Inception (The Marked Book 1) (16 page)

The truth was, I still wanted to ram the magazine in Julien’s big mouth but figured it would only make things worse for me. I tied my hair back into a ponytail and followed Gabriel instead. “So...where do we start?”

“We start by assessing what level you’re at physically.”

“That’s easy. I’m the level right
before
beginner.”

His mouth hitched up at the corner. “I was hoping for something a little more concrete.”

“What did you have in mind?” I asked, uneasy.

“I was thinking we could simulate an attack.”

I shook my head. “No. No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” I wanted to tell him that I was too afraid, that I didn’t want to be reminded of the way I felt that night, or the time before that—scared, powerless, weak—that it was already enough that I had to relive it every time I closed my eyes. But all I could manage to say was, “Just because.”

He grimaced, examining me as though he might find the rest of my answer hidden somewhere on my face. “Look, I know this is difficult for you,” he said after a thoughtful pause. “And I imagine you’d rather not be in that position again, but...”

No buts. I hate buts. “But what?”

“But it’s going to happen again whether you want it to or not,” he said candidly. “I’d rather it happen here first—with me, so that I can teach you how to take control of the situation and get out. That’s all this exercise is about.”

That didn’t sound nearly as bad as what I’d envisioned in my mind. “So what your saying is, I won’t be suffering any traumatic brain injury or blood loss tonight?”

“Of course not. I would never hurt you,” he assured. A slow moving grin appeared. “In fact, I want
you
to do the hurting.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that.

“If you start to feel uncomfortable or it becomes too much for you, just say the word and we’ll stop,” he added, raising his hands in a solemn gesture. “You have my word.”

I couldn’t explain why, but I believed him. I
knew
he wouldn’t hurt me. I knew he’d stop if I told him to. I knew I’d be safe as long as he was near me.

“Alright then, let’s do this,” I said, feeling a false sense of bravado wash over me. “Show me what you got.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise—or amusement—though I could tell from the shrewd way he began to circle around me that he meant business. Not wanting to feel like his prey, I mimicked his moves and circled right along with him as my heart rate nervously kicked into overdrive.

“I’m going to come at you from the back,” he warned, his lips slightly turned up at the corners. No doubt he was in his element. “I want you to try to break out of my hold, okay?”

I didn’t have a chance to respond. One minute we were circling face to face, and the next, he was behind me—one arm around my collarbone and the other one around my waist, pinning my arms to my side.

I gasped in surprise.

“Break out of my hold,” he ordered when I did nothing but stand there frozen in his arms.

Ah, hell.

I immediately began pushing and squirming around in his arms, doing everything I knew of to try to free myself from his death grip, each time ending up with nothing to show for it but a bruised ego. Even when my squirms morphed into a full body buck, the only damage I managed to produce was self-inflicted pain from my own burning muscles.

“I can’t,” I cried out after a series of failed attempts. I was already winded and I hadn’t even made a blot on his map.

He let go and spun me back around to face him.

“Well,” he said, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I’m not going to lie. That was really bad.” 

“Gee, thanks,” I replied sourly.

“Take a breath and try it again,” he ordered and began another slow stalk around me, calculating his next move—my next move. There was something incredibly primal about it.

Distracted, I tripped over my foot and stumbled back a step. He shook his head and buried the smile.

In the span of time it took for me to look back up, he had already reached out and pulled my arm, spinning me to him and landing me with my back against his chest. His arms wrapped firmly around my torso once again locking my limbs to my body. There was something about the way he pounced with such speed and agility that seemed to leave me in a stationary stupor.

“Break out,” he said into my ear when I didn’t move.

I snapped out of my daze and began to squirm and buck again, digging deep for any semblance of strength I could find, but once again, all of my efforts came up short. No matter how hard I pushed, he remained immovable. It was like trying to lift a solid block of concrete off of me with a plastic kiddy shovel.

“Why are you doing
that
?”

“Doing what?”

