Dark Craving: A Watchers Novella (3 page)

Some called it hypnotism. Others, persuasion. I called it both blessing and curse, because how could trust exist between me and another person when there was such a thing between us? And so, for me, there had never been another person.

Except Charlotte, of course. There’d always been Charlotte. Though, at the time, I’d insisted she didn’t count as a real person—she was just my big sister. My pesky Lottie. She’d badgered me, and I’d teased her.

As I remembered Charlotte, a dark craving for revenge burned my throat, wavering my vision. I’d retrieve this girl. I’d do as Dagursson bid. And then I’d find my family.

Concentrating harder, I tried again to enthrall her. Usually my quarry was smoothly baited, reeled in like a fish on a hook. But not Annelise. When she finally snuck another glimpse at me, again she surprised me. While her gaze was arrested, it wasn’t by my face—that foolish, meaningless thing that had ensnared so many others. Rather, she was drawn to my arm. To the tattoo marking me:
Le seul paradis c'est le paradis perdu.

While other recruits were bewitched by this sleepy, wanting expression I assumed—while trying neither to laugh nor despise myself—Annelise was entranced by words, my words. Though not conceived by me, I’d claimed them all the same:
The only paradise is paradise lost.

I was punished severely when the tattoo was first discovered. Alcántara, with his unrivalled taste for torture, had done the honors. But rather than bearing my punishment in pained silence, I’d fought a perverse the desire to smile because my mark was the thing that reminded me my body might’ve served others, but the innermost part of me, that was yet mine.

The queue in front of the registrar window slowly shrank until it was almost Annelise’s turn. For a flicker of a moment I almost felt sorry for her. She thought this would be her first day at university. She’d clawed her way free of her home life, graduating in January with plans to matriculate early to college. But I knew differently. The Directorate had ways of altering plans. A simple thing like university enrollment would pose no challenge. This university would refuse her, and once she left this campus, the next school she knew would be on a rock in the middle of the North Sea.

That or we’d both be dead.

And what if Dagursson’s fears proved true? What if she put up a fight? I could always force her to come with me. Other Tracers did.

I dismissed the thought. Even without the Viking’s orders to keep her safe, I found the use of force distasteful. It was why I’d so cultivated my talent—thanks to my persuasive powers, my job rarely degraded into coercion.

Would she come willingly? I considered her restless fingers. The way she crushed her hat low over that conspicuously blond hair. There was something in her—a challenge—that spoke of bravery. And yet I saw vulnerability, too, in the downward tilt of her chin.

Afraid, but not fearful.

Unexpected sensations pierced my chest. Sympathy. Curiosity. A hint of fellowship. I wasn’t prepared for it.

I hardened my heart.

She was on the Vampire Directorate list. It could’ve only meant she was as cold and ruthless as any of the other teens who found themselves on the Isle of Night.

It was her turn at the window. I read her expression as she heard the news. The vampires sabotaged her admission, just as they’d orchestrated her acceptance in the first place. Never ones to forsake a cruelly poetic gesture, the Directorate wanted the girl to come to them not merely crushed but destroyed. It was no more or less than the necessary kneading one might give a lump of clay.

But she didn’t fall apart at the news, and it surprised me. I’d seen so many others shriek and curse their fates—boys and girls alike—but not this Annelise. Instead, I watched as a strange transformation occurred. Somehow she stood taller, seemed older. I realized it was pride I was witnessing. Self-worth. Courage. Dignity.

I’d thought I knew this candidate, but I obviously hadn’t understood her depths, not truly. On the flight over, I’d prepared as I always did—reviewing photos, observing surveillance-camera footage, poring through medical records. This morning, I’d squinted at Annelise through binocular lenses. I knew her standardized test scores, middle school grade point average, and iPod playlist. Despite her petite stature and long, white-blond hair, it was clear she’d fashioned herself an outsider. Beyond this, however, I had no clue.

She stepped out of line, and I faded into the shadows. The next time she saw me would be in the parking lot, where I’d already disabled the engine of her Honda.

I’d budgeted sixty minutes to get her into my car. Sixty more to reach the airstrip by the appointed time. Two hours total in which to convince her.

I had my orders. There was no choice; she must come with me. I rolled my shoulders, already tasting the self-loathing that was the price of my persuasive talents.

Standing in the blazing sun of the car lot, I watched from afar, waiting while she struggled to turn the ignition. She scraped tears from her eyes, and the abrupt jerk of her wrist had me wondering if she was more angry than sad. I had to perceive the difference if I was to convince her. To charm her.

But still I waited. I gave it a good long time, too, knowing it’d surely reached over thirty-eight degrees Celsius in her rust bucket by now. She’d be ready for me.

I had this in the bag.

Finally, I approached. Leaning against the driver’s-side window, I peered down at her. She struck me as so small in the seat of that ancient car, but I forced away the thought, sending a blast of my power down instead, beckoning her, drawing her to me.

I flexed my outstretched arm, and though I’d cursed the Florida heat, it served me well now, dampening my shirt, making it cling in a way that’d served me well in the past. I gave her my most charming smile. “Trouble?”

But when her eyes flicked to me, they only skittered away again. And there it was, another deviation from the norm. It was in the set of her jaw, a fierce determination to overcome this obstacle as she’d stood up to so many others. She didn’t want my help. Didn’t want to need it.

Annelise had self-respect, and she clung to it. Clung to her goals. She wouldn’t be distracted by any pretty boy, no matter how intently I flexed.

“Lift the bonnet for me, aye?” I told her, but then I cursed myself the moment it was out of my mouth. I’d intended to express concern, but my words had come too softly. I had to be careful—the line between feigning sympathy and actually feeling it was a fine one.

