Chapter 44 Trouble
ZADE
I didn't wait for Indie to finish processing the enforcer's words. The second he said, "she has your eyes," something cold locked into place inside my chest. A child with my eyes meant trouble.
I rose to my feet fluidly, and Indie tugged at the fabric of my pants with a worried look on her face.
"Stay with Lila," I said gently.
She shook her head, already rising to her feet. "No. I'm coming."
I didn't argue. There was no time, and the look in her eyes said she'd fight me if I tried.
We moved quickly down the hall, through the foyer, and out the front doors. The enforcer jogged ahead, leading us towards the main gates.
The girl was just inside the iron bars. She was so small.
Her messy dark hair was tangled with dirt and blood. A torn dress which was once pale pink was now stained crimson from the hem to the collar. Her feet were bare, her arms wrapped around herself. For a moment, I faltered as the memory of how wretched I’d looked after my escape from the pit threatened to knock me down.
I remembered how every part of me had ached. Even my nails. I remembered the smell of blood so thick it nearly suffocated me. I remembered the way Mason had cried when he saw that I was bleeding in places that shouldn’t have bled. He had begged me to cry, scream or throw a tantrum. But my heart had grown numb and colder. How could I?
“Zade,” Indie’s soft voice pulled me out of my head as she slipped her hand into mine, squeezing gently.
We were standing in front of the girl now. She looked up, and everything spun.
Her eyes weren’t just similar. They were the same impossible shade. Her violet eyes had the same faint inner ring of silver that only showed in certain light.
My eyes. Staring back at me from a child's face.
Indie let out a shaky breath beside me, her hand flying to her mouth.
The girl smiled shyly, blood crusted at the corner of her lips.
"Mummy says my life is yours," she said. "Because you brought me back."
I frowned, moving closer. “Back from where?"
She tilted her head, her curls falling across one eye.
"Back from the dead."
Then her knees buckled. She crumpled like paper, her small body folding onto the ground.
I lunged to catch her, dropping to one knee beside her. She was breathing the same way I had back then. Painfully.
Indie was frozen a few steps behind me. I looked up at her, uneasy. Her face had gone white. Her eyes were wide and glassy, staring at the girl like she was seeing a ghost.
"Indie?"
She didn't answer. Her gaze was locked on the child, her lips parted.
A memory flooded my mind right then. I was back in the pit, curled on my side and bleeding from my ass because Varak had been too rough with me again, and I still couldn’t heal.
A pregnant woman who had just gone through the same ordeal as me was chained beside me. She'd been there longer than I had.
She'd gone into labour too early. And there had been so much blood. The baby came out silent.
Stillborn.
She'd begged me, sobbed, and clawed at my arm.
I'd been half-mad by then. Varak had already forced me to resurrect corpses for sport, to watch them tear themselves apart again and again. I didn't want to. I didn't want to touch something so small and fragile and broken.
But she kept begging. So I did.
I reached through the veil, found the tiny, silent spark, and pulled. The baby gasped and cried.
They took the child away from her the next day. I never saw either of them again. Until now.
The girl in my arms had my eyes. And she'd called me Daddy. Was this because I resurrected her?
Dizziness crashed over me suddenly, my vision tunnelling. I clutched the girl tighter, trying to keep her steady while my own body betrayed me.
Was this Varak's scheme?
Another trap?
Was this child real? Or was she a construct? A lure? A bomb waiting to detonate inside my chest?
I felt Indie's hands on my shoulders, rubbing them to soothe me.
"Zade—Zade, breathe—"
But I couldn't. Because I realize that I might have dug my own grave. I wasn’t normal at all. And if this little girl was anything like me, she was more than likely to be someone’s weapon.
...
The gym was empty. I rolled my stiff shoulders, breathing through my nose.
I didn't want witnesses for this.
The heavy bag hung in the centre of the room, the black leather scarred from months of abuse. It was three times my size, filled with stones. I didn't bother with gloves. I wanted the pain.
I hit it hard. The impact jarred up my arm and rattled my teeth.
I hit it again.
And again.
Each punch landed with a dull thud. My breathing turned ragged. Sweat stung the cuts on my hands. I didn't stop.