“Wiggling,” he said repugnantly. “Do you honestly think you can escape a Revenant by wiggling your way out?”

I stopped moving. “Well what do you suggest I do?”

“Use your strength to push out.” He said it as though it were the simplest, most obvious thing to do. “You’re a Slayer. You already have it inside of you.”

“Then where is
it
?” I snapped back, annoyed. “Why isn’t this working?”

He dropped his arms and took a step back. “My guess is it’s probably the spell,” he said, focusing in on me with a deeper intensity. “You need to understand the mechanics at play here, Jemma. Slayers are biologically built to kill Revenants. It’s in your blood—right there in your DNA,” he said, gently pushing his fingers into my clavicle.

I looked down distractedly and crossed my arms.

“Normally, you only need to be in the general vicinity of one to feel it,” he went on. “That
feeling
is physiological, like a sensor or a switch that turns on the Warrior part of you—the part of you that isn’t human, and that part takes over so you can do what you were created to do. That’s where all your power and strength lies, but if that switch was never accessed before, then everything else that follows it remains dormant.”

“So what you’re saying is, my Slayer powers are sleeping?”

“For lack of a better term, yes. You have an entire part of you that’s never been touched before.” He started to circle me again.

“What’s the point then?” I asked, my arms still crossed tightly across my chest. “As long as I’m still
Cloaked
, I have no chance of fighting you off, or any other Revenants for that matter. Not if my powers are dormant as you say.”

“That may be true,” he said, rounding out from behind.

“So what are we going to do?”

He tweaked his eyebrows. “We’re going to
wake
them up.”

20. FRIGHT NIGHT

After soaking in a hot bath for nearly an hour, I changed into my favorite camisole and fleece cutoffs and all-but crawled into my bed. My first training session with Gabriel was brutal and had me using muscles I didn’t even know existed. Muscles that I knew I’d be paying dearly for tomorrow morning. Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about it for too long. Exhaustion took over and pushed everything else onto the back-burner as I effortlessly drifted to sleep.

However short-lived it was.

I wrenched upright in my bed sometime after midnight. I had been dreaming about
him
again—the blond hair and curls—though I didn’t have a chance to experience the particular brand of terror those dreams usually caused. Something else had woken me. I remembered a knock and turned to stare at my bedroom door, still struggling to snap out of my slumber. Then, another knock, and I realized it was coming from the outside terrace.

I stumbled out of bed and walked to the door, cautiously pulling back the curtain to see who was out there. I was almost expecting it to be Dominic Huntington arriving straight out of my nightmares to torment me, and was equal parts surprised and relieved to find Trace standing there instead.

My eyes never left his as I pushed open the door. The cold air immediately rushed inside, twirling around my damp hair as it took up residency in my room, but I barely felt its chill. My skin was already warming from the inside out.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, peering over his shoulder into the darkness. “How did you get up here?”

Even in the pitch of night, his eyes gleamed like two sapphires. “Can we talk?” he asked without answering my question.

I didn’t see the point in reminding him that we weren’t on speaking terms, or even asking if this could wait until tomorrow. The guy had just shimmied up my balcony in the middle of the night, and frankly, I wanted to know why.

I took a step back to let him inside doing my best not to notice when his arm brushed up against me as he passed. Or that he smelled really,
really
good. I flicked on the desk lamp and stalked back to my bed, taking a seat on the edge of it as I waited for him to say something.

Trace stayed by the door, leaning against it as his eyes moved curiously around my room taking in the sights. I tried to read his face for any hints as to what this late-night visit was about, or what kind of mood he was in, but as per usual, his expression gave nothing away.

His eyes settled on me just then and I watched as they moved down the length of my body and then back up the other way before shifting away. If I didn’t know any better (which I did), I would have thought he just checked me out.

“So, um, what did you want to talk to me about?” I asked, still feeling the heat from his stare embedded in my cheeks.

“I heard you started training today.”

“And you rushed over to congratulate me?”

