Death Before Daylight (11 page)

“But, if you must know,” Fudicia continued,
“Darthon is keeping him alive.” The side of her lips twitched up.
“But I doubt he will do it for much longer.” She didn’t have to
tell me to obey. Her orders hovered in her tone.

The rest of our walk was silent. Neither of
us spoke or dared to look at one another. As much as she said she
wouldn’t hurt me, I didn’t believe her, and I knew she figured I
wanted to hurt her. I only needed good timing. We both understood
it.

Two wide doors sat at the end of the hallway,
and my heart pounded to the rhythm of my approaching footsteps. The
wooden design reminded me of the doors in the Dark’s shelter. The
familiarity was chilling. I half-expected to see a library when she
opened the door, but I didn’t.

She stuck a key in the handles and pushed the
oak doors open in one movement. The red room stole my breath. Like
my clothes, the walls were crimson. In the Light realm, everything
was lined with red, and this wasn’t an exception. Even the
decorations had scarlet edges, including the black horns sticking
out of the walls. Antique furniture circled the room, and thick
candles cast a glow over the long table in front of us. The place
resembled where Camille died, but it wasn’t the same room. A
heatless fire was missing.

Fudicia grabbed my arm and pulled me over to
a chair. “Sit.”

I grabbed the table in front of me, feeling
as if I could break the wood in half, but it tingled under my
fingertips. It wasn’t real. It was all an illusion.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she said right before
she left.

I was alone now, but I didn’t dare stand up
from the table. I wasn’t as alone as I originally thought. I could
feel him—his energy. He was the heatless fire that was missing.

“Darthon.”

He appeared like a flame that lit itself.

The tips of his blond hair were gelled up,
and his black eyes were holes of darkness. His complexion shimmered
over his high cheeks bones and defined jawline, but his smile held
no light. His teeth were like razors, sharpened into spikes, but
his expression was full of delight.

“You continue to impress me.” His voice
sounded closer than his body was, but—unlike Fudicia—I believed he
sat where he sat. The energy was too strong for him not to be where
he was. His entire presence was like gravity, impossible to forget,
possible to believe in, a theory merged into a law.

My fingers uncurled from the table. “What do
you want?”

He waved his palm over the table, and food
appeared. “You must be hungry.”

As the smells of freshly cooked food met my
nose, my stomach growled.

His grinned stretched. “Don’t hold back,” he
said. “We’ll talk once you’ve eaten.”

I hesitated, and then reached over and
grabbed a piece of bread. Instead of eating it, I threw it at his
face. It smacked his forehead, only to fall into his lap.

The confident smile slipped off his face. His
upper lip twitched. “What’s the problem, Jess?”

He said my name like he knew me.

“Where’s Eric?” I asked.

His sigh was as loud as a thunderclap. “Do we
always have to make everything about him?”

I glared back.

“Fine, then.” His elbows propped on top of
the table. Veins pushed against his tan skin. “He’s alive, and I’ll
keep him alive if you listen to me.”

“I’m already listening.” Anything to save the
Dark.

Darthon’s gaze dragged over the silk I wore.
As if he had touched me, goose bumps trailed over my collarbone.
When his eyes snapped up to my face, he spoke, “I don’t plan on
hurting either of you if you comply.”

If you comply.
His threats were
harsher than Fudicia’s worst tone.

“I thought your entire life’s purpose was to
kill Eric,” I spat back.

He flinched.

“Unless you can’t,” I added, realizing it as
I spoke. Shades weren’t supposed to live in the Light realm.
Darthon should’ve already killed him. It was the only reason to
bring Eric with me, but Eric was alive. Somehow, in some way, I
could feel his heartbeat in my own veins.

Darthon’s fingertips curled around his chin.
“You’re quite intuitive.” He smiled like he was proud, but I smiled
because I couldn’t fight it. I was right. Darthon couldn’t kill
Eric. He was safe.

“You’re impressive,” Darthon continued,
laying his head on his open palm. Candlelight flicked over his
face, and he glittered like an angel would. “But that’s to be
expected from a Light member.”

Eric’s heartbeat disappeared beneath my
pounding one. “I’m not one of you.”

