Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) (7 page)

Her mom didn’t speak or turn or acknowledge
Addison was there at all. Nothing uncommon, but something that left
Addison with a mountain of guilt she would never be able to crawl
out from under.

She poured her mom some water and sat down on
the bed near her feet, wondering what she could say in their usual
one-way conversation. “I met a…man. He’s frustrating, but I can’t
get rid of him until I help him with something.” She held her mom’s
hand. “Work’s going well. Logan—you remember Logan, don’t you?
Handsome, low voice, has come to visit a couple times? Anyway,
Logan might start working with me. He’s in training now, which is
good because the job he has now sucks.” She continued, talking
about her life as if there was nothing special or strange about it
at all. Telling the truth would only cause more pain and fear.

She still hoped, however futilely, that the
wipe would correct itself, reverse the damage it had caused in her
mom’s mind, make her forget everything she’d seen and everything
Addison had done.

So Addison lied, told her the things she
dreamt about weren’t real. Pretended that when she’d followed
Addison to work, worried about her daughter who worked all night
and kept so many secrets, she hadn’t seen the naked dead men
Addison dissolved into ash. That the memory of standing in front of
a council of supernatural creatures wasn’t real.

That they hadn’t forced Addison to choose her
mom’s fate—execution or having her mind wiped of what she’d seen.
An obvious choice that ruined everything.

Addison told her it all wasn’t true because
she
wished
it wasn’t true. She would do anything to
make
it untrue. All she’d wanted was for her mom to live.
When she’d made her choice, she hadn’t even considered the
possibilities that the wipe might go wrong or that her mom had been
wiped before. But she
had
been wiped, and it
had
gone
wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

The human mind was fragile and wiping wasn’t
gentle. It took a lot more than a couple marbles. It took a piece
of the person’s self, a piece that never grew back or healed.

After a few hours of reading aloud, Addison
put the book down and scooted to her mom’s side. She smiled when
they made eye contact, something that only happened when her mom
was attached to the real world.

“Did you like the story?” she asked.

“It was the wrong choice,” her mom mumbled.
“Wrong choice.”

Addison crumbled, even though she’d heard the
words hundreds of times since that night. Two words renewed the
guilt, the knowledge that her mom would have preferred to die at
the hands of the Council than to live like this, in nightmares,
afraid of shadows.

“I’m sorry,” Addison whispered, tucking her
mom’s hand under the blanket and adjusting it before she left. “I’m
really, really sorry.” And she was, all the fucking time.

Addison took herself out for way too much
coffee and then walked about five miles just to kill time and stop
the jitters. No one had heard anything about the Prime missing. But
that could’ve been because seers weren’t privy to that kind of
information, or the rumor mill hadn’t had a chance to start
churning, or her subtle questioning was too subtle. But she
couldn’t outright ask anyone.

If he got free while she was gone, he’d head
for the closest food source and she’d never have to see him again.
Sounded perfect. If he wasn’t free, then he’d be asleep. She could
go in, get some stuff, and then find a place to hide before calling
in an anonymous tip. As soon as they picked him up, her name would
be added to the Seer Most Wanted list. They’d send a bunch of
demons out to track her down and she’d be dead within forty-eight
hours.

If he was gone but hadn’t had a chance to
hire a demon to look for her, at least she could enjoy those
forty-eight hours.

“
That’s
the bright side?” Now she
actually
hoped
her bed would be occupied. And thank the
powers, it was. Maybe she’d get seventy-two hours now. It wasn’t
often that finding a vampire in your bed was a good thing, so
Addison took a second to reflect on how incredibly screwed up she
was.

“You’re not supposed to be awake,” she
said.

“Where do you receive all of your
misinformation?”

“Common knowledge and commonsense—no one gets
bit during the day.”

“Like humans, as we age we need less sleep. I
am old enough to control my sleep needs completely.”

“You’re really old, huh?”

“Yes. I am really old.”

“Like, Civil-War-old or
Roman-Empire-old?”

“The Great-Fire-of-London-old.”

