Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) (14 page)

“You will freeze to death,” he said from
behind her.

“I know.” Even fire would die outside.

“Is that what you want? Are you so afraid of
death that you would cause your own?”

“Not sure. What’s it like?” She stayed still,
letting the frigid air punish a body that didn’t belong to her.

“My death was unpleasant. Yours does not have
to be.”

“Are you going to kill me gently, Rhyse?” she
asked, chuckling bitterly.

“Is that what you saw?”

“I can’t… I can’t tell you what I saw. It
was…” She didn’t even know
how
to describe the expression on
his face. ‘Pain’ was too mundane a word. ‘Anguish’? Still too weak.
“It wasn’t your death and it wasn’t mine.” But it was
so
many others. And they were all her fault.

How could this be happening? How could
someone know who they were one day and be proven wrong the next?
And then be shown that tomorrow they’ll be someone else, someone
who can kill or be responsible for countless deaths
.

How is that possible?

“For what you did, I offered your life. But
only once, Addison. Are you sure this is how you want to collect on
it?”

“I don’t know what I want.” She took a step
forward.

“If you are determined to leave, perhaps some
nourishment will keep you unfrozen for longer.” Was he joking? If
it was possible for him to smile, would he be? When she turned
around to check, he held a large paper sack out towards her.

“You went grocery shopping?”

“The cupboards are bare.”

And suddenly she was laughing, bent over,
hold-your-stomach hysteria, imagining Rhyse wandering the aisles at
an all-night grocery store, picking out food for her.

“Addison!” He dropped the bag and rushed
forward, probably never having seen anyone laugh before and
thinking this was something he should save her from.

She couldn’t speak because her mind was too
disjointed. It wasn’t that funny. A
little
funny, but not
enough to cause this reaction. If he hadn’t been holding her up,
she would have slumped to the floor.

Except she wasn’t laughing anymore—she was
sobbing. And she couldn’t stop or protect herself or get away.

With gasping breath, she said, “I’m not real.
I’m not human. I was created not born, my mom isn’t really my mom,
my life was never really my life. This isn’t even my body. It’s
someone else’s. Someone dead. And I’m… I’m just keeping it warm.”
It took forever for her lungs to fill because everything was
leaving her, escaping a sinking ship. Empty. Cold. Terrified. “I’m
not real.”

She was lifted by arms that could crush her.
But they didn’t. They cradled her, enveloped her, held her
close.

“You are real,” he said softly. “You have
always been real. All that has changed is your perception of
yourself. In the same way mine did when I turned vampire. You must
learn a different way to be, but you have always been real.” He
shifted her in his arms and slammed the door shut. “I will not
allow you to die, Addison. I will not allow it to happen.”

“Too late,” she whispered as he carried her
away from the cold.

~ ~ ~

Parker, a seer

“Everyone put down whatever you’re working
on,” the head of the Histories Department shouted. “We have a
guest.”

Parker used her finger as a placeholder on
the last name she’d entered into the log. Since the werewolf the
name belonged to had been found dead in an alley well over a week
ago, she figured he wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer.
She
, however, would’ve preferred to wait. Whatever Walter
was shouting about wasn’t going to be good news, because there
was
no good news in the Histories Department. In the
Heights, knowledge was less about power and more about pretending
you forgot what you just read. Life was safer that way.

“Everyone, please,” Walter screamed again as
he bounced at the heels of some guy in a suit.

The suit stopped right in front of her.
“Her.”

“Him,” she said with the same dismissive
tone. “It. Them. All great personal pronouns.”

“She’ll do if she can keep her mouth
shut.”

Said
mouth dropped open so quickly,
Parker may have pulled a muscle in her jaw. “What did you just
say?”

“Parker,” Walter warned. He was taking this
asshole’s side over hers?

“Who
are
you?”

“This is the director of Seer Affairs. Just
over a week from now, he’ll be attending the celebration for the
Treaty of All Races and thought it prudent to bring a historian
along as his date.”