She complied, finally, and opened the hood. But as I leaned over and studied the engine, I felt her studying me. Never had someone’s attention felt so heavy on my skin.

I fought to shake the feeling, making myself concentrate, instead, on my surroundings. This place was so repellent, so alien. The sun was relentless, beating at us from all around. The heat, claustrophobic and inescapable. And the smells…car exhaust, hot tarmac underfoot, and hanging over it all, a sultry Florida stench, thick and cloying like tropical fruit left to rot in the heat.
Eyja næturinnar
might’ve been a hostile, detestable place, but the air was clean, and when I surfed, the waves pummeled me in a way that felt as though they might purify my soul.

I realized I’d been frozen in place, leaning against the bloody hood. I knew damn well what was wrong with her car—I was the one who’d messed with the carburetor in the first place. But I just stood there, knowing her eyes were on me. Was I inviting her perusal? Was I that proud and idiotic?

Time to focus. For bloody real.

I stood, and sure enough, I spotted her blush, saw how her gaze pulled away but didn’t know where to land. She had been eyeing me.

I was in control again. Clapping the grease from my hands, I told her, “I think it’s your carb.”

Her smile was tentative, as if she was just practicing. “The only carb I know is the bagel I had for breakfast.”

It took me a moment to realize she’d made a joke. I’d been too distracted by the sound of her voice. Quiet, but husky, too. The richness of it was a startling contrast to her tiny figure.

A tight laugh escaped her. She held herself stiffly, as though she’d forgotten how to stand. I’d let the silence hang too long, and she’d mistaken my stare for something else. Criticism, maybe. I imagined she was well acquainted with the feeling.

“Kidding,” she said. “I know you meant carburetor. Internal combustion…” And then she muttered something more that I didn’t catch.

She looked stricken, uneasy in her own skin. She was so brittle. Achingly vulnerable. And so obviously lonely.

She wasn’t the sort of girl people would’ve sought out. For the first time, I saw what Dagursson had meant about the similarities between this girl and my sister. Both were too smart, too sensitive, too strange.

But unlike Charlotte, Annelise’s differences made her self-conscious. Like a creature incapable of camouflage, this girl would’ve remained an alien among her peers.

The other recruits on the Isle—female and male alike—would scent her weakness, and like a pack of jackals, they’d attack. She wouldn’t survive the week.

But I could protect her, I realized—just as Dagursson ordered.

I felt a shimmer of longing. I
would
protect her. I’d help her as I’d been unable to help my sister. Hope blurred my vision, so vividly it was like a physical thing in the air around me, flaring brighter and even more painful than the Florida sun.

I blinked it away.
No.
I needed distance and focus.

I’d protect her because it was my job. Because it was the only way I’d find my family.

I tuned out then. I pushed this person, Annelise, to the edge of my mind until she was just a shadow on my periphery, and only then did I go through the motions, exercising the mechanics of my charisma.

When she accepted a ride, I knew I had her.

Like all the other recruits, Annelise wouldn’t be missed. Nobody would notice she was gone, or if they did, they wouldn't care.

Still more thoughts to be quickly shoved away.

I’d gotten her into my car, and now I needed to get her onto the plane. As we cruised down the road, I amped up the charm. I reached for it, second nature by now, and power buzzed along my skin, vibrating toward her in the tiny cockpit of my sports car.

But my control shattered. The car swerved. I quickly recovered.

My own goddamned power had bounced back and slapped me.

I scrubbed a hand over my face.
Bloody hell.
Echoes of it rippled along my skin, making the hair on my arms stand on end.

She drew in a sharp breath, then whispered, “Oh God.”

She’d felt it, too.

Who was this girl? I needed to wrest control of this exchange before I turned off the road and drove us somewhere private so I could find out.

I needed to appeal to intellect, not emotion. I steeled my voice. “
God
, is it? Do you believe in God, Annelise?”

“
Somebody
had enough irony to pack 185 IQ points into a blond head,” she said without waiting a beat.

I shocked both of us when I laughed. Hard.

Such ease—it was foreign to me. Pleasant. But mostly it was dangerous.

I told myself this flirtation felt comfortable and good simply because I was talented at my job. It certainly wasn’t because I was enjoying myself.

By the time we reached the airstrip, I’d sufficiently gathered myself. I was back on my guard and acutely attuned to the doubt and disbelief on her face as she studied the small jet. She knew better than most young women how things that seemed too good to be true rarely were.

I was losing her.

This had never happened to me before—not at this stage in the game. There were two recruits waiting on the plane, and by the time they’d reached this point, they were practically clawing at each other to see who could board first.

I made it a rule never to touch the girls, but I had no choice now.

I extended my power, reaching out for her shoulder. My power had backfired before—what would happen now when I actually touched her?

Tentative, I let my hand alight on her shoulder. I felt the warmth of her body through her shirt—a vintage Pretenders concert tee—and memories swamped me in a flood so overpowering I almost broke the connection. Flashes of secret, stolen moments, of early missions that’d taken me to underground clubs, of brief sweet tastes of rebellion and freedom. Of a youth stolen from me.

Slowly, slowly, I slid my hand higher, wanting to feel her skin under my fingertips just once. Finally, I reached the nape of her neck. Hair so soft and fine brushed the back of my hand, sending a jolt up my arm.

It took supreme concentration to keep a hold on my power and not do something foolish. To remind myself I was a Tracer and not some normal guy parked in a car with a normal girl.

Power was vibrating back at me full force. My throat sounded rusty as I asked her, “Are you ready to embrace a whole new life?”

A part of me no longer knew what it was I referred to.

She shifted away from me, breaking the spell.