Secret Worlds (16 page)

I was cold without him—isn’t that how it is with fire? Whether or not it was foolish to do so, I would keep going back to him, just like all the other times I vowed never to see him again. 

Fact was, I trusted him. Conduits and beasts be damned. I believed every freaking word of it. How could I not? To deny it would be to deny things I had seen with my own eyes, experienced with my own body. No man, no matter how strong, could throw a woman like that.

What I had told Abram before, about not ever wanting to see him again, was all bluster. If I’d meant that, I would have called the cops by now—would have alerted the one sitting right beside me. Sure, no one would believe any of that magic nonsense, but they would listen if I told them a missing girl was chained up in the woods.

The only reason I hadn’t said something was because deep down I believed that girl was who Abram said she was. A witch in a woman’s clothing.

God, I was just a much as a liar as he was. Perhaps worse. He had kept things from me, true, but anyone could see why. But me? I hid things, too, and I lied. Mostly to myself, but still. Maybe we deserved each other. I certainly didn’t deserve Dalton. That was for sure.

Jimmy Fallon was halfway through a lip sync battle when I made my decision, or rather, accepted what I already knew.

If I needed to move on from Abram—and I wasn’t sure I did—I wouldn’t be able to until I had answers. And there was only one place where those could be found.

I would have to go back into those damn woods.

I may have been in a rush to get answers, but I’d had enough nighttime treks into dangerous territory for one lifetime. I waited until the next morning, after Ester came to relieve me of my babysitting duties, to head back into the woods.

The path was almost second nature to me now. Unlike the last few times I hiked into these woods, though, I was prepared, and as such, the heels I usually wore had been replaced with sneakers. Underneath were thick socks to cushion the impact of walking on my still sore and battered feet.

And yes, the sneakers were still Coach, but who says a girl can’t rough it in style?

As I neared the old house, my heart raced. I thought about turning around, considered writing the events of the last few days off as nothing more than a fevered dream, of going on about my life as usual. Whatever that even was anymore. But what was the use? I had tried that already. I had attempted to do the quiet thing with Dalton, and all it did was make me feel even more out of place.

I needed this. I needed answers to my questions. Hell, I probably needed answers to questions I hadn’t even asked yet. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. My life was at risk, and if I didn’t find out how to fight back, anyone who even remotely resembled me would be in danger until I was found.

And Abram.
Sigh
.

I needed to make my peace with him as well. As much as I hated to admit it, in light of all that had happened, he and I had a connection. And it was more than physical. I found myself thinking about him all the time now. And that wasn’t okay. Not when there were still so many secrets between us.

The house loomed into view more quickly than it had the last few times, as if it was coming out to meet me. The building looked somehow colder and more haunting during the day beneath the overcast sky. As if daylight couldn’t reach this place if it tried.

The front door might as well have been a beckoning hand as it swung open of its own accord, and a lump rose in my throat. Did this house
want
me to come inside? Could houses want things?

Well, maybe this house could.

I fought back the urge to turn tail and run, and instead resolved to put on my big girl panties and get this over with. Either he would come off his lies and tell me the truth about what was going on, or he would hold firm to his ridiculous stories and prove how crazy he was.

But I think what I feared most of all was possible outcome number three: that all the lunacy Abram told me about actually
was
the truth.

I marched up to the open door with the same mixture of intensity and nervousness that a newbie model would display looking down her first cat walk.

As I crossed the threshold, the floorboards creaked under me. This was the third time I had entered this God-forsaken place, and with any luck, it would be the last.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice groaned from beside me.

I turned to the voice. Abram hunched over on the floor, his face unshaven and his shirt a mess of careless stains. There was a bottle in his left hand, and the look on his face spoke of equal parts defeat and disgust.

“I’m nothing if not surprising,” I muttered, noticing how much he looked like he did that day I found him after The Castle had been ransacked. And where had that led us? I swallowed around the lump forming in my throat and tried to push the images from my mind. I’d come here for answers. Nothing more.