He nodded. “Not completely anyway.” He
straightened up only to lay his hand on his chest. His fingertips
spread over his sternum. “You must feel it, the Light power
coursing through your veins, the sizzle of desire, the sickening
lack of satisfaction you have with the Dark.” His words sounded far
away. “It’s in you. It’s only been awakened recently.”

“I’m not one of you,” I repeated.

Darthon’s bottom lip snapped shut. When he
leaned back, his shoulders slumped. Right when I thought he had
relaxed, he shot up, and his metal chair crashed against the cement
floor. The air rushed through the room, brushing past me, and he
disappeared, only to reappear to my left. He grabbed my arm and
yanked me up like I was a doll.

“You are,” he shouted as he latched onto both
of my shoulders. His thumbs dug into my skin. “You’re one of
us.”

I kicked his knee, and we broke apart. I had
to grab my chair to prevent myself from falling, but Darthon didn’t
grab anything. He remained standing, right in front of me, and I
reached over for anything I could use as a weapon. The table
disappeared.

“I own this place,” he said, but his voice
wavered.

My skin tingled where he had touched me. I
wanted it to burn, but it didn’t. It felt like an energy boost. My
muscles ached for it again.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked,
quieter this time. He hadn’t grabbed me to hurt me. He grabbed me
to show me, but I could already feel the bruises forming.

I wanted to close my eyes, but I didn’t dare
to. I would not look away from him. It had to be an illusion. I
only had to find the source of it.

Darthon’s crumbled brow straightened out.
“The Marking of Change was never about Welborn.” His name hurt. “It
was about you—you changed.”

“I didn’t—”

“When Camille gave you her powers, they never
left.” His words shot out. “She activated you.”

Camille. The Light realm. She had been here
before, and so had I. Even I couldn’t deny how she had been in
pain, and I hadn’t felt a thing. The Light realm had felt familiar
from the start.

“She began the absorption process. Not me,”
he continued to rant. “I never forced you.”

Until now.

“Absorption,” I repeated the word I had heard
too many times, the word the Dark knew nothing about. The prophecy
always said the Light could absorb the third descendant, but it
never explained what it meant. It only proved I was Eric’s
weakness. “What do you mean—the process has started?”

Darthon sat down in the nearest chair. His
hands landed in his lap, opening and closing over and over again.
“Think about it,” he began, “Just think.” He tapped his forehead
like he meant to break it. “Your bloodline was created when the
Dark and the Light separated. There are two of you and one of
me.”

So, I was still a shade.

“You’re the reason we’re unbalanced,” he
said. “You can’t just be a shade. You have to be both.” Breath shot
out of his lips in a hiss. “You are both.”

“I’m not—”

“Shut up,” he growled, laying his head in his
hands. “Just shut up.”

I stepped back, glancing around the room as
it shifted. The doors were gone. The horns were gone. The furniture
remained. I couldn’t escape, but Darthon didn’t seem to notice I
was looking for a way out. He was too busy rocking back and
forth.

“How brainwashed are you?” His whisper broke
the space between us. He stared at me through his fingers. “What
did those dimwits convince you of? That Eric would win and you’d
ride off into the sunset together?” His tone rose. “Life doesn’t
work that way, Jess. Only movies do.”

I couldn’t fathom a response.

He grabbed his seat. “Let’s say they told you
the truth,” he spoke. “Let’s pretend you’re only a shade. Let’s say
Eric wins,” he stuttered over the last part. “Why would balance
mean only one side survives? Why would balance result in the Dark
having complete control?”

That wasn’t balance at all.

“It doesn’t,” he was the only one who could
say it out loud. “That’s why your bloodline exists. You’re supposed
to lead the new Light—as the light you already are—and you know
what happens then?” His pause was deafening. “They’ll kill you,
too.”

“The Dark would never kill me.” My words
manifested on their own.

“I,” Darthon pointed to his chest, “I would
never kill you. My people would never hurt you. The Dark? They
will.”

“You’re wrong—”

He slapped his chair like he had to hit
something. His knuckles were white. “Your death would mean the end
of the Light forever, and that’s all the Dark wants.”

