safe.

  It’s not.

  She could wrap her body around his.

  And have just a taste of his breath during. I could stop. Just a taste…

  She’d started to turn the knob when the phone rang. She walked over to the bed and lifted her phone from the night table.

  “Eve?” Daniel asked. “How are you?”

  She sat on the edge of the mattress. Her hands were shaking. “Daniel? How did you get my number?”

  “Come see me, Eve.” He paused just long enough that she could hear hesitance. “I miss you.”

  “No.” She closed her eyes, wrapped one hand around the bedpost, and tried to focus. It wasn’t working. Her whole body shook.

  “Do you want to talk to Chastity?”

  Eavan’s heart thundered loud enough that it roared in her ears, but her voice was whisper-quiet. “What?”

  “One of the girls…not the same Chastity. Just another mindless doll…right here in my arms…waiting for a rescue.” He murmured to someone who moaned into the phone. “She’s a co-ed. Well, she was…”

  “What are you doing?” Eavan squeezed the bedpost until the wood cracked and cut her palm, stinging as blood slid between her fingers and trickled down the dark wood. “You can’t do this…Let her go.”

  “Come see me, Eve. I’ll be at Chaos tonight.” Then he disconnected before she could reply.

  Eavan slowly unwrapped her fingers from the splintered wood of her bedpost. A sliver of wood was embedded in her skin. She stared at it as she sat quietly, trying to force her mind to process Daniel’s challenge.

  She dialed the only person she could be almost honest with. “Muriel?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Eavan explained, and then she waited. There was no judgment, no leash that followed. The vampire said only: “I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Get dressed.”

  Even though Muriel was too kind to say it, Eavan knew she was making a mistake, but staying here was a mistake, too. Her body was screaming for something. It didn’t matter which urge she fed. Staying near Cillian isn’t an option. She was too tempted before Daniel’s call; now her body was thrumming like something feral.

  The delivery guy was still out there. That made it safer to slip out of the room, to walk past him. It was the best opening she could
hope for.

  Steeling herself, Eavan opened her door and went to take a cold shower. She didn’t look at him, didn’t step nearer him, although she could feel his gaze on her.

  After a painfully cold shower, she went back to her room and got dressed.

  Cillian was at the bedroom door. He had been for several minutes. “Eavan? Can we talk? Maybe you’re feeling too housebound. We can—”

  She opened her window. An alarm went off.

  Ten minutes left.

  Cillian tried the knob. “Damn it. What are you doing?”

  Don’t answer. Just go out the window.

  She stood looking at the window and then at the door. He was jimmying the lock.

  “How in the hell am I to keep you safe if—” He opened the door. “What are you doing?”

  “Stay back. Please?” She looked at him, too close and too kind. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He crossed the room and started to close the window. “If you don’t cooperate, I can’t keep you safe. We’ve talked about this. If it’s the kiss…” Frustration weighed in his voice, his movements, his everything. “It’s okay, Eavan. We can pretend it didn’t happen. People react differently to stress, and…it’s not a big deal.”

  Not prey.

  He was too close though.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s okay. I told you that.” Cillian turned to face her. He was not even three steps away.

  She stared at his mouth. Just another taste. The tip of her tongue darted out.

  He froze, but he didn’t run. “It’s okay.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was giving her permission or still forgiving her. It didn’t really matter. She closed the space between them. It was all she could do to speak, but she warned him: “You should run now.”

  He didn’t move.

  So she kissed him. She had both legs around him, and he walked forward until she felt the wall behind her.