“I didn’t say you surprised me,” Abram answered, taking a swig from the bottle. “I caught your scent when you were a half a mile out. I just said I didn’t expect to see you, not after that performance yesterday.”

“It wasn’t a performance,” I said, leaning against the far wall.

Something about seeing him like this, obviously broken, made me want to go to him. And I was afraid that if I moved even an inch, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

So I stayed plastered against the wall, as far away from him as the confines of this room would allow. “You said a lot of garbage yesterday, as if you actually expected me to believe it. How was I supposed to react?”

“With a little grace,” he answered, taking another swig and actually belching as he lowered the bottle.

“Grace personified, I see.”

He waved me off and set the bottle aside. “And I told you those things because they were true.”

“True?” I scoffed. “You expect me to believe that poor girl is a witch, or a Conduit, or whatever you called her! And that I’m one, too!”

“You’re afraid of me,” he said, standing and wiping the moisture from his lips.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” I answered, and for just a moment, it was true. I was too upset to be scared. This man had lied to me. He had screwed with my mind, screwed with my heart. I had let him into me physically, mentally, and emotionally. And the truth was, I had no idea who he was. So no, I wasn’t afraid. I was angry, goddamn it. “I’m pissed, and I want answers.”

“You already got answers. You just didn’t like them.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I’ve got a lot of a lot of things,” he answered, still moving closer. “Call it the unintended spoils of a very long life.” His eyebrows arched. “And I never said you were a Conduit.”

“What?” I asked, half stunned and half exasperated. If he changed his story now, I might really snap. Forget claiming to never see him again, I might kill him on the spot.

“A Conduit—the witch counterpart you referenced. I never called you one.”

He couldn’t be serious. A part of me had actually considered this, had actually held onto that shred of trust in him. And now he was saying he didn’t say those things?

“You did!” I yelled, stepping toward him before remembering my resolve to stay as far away as possible. “Not that it matters,” I cut out, “since you’re batshit crazy. But you did.”

“I most certainly did not.” He’d taken a few steps of his own—or rather, more than a few—and was almost on me now.

His chest heaved as he neared, as if he was becoming increasingly short of breath. I wondered about the change, about the monster he became, and about how difficult he said it was to control himself once it took him over. Was that what was happening now? Was I about to be torn apart?

He stopped, his body language softening as though he sensed that fear I had just moments ago denied feeling.

“I didn’t say you were a Conduit,” he repeated, more lightly this time. “I told you what you were, but you didn’t let me explain before you ran off.”

“What am I then?” I asked, my voice quivering as much as the rest of me did.

“Other than a beautiful pain in my ass?” He grinned. “You’re a Supplicant.”

“I’m also a Virgo,” I said. “Doesn’t mean anything to me, since I don’t believe in that stuff.”

“You wouldn’t be here unless some part of you did,” he countered, and he was right. “And as much as you want answers, I want to give them to you.”

I let out a shaky breath I didn’t realize I had been holding. He was standing too close to me now, and my stupid heart was fumbling around in my chest like a teenage girl’s moments before her first kiss.

“Then give them to me,” I said, trying to exert confidence with my voice.

His head tilted to one side and his gaze bore into my own. “Conduits perform magic. Supplicants, Charisse—Well, Supplicants
are
magic.”

He ran his forefinger lightly down my arm, causing every cell to stand at attention. I should have been afraid. I should have slapped his hand away. But I was frozen, consumed by a desire for him to keep touching me.

“There’s a limited source of mystical energy in this world, Charisse.” His finger traced my palm, sending sparks through me. “Increasingly limited, as it turns out. Nowadays, it’s only found in ancient relics and specific geographical hotspots.”

His finger moved from my palm and rested across my cheek, flirting dangerously with my lips.