“Did you set it?” She clamped her lips
together to stop her smile because, really, she had nothing to
smile about.

He rolled his eyes. “The fire began on the
same night my human life ended. I came to North America a few years
later.”

She wouldn’t want to live that long. What did
he do to fill all that time without going totally bonkers? Read a
lot? Watch TV once it was invented? Three hundred and fifty years
of boredom.

“Wait,” she said. “That means you were around
before the Treaty was signed.” Before seers started getting
drafted, when they were all killed on sight. “Were you the Prime
then?”

“I became the Prime approximately fifty years
later.”

“Right. I heard about that. Big vamp war on
the East Coast, right?” Vamps spent decades slaughtering each other
to vie for leadership, which had the unintended effect of
decreasing their population. So that meant Rhyse was strong enough
back then to win the grand prize. Now, he’d be even stronger.

He watched her rummage through her backpack
to find her phone. “I did hope you would bring me something that
would not fit in a bag.”

“And I hoped you would already be gone.” She
started pulling stuff out, stacking her disposal equipment on the
dresser—garlic, holy water, crosses, an iron stick, some kind of
stinky spice satchel, and salt.

“Where did you get those items?”

“HQ gives them to us. Does any of it work?”
Her guess: they were novelties to make seers feel secure when they
would never be.

“Perhaps.”

“Which ones?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“I could try them one by one to figure it
out.”

His laugh was wicked, but it never changed
his expression, as if he’d forgotten how to smile. Or had never
learned how. It made sense actually, considering that
circa-the-Great-Fire probably wasn’t a particularly festive
time.

“Yes, let us play,” he said. “One of those
items will make me stronger. Strong enough to break these chains.
Now you try to guess which one it is. One by one.”

Russian roulette, vampire-style. “Never
mind.” As soon as she found her phone, she shoved everything else
back in.

“What is your name?” Well, wasn’t he chatty
today?

“You don’t need to know that.” If he knew, it
would make it easier to track her down. She could change
apartments—in fact, mental note to start looking for one ASAP—but
names were harder. A new driver’s license and credit cards, bank
accounts, and just when she got it all sorted out, she’d be found
and murdered.

“Tell me your name.” He was chatty
and
irritable. And probably persistent.

She remembered hearing something about giving
your name to a kidnapper. The idea being if they saw you as a
person, they’d hurt you less. Of course, vamps didn’t really care
about people, but it was worth a shot. “Addison. What’s yours?” She
already knew, but he should be aware not everyone gave a shit about
him.

“How can you not know these things, Addison?”
Her name sounded seductive coming from his mouth. And
condescending. Like everything else he said.

“I try not to pay attention to politics…or
much of anything else, actually.”

“My own kind commonly calls me ‘my king,’ but
by others I am called ‘my lord,’ or ‘my grace.’”

She’d vomit if she called him any of those.
“What does your mom call you?”

“My—was that supposed to be humorous?”

“Never mind. It’s not important.”

There was a rumble like thunder, except it
came from him. “King Rhyse, Prime of North America.”

“Is that short for something?”

“Yes, it is short for, ‘Those who call me
anything other than my title or my name will die before they speak
the last syllable.’”

“I’ll just call you Rhyse, then.” They both
needed a chance to calm down—him more than her—so she went to the
kitchen. “Do you guys drink water and if so, do you want some?”

“Unless you have something a bit warmer and
with more red blood cells.”

“Sorry. Fresh out.”

“What I need is coursing through your veins
right now.” He lowered his voice when she came back to the doorway.
“Do you enjoy my company so much that you will keep me chained to
your bed forever? You will not kill me—that I know.”

“You sound confident.”

“Always. You do not have the stomach for
killing.”

“I’ve swept away hundreds of vamps, watched
weres dissolve into the concrete.” Seen tons of things she never
wanted to see. “You don’t intimidate me.” Big lie, but it sounded
good.

“It is one thing to see death and another to
create it. Have you ever killed anyone before?”

“Maybe,” she said flippantly.

“That means no.”

“No means no, and I said maybe.” But she’d
meant
no.

