Darkness Breaks (Darkness Falls Series, Book 2) Page 4

  I search the ground for a stake, for some sort of weapon as they horde in on me. One sniffs my arm and then howls at the night.

  “Damn it!” I jerk back, but I’m shoved forward. I trip and thrust out my hands to break the fall. That’s when I realize what’s wrong. My hands are covered in blood. Not my blood. It has to be either Sylas’ or Tristan’s. I’m in deep trouble. My scent is now overlapped by someone else’s. And vampires love the scent of everyone’s blood but mine.

  A large, rounded one, with big eyes and a gaping hole in its cheek, launches at my leg. I ram the tip of my boot into its head. My toes pop and the vampire howls. Its fangs take another snap and they miss my skin by a sliver of an inch.

  Weapon! Weapon! Weapon! My head screams at me.

  I scan the buildings, the ground, the sky, but no weapons, only vampires. One smashes into my back and a pain cripples me to the ground. Blood currents down my hair, my neck, my back. I roll to my side and my head thumps against the ground. A stampede of mutilated feet mobs my vision.

  You have to get up!

  I check to my left then my right, even though the voice was inside my head. “Monarch.”

  You have to run!

  “I’m trying!” I shout even though I know he can’t hear me.

  Flipping onto my stomach, I prop up onto my elbows. With a loud grunt, I heave myself up and the world spins. Something sharp sinks into my leg and I fumble. Blood gushes down my leg and puddles around my feet. My veins burn. My eyes sting.

  I’ve been bit and I’m going to die.

  Chapter 6

  “Ring around the rosie. A pocket full of posies.”

  My eyelids are sealed shut, heavy with death. The damp earth is under me and there’s a chorus of voices singing.

  “Ashes. Ashes.”

  My eyes gradually open.

  “We all fall down.”

  My cheeks are pressed against the warm, green grass and the sunlight spills across the land. The heat radiates my skin. I roll over, shield my eyes, and gaze at the crystal blue sky. The wind dances across my face and the atmosphere is unburdened by death. Children skip across the grass while their parents keep an eye on them from the benches and chairs. Swings reach to the sky and the air is filled with laughter.

  I know this place. I stand and stretch, my floral dress flapping in the wind. I’m small, just a child. I twirl in a circle and breathe in the fresh air. There’s a brown brick building to the side, labeled with a sign. I read it with difficultly, the memories of letters and numbers slipping from my mind. “Cell…7.”

  “Juniper!” A boy shouts and I turn. Aiden. I know him like I know myself.

  He skips up to me with a grin on his face and outstretches his hand. I take it, not asking questions, trusting him entirely. We head across the grassy park, mazing through the groups of children playing on the swings, jumping rope, singing songs. A girl with blood red hair and sad, dark eyes, stands out from the rest of them.

  “Emmy?” I whisper, but Aiden tugs on my hand. “Where are we going?”

  He puts his finger to his lips, his honey eyes twinkling in the sunlight. “Shhh.”

  I nod and let him guide us to the verge of the grass. He checks over his shoulder and then tucks us behind the trunk of a large tree.

  Immediately, his happy expression falters and replaces with fear. “Did you tell him anything?”

  I shake my head uncomprehendingly. “Tell who?”

  “Sylas,” he whispers. “Did you tell him about our escape plan?”

  “What escape plan?” I hover against the tree, frightened. “Aiden, you’re scaring me.”

  He runs his hand through his scraggily hair. “He did it again.” His face contorts with anger. “Juniper, you have to try and tune it out. Don’t let them get into your head. Otherwise we’ll never get out of here and back home.”

  “Don’t let who get into my head?”

  He grabs my arm and turns us around. “The Highers,” he whispers, pointing a finger at a group of parents, dressed in white coats, taking notes from a park bench.