“And in people like you, of course. I told you there was magic in your blood, and there is. Resting inside of you, Charisse, is the essence of everything in this world that’s worth having.” He moved his finger and cupped the back of my neck with his huge hand. “All beauty, all wonder, everything that poets write about and painters try to capture with a brush—it’s all because of you. It’s all inside of you.”

I swallowed hard, cursing the way heat was spreading through my body, the way my skin tingled beneath his touch.

“You …” I started, my voice a whisper. “You look like shit.”

It wasn’t true, of course, though he was disheveled—a shell of the dapper old-school gentleman I had come to know. He was still him: magnetic, intense, and quite possibly completely irresistible.

Of course, I didn’t want him to know that.

“I do,” he conceded, running his fingers down the nape of my neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again.” His eyes darted to the floor and then back to me. “The prospect took its toll.” His lips pursed. “I don’t want you to worry, Charisse. I protected your father for as long as he allowed me. And I’ll protect you, too. I swear it on my—”

“My father?” I asked, my eyes glazing over. He had mentioned him the other night, but I’d been too angry to consider it. But it would explain the picture I’d found in Abram’s study. “My father’s a—”

“He was a Supplicant as well. Yes.”

“Was?” I asked, my voice quivering.

I hadn’t thought about whether my father was alive or dead for a long time. Sometimes I would pretend he was dead. It somehow made things easier. He was the bastard who left me. Who cared if he died?

But I was beginning to think there might be more to my father’s story than what I knew, and being confronted with the possibility of his death now wasn’t making anything easier.

The look that passed through Abram’s eyes told me all I needed to about my father’s fate. But he continued anyway.

“He was a good man, Charisse. One of the best friends I ever had. I know it must be hard for you to entertain the thought that he loved you, but—”

“No!” I said, shaking my head, surprised at the stream of hot tears that drove their way down my cheeks.

“Charisse, things were complicated,” Abram answered, wiping my tears away with his
massive and powerful thumb. “There were factors involved that none of us could see coming, least of all him. I told him that I could keep you both safe. That nothing would ever harm you. I promised him that. But he couldn’t bear the thought of putting you in danger. It was all for you, Charisse.”

“Then he should have stayed!” I yelled, batting Abram’s hand away. “You have no idea how hard things were for me and my mom. She worked herself to death—literally to death! And all because my dad didn’t have the balls to stand up to the people who were after him.”

“You know they aren’t people, Charisse, not really. And you should know, he
did
stand up to them. That’s how he wound up dead.”

My mind revolted the idea. I couldn’t let go of being angry at my father. It was my only line of defense at not falling completely apart at the idea I had lost him.

“So Conduits killed him,” I said. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“They’re monsters, Charisse. Like me.”

“You’re not a monster,” I said instinctively.

And I meant it. In that moment, looking in Abram’s repentant eyes, I realized that not only did I believe everything he said to be true, but I always had. Ever since the first words came tumbling out of his mouth, I knew that my life would never be the same. I had run away because I was afraid—afraid of what he was saying, afraid of what I was feeling for him.

“Charisse, I was a monster before I ever became a beast. That is why Satina cursed me. And I am every bit the monster they are now, but without their ability to channel magic myself.”

“You’re a different kind of monster now, but you aren’t a monster where it counts,” I said, my fingers tracing over his chest, across his heart. My face flushed hot, and I quickly dropped my hand away. “But that doesn’t excuse anything you’ve done. And it doesn’t excuse my father for leaving me in this world not knowing the truth.”

“He had your best interests at heart,” Abram answered. “If he were here—”

“If he were here, he would be alive!” I shouted. “But he isn’t. I’m sure things were complicated. Things always are. But you don’t leave the people you care about, Abram! Love doesn’t run.”

“It doesn’t?” he asked, his voice suddenly strained. Abram blinked hard, and his expression said everything he didn’t. Love doesn’t run. But that was what I had been doing every step of the way.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Abram shook his head and continued.