“You either have or you have not. It is
something you would remember.”

“Do you remember? The first person you ever
killed?”

“Of course. One always remembers their
first.” He studied her. “You wish to know.”

“Maybe.” Yes, because it might help her kill
someone who was already dead. And no, for the same reason.

“Until the Treaty went into effect, I never
thought to leave them alive. None of us did. It was a terrible time
for all of us. The human victims and the supernaturals who preyed
on them.”

“I have a pretty hard time feeling sorry for
predators.”

“As do I,” he said quietly.

What did that mean? He didn’t explain, she
didn’t ask, and the silence was awkward.

“I don’t need to kill you. You’re getting
better.”

“Far too slowly. If I had nourishment, we
could both move on from this unfortunate situation sooner.”

She set the glass of water on the nightstand
just in time for a huge yawn-and-stretch to happen.

“You are fatigued.”

“That’s what happens when you can’t use your
bed because a vamp’s in it.”

“Lie down.” His eyes were heated, staring at
the slash of skin between her jeans and her t-shirt.

“Yeah, right,” she said, pulling her shirt
down. “Let me guess, I can lie down right on top of you and fall
asleep with my neck near your mouth.”

“It would be satisfactory were you simply to
lie down on top of me, provided you remove your clothing. And
mine.” If it had been anyone else she could’ve thought of a good
comeback, something to put him in his place. But unfortunately, her
mind went haywire when he said stuff like that and the only thing
she could think of saying was, ‘Gladly.’ Stupid vampire
pheromones.

“It only excites me to see you blush,
Addison. The blood coming to your face and chest, your increased
heat and speed of your breath.”

Damn it.
She couldn’t take much
more—except the breathing part. She wanted more of that.

“You are a terrible host. With what would you
have me amuse myself? You do not feed me, you tell me to leave, and
you have not once joined me in bed.”

She bit back what she really wanted to say
and went into the living room. As much as she wanted a nap, it
didn’t seem smart with a hungry vampire in the next room. So she
huddled on the couch with a wooden stake, a cross, and some holy
water. And then, like an idiot, she fell asleep.

It was already late afternoon when Addison
jolted awake, confused and groggy. She wasn’t dead. Great. She
wasn’t a vampire. Also great.

“Addison!”

She still had that pesky houseguest issue.
Not at all great.

“Addison,” he called again. “I…need your
help.” It must have been hard for him to say that—a language
barrier comprised only of words like ‘please,’ ‘thank you,’ and
requests for help.

“With what?” she asked from the doorway.

“My wound should have healed, regardless of
my thirst. I believe something is still inside slowing the process
down, a splinter perhaps. If you want me to go, you need to take it
out.” He opened and closed his hands, which were thankfully still
bound by the silver chains. “You could, of course, release me so I
may attend to it myself.”

‘Shocked stupid’ was what she’d probably call
how she felt. He wanted her to dig wood out of his chest? “I’m
not... I can’t...”

“You must. Or call a healer and I will wipe
their mind. But it needs to be soon.”

“Can’t you just alter their memories? Not
wipe their mind, just alter their memories.”

“If she can do what needs to be done in a
short enough time yes, but I do not think that is possible. Even
then, wiping is cleaner.”

“Then no,” she said quickly.

“Explain your fear.”

“You mean besides having a vamp in my
bed?”

He sighed. “I do not understand humans. Make
a decision. And know the longer I am uncomfortable, the more likely
it is I will blame you.”

Vampire threats seemed meaner than human
threats. Maybe because he could back it up painfully, or that he
spoke so calmly about her death, or that he hadn’t actually
mentioned
death, leaving it vague enough for her to assume
whatever he was planning would be as painful as he could make
it.

But this could also be the perfect bargaining
chip—her life for saving his…again. And this time, he’d see it and
not be able to pretend it hadn’t happened. Just a quick peek under
his jacket to judge how awful it would be. She approached him,
every step its own separate trial. Her gaze darted between the wide
hole in his chest to his eyes, not trusting anything. “At
least the bleeding stopped.”