  “They said they aren’t going to hurt us,” I tell him. “They just want to help…” I trail off as I spot him, standing behind a bench, as he jots notes on a piece of paper. His hair isn’t grey and he has fewer crow’s feet. But I recognize his dark grey eyes. Monarch.

  “But he’s my father,” I say softly. “He won’t hurt me.”

  Aiden sighs and shakes his head. “No Kayla, he stole you. They stole everyone from their parents. And they won’t stop until they have what they want.”

  I meet his eyes. “But what do they want?”

  He swallows hard. “Death.”

  I open my mouth, but I’m silenced by sirens blaring through the park. Echoes of children’s screams overlap the deafening noise.

  “Aiden!” I shout, throwing my hands over my ears. “What’s going on!” When I spin, Aiden’s not there. “Aiden!” I run out from behind the tree, into the crowd of people scurrying around, confused, searching for a dark haired, honey-eyed boy. “Aiden!”

  There are too many people and I feel him slipping away. What is this feeling? This emptiness.

  “Kayla.” It’s Monarch. He holds out his hand. “We need to go now.”

  “But where’s Aiden?” I ask. “We can’t leave without him.”

  Black smoke capes the sky and Monarch grabs my hand. “Kayla, now’s not the time! He has to go! Let him go! He doesn’t belong here.”

  I wrench my hand away, surprised by how strong I am. “I’m not leaving without him!”

  “Kayla!” Monarch shouts as he races after me. “Get back here!”

  But I am fast, just like I used to be before I shifted to a human. My little legs can run faster than Monarch’s and I vanish into the crowd of white coats and panicked children.

  “Aiden!” I yell, bumping a tall man out of my way.

  “Hey!” He hollers, reaching for me. “You get back here!”

  I dodge around his arms and break through the threshold of the throng. The sight of the burnt trees and grass makes me slam on the breaks. Fires thunder up and down the fields, blazing straight for the park gates. Far in the distance of the scorching flames and spinning smoke, Aiden screams.

  “Help me, Juniper!” He begs. “Please!”

  I spot his eyes in the smoke and ash, but a needle stabs my neck and just as quickly as I ran through the crowd, I’ve forgotten why I did it. I can’t remember anything. Even the boy burning in the flames.

  Chapter 7

  “She’s not dead,” a voice growls. “She’s fine.”

  “She was bit,” a girl replies. “She’s as good as dead.”

  “We don’t know for sure yet.” The voice is deep and familiar.

  “Aiden,” I mumble and moan from a razor-sharp pain shooting down my neck.

  The voices hush and I lift my eyelids. I’m resting in the warm sand, staring up at the dark, smoky sky, the city burning vibrantly in the distance.

  “Kayla,” Sylas says with a trace of apprehension in his tone. “Are you okay?”

  I search for his face. Dressed in black, he blends with the night. My eyes adapt to the darkness and he’s above me, dark hair, pale skin, and beautiful black eyes.

  “Am I dead?” I croak and clear my throat. “They came after me. They smelled someone else’s blood on me and that was that. They no longer wanted to leave me alone.”

  He picks up my foot and checks my ankle. My boot’s missing and my skin's glazed with thick, sticky goo. “You’re fine.”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m infected. You’re going to have to kill me.”

  Emmy stands behind him, her hands on her hips, lips pressed together—like she’s trying not to cry. “This is bad. Really bad.”

  “Is that what you want, Kayla?” Sylas asks curiously. “Do you want to die?”

  I gradually sit up and Sylas leans back to give me room. I consider his question, but not for very long. “I don’t want to be one o
f them. Ever.”

  His eyes are all over me, debating my request, and he seriously reflects killing me—I see it on his face. He sighs. “I don’t think you’re infected.”

  I drag my leg closer, sand building between my toes and sticking to my skin. Embedded on my leg are two small gashes, the size of teeth and blood drips from them. “Then what’s this?”

  “It’s a bite,” he says forthrightly. “But you’re not infected.”