“No.” He seemed to be studying me. “So it’s true then? You’re training with Gabriel?”

I nodded and watched as he pushed up from the door and took a few steps in, circling around the edge of my desk.

“You know he’s a
Rev
, right?”

“A what?”

“A Revenant—a vampire,” he said distractedly, looking down at something on my desk.

“Yeah, I got the memo this time.”

“I’m just making sure.” His eyes met mine again briefly. “I wouldn’t want you accusing me of being a jerk or anything.”

“I’m sure there'll be plenty more opportunities for that.”

His dimples pressed in, making it look like he was fighting back a smile, though it never made it to the surface. “So that’s it then? You’re really doing this?”

I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my training with Gabriel, or the whole Slayer thing in general. My answer was the same either way. “What choice do I have?”

“Aren’t you protected?” he asked, leaning back against the desk now. His arms were crossed over his chest and his sweatshirt was pushed up to his elbows, highlighting his brawny forearms. “Like with a Cloaking spell or something?” he continued when I failed to produce words.

I nodded, clearing my throat. “They’re trying to break it. My uncle said it’s too dangerous to stay this way—that the spell won’t hold.” I couldn’t find the courage to tell him that I’d agreed to break it for reasons completely unrelated. That I wasn’t out to save anyone’s skin but my own. “Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t care,” he answered coolly. “I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“And why is that?”

His dark lashes swooped down. “So that when I told you to stay away from me,” he said, looking back up. “I’d mean it.”

“You want me to stay away from you?” I blinked into him, unsure that I’d heard him right.

He clenched his jaw and gave a slight nod.

“Why? Because I’m training with Gabriel?” I sounded like a child getting reprimanded unfairly.

“That’s part of it.”

“And the other part?” I stood up from the bed, wanting to keep the uncomfortable feelings from rising to the surface. “What exactly was it that made you feel so compelled to ban me from your life that you had to run over here in the middle of the night to do it? Do you really hate me that much?”

“I don’t hate you,” he said gruffly and then lowered his voice. “I just don’t want you in my life.”

I wasn’t sure what was worse; the fact that he didn’t want me in his life, or that it was hurting me so much to hear it.

“You need to tell my father you’re quitting All Saints,” he went on as though he hadn’t just sliced me open with his words. “The sooner you do it, the better.”

“I don’t
need
to do anything,” I snapped back, angry at his audacity. “Where do you get off coming here and demanding I quit my job?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t it?” I didn’t understand what this was about or why it even mattered to him if I stuck around at All Saints or not. There had to be more to this. Something or
someone
else behind it. “Is this about Nikki?”

“Nikki?” His tone matched the confusion in his eyes.

“Because you’re back together?”

“I’m not back together with Nikki,” he said wryly.

Something akin to relief coursed through my body just then, surprising me by its presence.

Why did I even care if he was with Nikki or not? Did I dislike
her
so much that it gave me joy knowing she didn’t have him? It had to be that, I decided, because I wasn’t ready to entertain the alternatives.

“So if this isn’t about Nikki, why are you pushing me to quit?” I asked, still trying to make sense out of this.

He shrugged lazily. “I just figured you would, now that you know the truth.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He arched his brow at me—a silent jab. “You didn’t think it was a coincidence that we ended up going to the same school and working at the same job, did you?”

“What are you saying?”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“No, you jerk, but you
could
stop talking in riddles.”

He lifted off the desk and took a couple of steps towards me. “I’m saying that it was a setup,” he said huskily, closing the distance between us. “To get us together—”

“Together?”

“—But since we all know that’s not going to happen,” he continued, his eyes flicking down to my parted lips. “There’s really no need for you to be working there anymore, is there?”

My heart was pounding hard against my rib cage, though I had no idea why. There was something about the way he looked down at my mouth that made my pulse go mad.

I took a step back as I tried to get my wits together. There were too many emotions surging, too many questions.

“I don’t understand. Why would they want to” —I paused, wetting my lips— “get us together?”