When I didn’t respond, he stood up, and I
stepped back.

His body froze feet away from me, but I could
feel his energy seeping into me. My veins were vibrating. “Stop
it,” I hissed, knowing he was the cause of it.

He didn’t stop. “You feel that because you’re
connected with me.” The electricity inside of me grew. “Your death
will cause the Light to die, and that’s why your death would kill
me,” he repeated the worst sentence he had ever spoken during the
Marking of Change.

“That was a lie.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Darthon took a step forward.
“Don’t you remember the first time we fought?”

I did. It was a memory that returned with a
vengeance. My powers were new to me, but I had broken Darthon’s
neck. I had killed him, and then, he had stood back
up—alive—revealing only Eric could kill him. Unless I died. Then, I
could kill Darthon.

“I ran because I didn’t want to hurt you,”
his voice dropped to a whisper. “I would’ve been killing myself if
I took your life.”

My powers. The faulty prophecy. The
absorption. The bloodlines. It all made sense now.

“You’re Eric’s weakness because protecting
you guarantees the Light’s life,” he continued, taking another step
toward me. With every step, the energy grew deeper. The gravity
became heavier. “That’s why he is weak. That’s why he doesn’t
deserve to live.”

Darthon’s hand grazed my arm, and I slapped
him away. Hot air sizzled down my throat. “This isn’t about Eric,”
I said, but couldn’t step away. “The Dark deserves to live.”

His lip stretched up one of his cheeks. “If I
live, the Dark can live through you. You’ll be a shade, then.” When
Eric dies. “Or you can let me die and wait for them to kill you
afterward.”

I didn’t understand what he was saying. I
only stared at him as his expression slipped into one I had never
seen before. His bottom lip trembled for a moment, but it froze as
if it never had, and then, he was in front of me. His hand grazed
my cheek. It was only then that I realized what happened. I had
slid to the floor.

“You’ll be all right,” he said, his touch
pulling away from my face. “You’ll be able to handle the truth with
my help. We’ll even give you a Name.” A real Name, something the
Dark never gave me.

His words were as warm as my shower had been.
They moved over me as if they had cleansed a disease deep inside of
me. But I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to feel the Light energy
inside of me, but it was there—and it was inviting me to dive
deeper.

I closed my eyes to stare at my memories, to
remind myself of Eric by the river, to feel the first kiss we
shared, to believe in the Dark and only in the Dark. As the Dark
cloud consumed me, the Light popped and strained against my
insides. I collected it and forced it out.

It shattered across the floor, and the marble
cracked in half.

Darthon didn’t flinch. He only sat next to
me, placing his hand on my back as I wheezed. I couldn’t even push
him away. My energy was gone.

“It’s only going to hurt you more if you keep
fighting it,” he said, knowing exactly what I had done. I rejected
the Light energy. “Shades can’t survive in here. The only reason
you can is because you’re one of us. Once you accept it, you’ll be
better—”

“Don’t touch me.”

He moved away, but he didn’t move far. He
maneuvered his way in front of me, facing me so that our toes
pressed together. It reminded me of how Eric helped me stretch in
the training room.

I stared at his feet like I could pretend I
was back in the Dark’s shelter—like I could forget the reality in
front of me, like I could force Darthon’s words out of me—and then,
I looked at his face.

It was rounder than I originally thought, but
his sharp cheekbones created an illusion of age. He had a widow’s
peak and a scar on his brow. When his eyes widened, his face tilted
to one side while his smile moved to the other. If Pierce had
similarities with his human form, maybe Darthon did, too. Maybe we
all did.

“What are you looking for, Jess?” he asked,
but didn’t try to hide his face. He wanted me to see it. But I
heard it. He called me Jess. Not Jessie. Not Jessica. Not an
assortment of names someone could be called by. He knew me as
Jess.

“You know me,” I said, “outside of all
this.”

His expression didn’t change. It was neutral.
“I knew you were the third descendant for a long time,” he
admitted, “but even I didn’t want to believe it.”

“Why not?”

“Our weakness,” he said. “It’s the only thing
Eric and I have in common.” His toes pressed harder against mine.
“You.”

“I’m only your weakness because I kill
you—”