  I rub the sand off my feet. “How can you be sure? Bites are what infect, Sylas. And this is definitely a vampire bite.”

  “I know it is.” He glances at Emmy. They exchange a look, like they know something I don’t. “If you were infected,” Sylas turns his head back to me, “then you’d be changing into one of them by now.”

  Sand blows in my face and the wind begs to put me out of my misery. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Unless… do bites not always infect? Do you know something about the virus that I don’t?”

  “We have this theory,” Emmy crouches in front of me and there’s sadness in her eyes, just like when I saw her in my memory, “that you might be different. That on top of Monarch making the vampires loathe you, he might have made you immune to their bite.”

  “You’re a soldier, Kayla,” Monarch says. “Once I’m finished with you, no one will be able to stop you.”

  “So if I’m immune to a vampire’s bite, then that means… ”

  “That there’s a cure,” Sylas finishes as he rips the corner of his shirt off.

  “Or at least a way to stop the disease from spreading.” Emmy dusts sand from my hair. “By making people immune.”

  My fingers graze the pocket of my jeans where the watch sits; the thing that’s supposed to hold the answers to saving the world.

  “How did you guys get me out of there?” I ask. “Without getting killed? They were everywhere.”

  Sylas hesitates as he wraps the piece of his torn shirt around my ankle. “You can thank Emmy for that. She ran into the herd of vampires to save you.” His lip twitches at the blood on my leg.

  “Thanks,” I say. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “I heard you scream.” She smiles as she sits down in the sand and her black dress encircles her.

  Sylas breathes in the scent of my blood before moving away. I stand up and teeter-totter to the side. He snags my arm and balances me.

  “Easy,” he warns. “We said you were immune to the bite. Not to getting hurt. Need I remind you that you’re still human?”

  “Only about a hundred times,” I groan, wrenching my arm from his grip. I hate showing weakness, especially in front of him. “Where are the others?”

  “Here and there.” Sylas gives an indifferent shrug.

  “You mean you don’t know.” I inhale a deep breath. “You said we can’t go back to the hideout, so where do we go now?”

  Sylas traces his lips with his finger. “I think we shouldn’t worry about where we go, but what we do. If that boy tracked you down then the Highers know you’re still alive.”

  I never shared with him the incident back at the hillside, when the Highers came and burnt everything to the ground, including everyone who lived there, all because they were looking for me. “They’ve known that I’m alive for a while.”

  Sylas frowns. “What? How do you know this?”

  Telling the truth is tricky for me. It’s like my tongue doesn’t want to cooperate. “I just know, okay.”

  “Kayla.” His anger rages through his voice. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “I know,” I say. “And I’m ready to tell you what happened, just as long as you tell me something first.”

  A mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Are you trying to bargain with me?”

  Emmy snorts a laugh, like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.

  “You owe me,” I remind him. “I saved your ass back there.”

  “Did you?” He taps his fingers on his knee. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if you know anything about a park.” I cross my arms. “A park Aiden and I might have been at.”

  Immediately, their faces sink.

  “How do you know about it?” Sylas wonders. “The only way you could remember is if your memories are coming back to you. From what you’ve told me, that hasn’t been happening—at least not any memories that are important.” He pauses. “Is that what you saw when you stabbed yourself with the minte?”

  I shake my head. “I saw it when I blacked out in the street.”

  “So you’re seeing memories on your own.” He ponders. “And without mutilating yourself?”

  “Yeah…” I pluck a piece of hair out of my mouth. “So.”

  Although I didn’t always follow the rules at The Colony, they tried to force me to never ask questions. But not asking questions out here could get me killed. Figuring out the answers, however, is complex process.

  Emmy gathers her hair and braids it on the side of her head. “She wouldn’t be immune to the minte, would she?”

  “Maybe.” Sylas’ eyes are locked on me. “But that would mean she’s immune to your little gift too.”