“Use your imagination,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

When my cheeks flushed red, he narrowed his eyes and shook his head as though he knew where my mind had gone.

“They were trying to manipulate the situation to get to me, so that I’d cave and resume my duties as a Keeper.”

“Using me as the bait?”

“Something like that.”

I choked out a laugh. Hopefully they had a backup plan.

“So when you say ‘resume your duties’, does that mean you’re not working for the Order anymore?” I asked, trying to digest this new piece of information. At least this would explain why he had been refusing to train with me. “Can you even do that—
quit
?”

“I guess you could say I excommunicated myself.”

My eyes widened. “Why?”

A pained expression crossed his face but he buried it just as quick as it appeared. “The ‘why’ is complicated.”

“When did this happen?” I pushed, hungry to know more.

“Three months ago, right after my sister—” He stopped short as though he couldn’t bear to say the words out loud.

A heaviness washed over me. “Was she the reason you quit?”

“No, but it made leaving easier. Look, I didn’t come here to talk about Linley—” His marshaled expression cracked at the mere mention of her name. He squared his shoulders as though digging deep for strength.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching out to console him.

The urge to comfort him was curiously overwhelming, but he stepped away from me before I could touch him, taking a seat on the edge of my bed instead. He was drawing a clear line in the sand and every inch of my body was painfully aware of it.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he said in a tone that made me believe it was anything but. “Forget it.”

There was something about the way he reflected back to me that chipped away at my protective wall. It was like looking into a mirror and seeing the person I was when I’d first lost my father. Closed off, harrowed, unwilling to let myself feel the pain. In a lot of ways, I was still that person.

“It’s hard for me too, you know.”

“What is?”

“Talking about him…my dad.”

He didn’t answer.

Neither one of us filled the silence, the room suddenly heavy from the strain of our combined loss. I wished I could know what he was thinking; what was going on behind that thick, impenetrable facade of his. Did he think I couldn’t understand his pain—his grief—because my sister was alive and well? Or did he not trust me enough to confide in me? 

“She would have been twenty next month,” he said after a long pause. His eyes were painted in sadness, shades of despair so agonizing that it hurt just to look into them. “I still pick up the phone to call her sometimes, like she’s still here.”

I stepped towards him but stopped, weary of the line.

“How screwed up is that?” He looked up at me expectantly, his voice full of vulnerability. This was a different side of him, a side I’d never seen. It seemed completely incongruent with the hard exterior I had grown accustomed to.

“It’s not screwed up...it happens to me, too.”

“You’re just saying that.” Disbelief stained his tone, though there was something else hiding in there, something that sounded a lot like
hope
.

“It’s the truth,” I insisted, watching his expression soften. “Like right before I open my eyes in the morning, my dad is still alive, and I swear everything is right in the world.”

His eyes stayed on me as I moved to take the seat beside him. I could almost feel the grief radiating off of him. Or maybe it was my own grief, I wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

“But then I wake up and remember that he’s gone and he isn’t coming back, and all the pain and guilt comes rushing back to me.”

I could tell he knew what that felt like by the way he lowered his head, and in some strange way, it made me feel connected to him. Less alone.

“Most of the time I feel like I’m just waiting. Waiting for him to come home, waiting for it to stop hurting, waiting for it to be okay to live without him again, but it’s like it never happens.” I pressed my lips together and dropped my eyes, feeling overexposed. “Sorry, I’m totally rambling and I’m not even helping.”

“I like when you ramble.”

My head popped back up, surprised by the softness in his words. He seemed distracted and unaware of the comment.

“What if it doesn’t happen?” he asked without meeting my eyes. His body was facing forward, concentrated on some unknown marker. “What if it never stops hurting?”

“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I try not to let myself think that way. I have to believe it’ll get better.”

“And if it doesn’t? Do you think you could live with the pain for the rest of your life?”

“I guess I would have to.”

“What if you had another choice? What if you could change the past?” His voice was low, controlled. “Would you do it?”