Freak Show (Alexa O'Brien, Huntress #7)(85)

There was no guilt, no remorse of any kind. There never was in Arys’s memories, not since the very beginning, three centuries ago. It merely was what it was, a moment of bliss that I was surely entitled to after so much hunger.

At last, I slipped off the bed and gathered myself. I turned to go and caught sight of myself in her bedroom mirror. It was not Arys’s reflection I saw but my own. Staring back at me was my own face, lips bloodstained, and eyes that seemed to glow a deep vampire blue. My cheeks were flushed with stolen blood. Beneath my upper lip were two small and perfect fangs.

How could it be that this was not Arys’s memory at all? The vampiress staring back at me was indeed me, though gazing at her, I felt detached, like she was someone else entirely.

As I backed away from the mirror in fright, my reflection did not do the same. She merely watched me with a devilish smile. I turned to run, but to where, I didn’t know. All I knew was that I had to escape this place.

I awoke with a start. A noise had disturbed me. Lunging off the couch, I almost face planted on the floor when the raised bottom of the recliner tripped me up. Dazed from the sudden interruption of sleep, I pushed to my feet and whirled around to find Falon standing in the attached kitchen.

“For f**k’s sakes, Falon.” My shout bordered on hysterical. As far as rude awakenings go, this had to be one of the worst. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

“Watching you sleep,” he said, lifting one shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “You snore. I think you drool too. It’s an ugly sight.”

“Get out of my house,” I seethed. “You’re not welcome here. Ever. Got it?” There was something incredibly unsettling about Falon watching me sleep. It gave me the creeps in a big way.

“Hey, I knocked on the door. Nobody answered. So I let myself in.”

“Liar.”

“Ok, I’m lying. I came in because I have a message from Shya, and you won’t answer his calls. Deal with it.”

“I don’t want to talk to Shya, and I sure as shit don’t want to talk to you. Get out.”

He walked around my living room, scrutinizing photos and touching objects on the shelf beside the TV. The bastard seemed to feed off my anger, so I kept my tirade to myself and watched him, waiting for him to get to the point.

“You don’t have to talk. Just listen.” Falon turned to me with a photo in his hand. It was of Shaz and me, taken long before I had known of Shya’s role in my life. “You almost look innocent here. So misleading.”

“You know what? I’m going to call Shya right now. I’d rather listen to his crap than yours.” I rummaged through my shoulder bag for my phone, hoping it would get Falon to leave.

“Don’t waste your time. He’s unavailable at the moment. Which is why I’m playing messenger. Lucky us, huh?”

“Indeed.” A growl laced my word. Arms crossed, I tapped a foot impatiently.

Falon returned the photo to its place before slipping back into the kitchen to peer into the fridge. He was trying to antagonize me, clearly. It was working. I wanted to kick him in the ass when he bent over to ogle my leftovers.

“Spinach?” His voice was muffled by the refrigerator. “Funny. I didn’t imagine wolves to be veggie eaters. Definitely not surprised by all the booze. I suppose it helps, to drink your problems away. Might as well do as much of that as you can. You may not have much time left for such human vices.”

He was hitting too close to home after the dream I’d just had. Since I still hadn’t had a chance to process it, I was reluctant to talk about such things. As hard as it was to bite back the flood of curse words dancing on the tip of my tongue, I kept quiet and waited. Eventually he would have to tire of this game. Right?

After criticizing my groceries, furniture and even my attire, Falon grew bored of hearing himself talk. “Shya wants you to stay in town. After all the crap in Vegas, he insists that you stay local for a while. He wants you close.”

“And he couldn’t leave that in a message on my voicemail?” It was getting harder and harder to resist the urge to throw a dirty dish from the sink at him.

Falon gave me one of his famous glares, the kind that implied I was a total idiot and a waste of his precious time. “Your voicemail is always full. I’m sure you do that on purpose. And no, unfortunately, there’s more.”

He stepped toward me with an intimidating gait. Instinctively, I backed away, into the living room. I held up a hand to ward him off, a blue and gold psi ball blazed in my palm.

It did nothing to deter him. “Don’t even try it,” he warned. “I’ll strip your power and leave you here crying and weak.”

“What are you doing?” I gasped when he seized my arm. Turning it over so the dragon on my inner forearm was exposed, Falon dragged a finger over the winged beast, drawing some kind of symbol over top of it. I shuddered at his touch.

Nothing visible appeared, but I could feel the dark magic take hold. It burned, searing my flesh until I yelped. Although it hurt, it was nothing compared to having the dragon first etched into my forearm.

“Just a little binding so you stay put,” Falon said, releasing me. “Try to leave, and it will cause you crippling pain. So please do be your stubborn self and find out the hard way. I’d love to see that.”

I held my arm close, focusing on slow, steady breaths until the burning subsided. Falon left without another word. Only the sound of feathers ruffling accompanied his departure.