  “Not immune,” I point out. “It affects me, but in a negative way...” My head wobbles to the side and smacks my shoulder.

  “If you’re going to save the world, Kayla, no one can be able to touch you,” Monarch says as he digs through his medicine drawers. “No one can know what you know. We have to keep your memories safe. We have to inhibit anything that can get into them. But in order to do so, I have to make you suffer. It’s the only way I know how to keep everything protected.”

  “But what if I need them?” I ask, sliding onto a vacant bed. “How am I supposed to get my memories?”

  “We’ll keep them safe inside someone else’s head.” He lowers his voice and walks quietly over to the hospital bed. “At least the important ones. The one’s that will help you save the world.”

  I roll up my sleeve so he can give me an injection. “But whose head will we keep them in?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that question, Kayla,” he says softly. “He’s the only other one like you, only he’s broken.”

  “Aiden,” I whisper as he pierces the needle into my forearm. “We’ll keep them with him.”

  “Just make sure to get the memories before he dies. Otherwise, you’ll never be able to do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “End the virus.”

  ***

  “Kayla!” Sylas shouts. He’s waving his hand in my face. “Did you hit your head or something?

  I step back, my gaze flittering to the roaring city. “I think I know how to get all my memories back. But we need someone else’s help—we need Aiden’s help.”

  A pause and Sylas drops his hand to his side. “I think you did hit your head. And pretty hard.”

  “I didn’t hit my head,” I argue. “I’m actually thinking very clearly at the moment.”

  “Then how do you know Aiden can help you get your memories?”

  “Because Monarch told me he could.” I take the pocket watch out and flip it to the back. “But what does this have to do with it?”

  He brushes his hair from his eyes, which are filled with a dark, taunting look. “How do you know for sure that’s not all Monarch has told you? How do you know part of it’s not locked away in my head?”

  “Do you know something I don’t?” I step forward, clutching the watch in my hand. “Because if you do, you better fess up.”

  “Oh no.” Emmy laughs and backs away. “This is not going to end well.”

  “I don’t know what’s worse?” With a rapid step from his long legs, he narrows the void between us, so we’re inches apart. His voice reduces to a grumble. “That you’re accusing me of being a liar, or the fact that you just ordered me to do something?”

  His gaze works its way under my skin as he tries to get to me, control me. I stare him down just
like on the roof, forcing myself to get past the feelings of turning myself over to him.

  His breath is hot on my cheek. “I’m not a liar, Kayla.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  We continue to stare each other down, even when Emmy clears her throat.

  “Guys,” she says. “I think we need to get out of here. Morning’s coming.”

  Sylas shakes his head. “Not until we settle this.” He spreads his hands to the side. “You want to know if I’m lying, then go ahead and see.”

  I eye him over warily. “You’re just going to let me tap into you.”

  He tilts his head to the side. “Consider this your one and only freebie.”

  I look at Emmy, who shrugs, seeming just as astounded as I am.

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. “He surprises me every day.”

  Still uncertain, I reach for him, but he pulls back.

  “Oh, I’m not going to make it easy on you.” He licks his lips.

  I remain immobile, hand suspend in midair. I don’t know what my problem is. It’s just a kiss and I’ve kissed him before, but something about it feels wrong. Or maybe it’s that deep down a part of me wants to kiss him.

  For a second, I consider kneeing him between the legs. But not wanting him to know he’s getting to me, I keep my head and shoulders held high, my gaze never faltering as I lean in.

  “Alright, Sylas, if that’s the way you want to play, then let’s play.” Without indication, I press my lips to his, a dominating move as I clutch onto the upper hand.

  He’s not influencing my emotions, which is making the situation worse. All of it is raw—the way he feels, the way I feel, the way our lips connect. Kissing him is so much different than kissing Aiden. Aiden is open and his emotions pour out effortlessly. There’s something safe in Aiden’s touch. But when Sylas opens up, it’s like falling into an abyss.