Defiance

rapidly.

Anna gave a chilling little half-snorting laugh, and I could just tell she was tossing her head. “Because the ephialtes who killed his lady Eleanor was none other than one of Sergej’s many traitors, trained by his oh-so-helpful son.” More fabric moving. “It’s close to dawn.”

Not Leon. I’d actually liked him, too. And he’d been so helpful and all.

I held on to Graves. Well, Jesus, Dru. Now get yourself out of this one.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A couple of minutes later, nausea hit me hard. I swallowed against it, blinked. The world came slowly into focus as the seasick feeling retreated, colors sharpening and outlines no longer fuzzy. It was as if a film had been peeled away from my eyeballs, and I looked up.

Graves was a mess. His dark hair stood up curling-wild, dirty and greasy, the undyed roots so full of crud it looked just like the dyed-black bits. Bruises, new and red-purple and older blue and even older yellow-green, spread over his face and down his bare chest. You could barely see the even caramel of his skin tone, he was so bruised all over. He was scrawny-thin, and there were weals and little cuts all over his torso. He had a pair of jeans, but they were flayed around the knees and dark with gunk. He had sneakers, oddly clean but terribly worn, the laces broken and reknotted.

We looked at each other. I let out a hurt little sound. “Oh. You look awful.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, green eyes burning. Same green eyes, their depths oddly shadowed now, same half- pained curl of his lips passing for a smile. It was like seeing him for the first time, the landscape of his face shifted just a few millimeters so that instead of just looking like a really handsome half-Asian boy he looked . . . well, more like a wulfen. The eerie almost-similarity of bone structure I shared with Christophe and Benjamin and all of them was shared between Graves and Shanks and Dibs and even Nat.

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled out. “I didn’t know. They told me they were looking for you. They . . . if I’d known, if I’d—”

He moved a little, restless but careful. “If you’d known, you would’ve run off the Schola grounds and got caught too. He’s been watching you pretty close, Dru. I’m okay; I’m just wishing you hadn’t got caught. I . . .” He swallowed, hard, and I realized I was probably grinding on his bruises bigtime. “It got me through, knowing they’d take care of you. Two days ago—I think, time gets funny— they dragged me up here and put me with her. It’s been interesting.”

“Hardly. He’s such a loyal little boy. No fun at all.” Anna laughed, and my head whipped around.

The room was dim, only one wrought-iron lamp with a dusty rose-satin shade propped up next to the bed, on my left. Heavy wood paneling, a cobwebbed chandelier dangling lopsided from the ceiling, and a ceiling that looked like concrete. Graves and I were on a four-poster done in heavy pink velvet that probably dated from the Civil War. Other furniture was scattered around under moth-eaten dust cloths, and the door was a monster of iron and dark heavy wood.

It looked like a set designer for a really bad period movie had thrown up in here. Nathalie would have called the pink velvet atrocious.

Thinking of Nat pinched me way down deep in my chest. I hoped she’d forgive me. Hell, I hoped I’d see her soon and she could kick my ass for being such a bitch. I’d even sit still and take it with a big wide goony grin.

Hell, I’d even let her take me shopping. For clothes. Without complaining.

Anna was near the door, crouched down. Every other time I’d seen her, she’d been perfectly polished, fashion-model finished.

Not now.

Her red-gold ringlets were a tangled mess, there was a dark nasty bruise on one high flawless cheek, and her pretty red silk dress was ripped up, torn petticoats showing through the rents. Wine-red ribbons trailed through the rat nest of her long hair, her boots were scuffed, and the silk stockings were full of ladderlike runs.

She was taking the goth Lolita thing to new heights, I guess.

But the way she crouched, hugging herself and rocking slightly, wasn’t right. And she was paper-pale, not to mention shaking like she had what Gran would call the delirium tremens. The shudders went through her in waves, and she was sweating, too. Little pearly beads of perspiration dotted her flawless skin, almost glowing in the dimness.

She was still beautiful, even all messed up like this. I probably looked like I’d swept up a barn with my hair, and I had that odd dirty feeling you get from sleeping in your jeans. It always pinches; denim is so not pajamas.

“Jesus.” I eased up on Graves a little, swallowed hard to clear the sudden sourness on my tongue. The bed creaked a little as we shifted, like a rowboat in a shallow river. “What happened to you?”

“This.” She lifted her tangled ringlets, and I saw the fang marks on the white column of her throat. My vision sharpened, and my skin was suddenly two sizes too small. Hard little bumps of gooseflesh stood up all over me.

The marks were white and worn-looking in the middle, bruised all the way around like an enthusiastic hickey. She dropped her hair over them after letting me have a good long peek. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I thought we were toxic—” I began.

“Oh, yes. But he could stand the poison long enough to sink his teeth in, and now I’m too weak. And he’s stronger.” She shuddered, turning even paler, if that were possible. “He’ll eventually drain both of us dry so he can walk in the daylight.” Anna laughed again, and her rocking back and forth sped up a little. The floor creaked slightly as her high heels dug in. “I thought I was so clever. So very very clever. You’re Elizabeth’s vengeance on me, after all these years.”

Yeah. My mother’s vengeance. Please. Anna had fucking shot me because my mother “stole” Christophe. Leon had maybe betrayed me to the vampires because of something Christophe did to him years ago. Just great. Just wonderful.

Jesus Christ. Was there anyone around who didn’t hate me or think they loved me because of something that happened before I was even born?

As soon as I thought that, though, I knew there was one person. He was hanging on to me right now, terribly battered but alive. I’d gotten him into this, and here we were.

You’d better start thinking fast, Dru. But my thinker was kind of busted. I shook my head, curls falling in my face, as if that could jar my brain into working. “My mother’s dead, Anna. We’re here; we might as well get on with it. Where the hell are we, really?” And Sergej brought me here for snacking later. Me and Anna, in the freezer like good little rodents for a snake to choke down. Ugh.

“I think we’re in Jersey.” Graves hissed an in-breath as he moved slightly, and I loosened up a little more. “Of course, if I owned this place and Hell . . .”

The laugh that bolted out of me felt wrong. But it helped a little, before falling lifeless in the dead air. “Are we underground? It feels like it.”

“Dunno. Think it’s a warehouse. I was underground for a while. In a . . . a cell.” Graves shivered. Gooseflesh roughened up his marred skin, and I got the idea he would be pale if it wasn’t for the bruises. “They would come down at random times, ask me questions about you. Things they . . . Hey.” He leaned in, his eyes burning. “Nice earring. I wondered where that went.”

My fingers came up. I touched it, the skull and crossbones. “I . . . yeah. Thanks.”

“Shhh!” Anna stopped rocking. “Shut up!”

Graves flinched. We stared into each other’s eyes, those shadows gathering in the depths of the green, and for that one moment I saw right down to the bottom of him. He talked a good line, and he was really brave.