The girl's face kept flashing behind my eyes.
Violet eyes.
My eyes.
Back from the dead.
Daddy.
Every time the word echoed, I swung harder. The bag rocked violently now, the chains creaking overhead.
I didn't hear him come in.
I smelled him.
That floral-hybrid scent slid into the room like smoke. My next punch faltered, then I turned.
Leon leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, the bandages still wrapped around his body. His red hair was damp, like he'd just showered. Golden eyes watched me with lazy amusement.
"Nice form," he drawled. "You punch like you're trying to commit murder."
I didn't answer. I just drove my fist into the bag again. The chain rattled louder.
Leon pushed off the frame and sauntered closer.
"Want to spar?" he asked. "I could use the exercise. And you look like you need to hit something that hits back."
I stopped. The bag swung twice, then it slowed.
I turned to face him.
Sweat dripped from my brow, my chest heaving. My hands were bloody, my knuckles raw.
"Are you really that stupid," I asked softly, "or just suicidal?"
Leon smiled.
"Both, probably." He shrugged one shoulder. "Go easy on me, yeah? I'm still healing."
I stared at him. Then I laughed humourlessly.
"You want me to go easy."
He spread his hands. "I'm a lover, not a fighter."
I stepped forward, but he didn't flinch.
We circled each other once in predatory motions. He lunged first at vampire speed.
I caught his wrist, twisted, and slammed him down onto the mat. He hit the floor hard, his breathing strained, but he rolled with it and came up swinging.
I blocked and countered, driving my elbow towards his throat.
He ducked, grinning.
We traded brutal blows, testing each other. He was good. Very fluid and stronger than he looked. But I was angrier.
I caught him with a hook to the ribs, right over the bandaged wound. He grunted, stumbling back.
I didn't let up. I tackled him.
We hit the mat together, hard. I pinned him beneath me, my knees on either side of his hips, my hands clamping his wrists above his head. His chest heaved under mine, blood trickling from his split lip. He licked it slowly, our eyes locked.
His eyes were gleaming with something between lust and challenge. But I felt nothing.
No spark. No pull. No heat. Only cold, flat emptiness.
I tilted my head.
"Do you feel that?" I asked.
Leon's grin faltered for half a second.
"Your heart's racing," he murmured, his voice rough. "Bet you're flustered."
He hesitated, then he lifted one hand slowly and pressed his palm to my chest, right over my heart.
He frowned.
There was obviously no flutter or skip. All he felt was the steady, mechanical thumping of my heart.
I leaned down until our faces were inches apart.
"I feel nothing for you," I said slowly. "Indie is the only one in my heart. The only one who matters. You're a guest. A tool. A fucking nuisance. Nothing more."
Leon stared up at me. Then he laughed, breathlessly.
"You mean she's the only object of your obsession."
I didn't answer. I simply released his wrists and stood. He stayed on the mat a moment longer, watching me with those golden eyes.
As I turned to leave, he spoke again, his voice softer.
"I'm sorry."
I stopped.
"For compelling you. For kissing you like that. For... pushing."
I didn't turn around. He rose slowly, wincing, and walked up behind me. He didn’t touch me. But he was close enough that I could feel his heat.
"Let me help her," he said. "Let me teach her how to cultivate her flames. Push them to the highest level. She can burn the venom out herself and heal you too. No more depending on my blood."
I finally looked at him over my shoulder.
"Why?"
Leon's expression was almost gentle.
"Because she won't have to choose. Because I don't want to watch her die. And because..." He shrugged, tiredly. "I think you'd do the same for me if the roles were reversed."
I studied him. “How long will that take?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Two weeks max.”
It was plenty of time for him to plan something. To poison her. To poison me. To finish whatever mission brought him here.
I could kill him now.
But Indie's voice echoed in my head, soft and pleading.
‘He's your mate too.’
I exhaled through my nose.
"Fine," I said.
Leon's eyes lit up.
"But if you touch her without permission," I continued, "I'll carve your heart out and feed it to you.’
He grinned, unafraid.
"Deal."
I turned and walked away. Behind me, I heard him laugh. And I wondered how long it would take before one of us killed the other.