“His date?” As curious as she was to witness
the once-per-century event, she couldn’t put up with this guy for
fifteen minutes. Make that thirty seconds, because that was how
long it had taken him to piss her off. “No.”

“It’s not optional, Parker. It’s an honor.”
He turned to the director. “She’ll be prepared, sir.”

“If she screws this up, it will cause more
than a blemish in her employment file.”

As if she didn’t know that. The amount of
patience and understanding a room full of supers had could probably
fit into her ‘I love history because you weren’t there’ coffee
cup.

“See that she’s dressed appropriately. Her
hair needs to be away from her neck, and she shouldn’t wear any
strong fragrances.”

He looked at her but spoke to Walter, as if
she wasn’t actually in the room, or couldn’t understand English.
Hopefully, he’d pretend she didn’t exist at the celebration,
too.

She bit her tongue, knowing if she said what
was on the tip of it, he might want to stay and argue. The less
time she spent with the arrogant SOB, the healthier it was for
everyone.

“Make sure she understands what her role is
to be,” the director said on his way out the door.

“Why me, Walter?” she asked. She looked down
the table to all the other assistant historians who had envy in
their eyes.

“The other guests will all have
diversions.”

Ugh
. Diversions—the most incredibly
inaccurate job title ever created. “Then maybe he should take a
toy
too.” Even if some toys thought the job perks were worth
the price they paid for them, they knew exactly what a ‘diversion’
was.

“He’s taking you, and I’m done talking about
it. Pick up a nice dress at this place.” He handed her a card. “Do
your hair and look happy to be there.”

“I thought you were done talking about it,”
she grumbled.

“Parker!”

She’d never tire of the way he screamed her
name. “Fine. I’m taking the rest of the day and tomorrow off to go
to”—she read off the card—“‘Tucson’s.’ Should I tell them to bill
you or the department?”

“Get out.”

“Thanks, Walter.” Okay, so maybe it wasn’t
all
bad news in the Histories Department.

While Addison slept, Rhyse entered her mind
and saw enough to get her killed before he was pushed out. But he
saw nothing of her vision. The fear of her new reality had been
obvious before she collapsed, her grief evident in every expression
and phrase. Since then, it showed in her restlessness, in her
intermittent cries and whimpers, in the jerks of her arms as if she
were trying to fight off something in her dreams. When her entire
body began to tremble, he tried to still the shaking by placing his
hands on her. She clung to him for hours, never waking, never
letting go.

The difference between the rude, irreverent
woman he’d met to this broken soul moved Rhyse. She was real. But
she believed what she’d said. She would realize the truth soon
enough.

He fed her when she woke—telling her when to
chew and when to take another bite—before tucking her in again and
letting her sleep. Unfortunately, in doing so, he felt his bond
with her grow. Quickly, with no blood exchange to blame.

That bond made him weak, against her and
for
her. Once he reclaimed his position, he would remove
himself from the situation entirely. With enough time, the
ridiculous emotions would fade and then be forgotten. Someone he
trusted would watch over her and make sure she never used her
power.

But if she
couldn’t
recover, if she
went mad and was left unchecked, she could end the Highworld. One
small woman with the potential to take out hundreds of thousands of
beings, until one of them took her out. If she truly threatened all
supernaturals, Rhyse would do what was necessary. What he
should
do right now.

Soon she would wake again and want to leave.
He would let her go once she had aided him. Returning to his
position and the Council was the only way to control the zone and
the only way to keep her safe. But first, he needed her help to
ferret out who had wielded the silver-encrusted stake.

Very ironic. To keep her safe, he had to put
her in danger. But not until she settled into her new self. He
would guide her into this new life, just as his sire had for him.
Without guidance, fledgling vampires commonly died quickly or went
insane. Rhyse would teach her to live and teach her to kill—the two
things necessary in their world, one begetting the other.

“What time is it?” she asked, stretching her
arms above her head.

“Daytime.”

“More specifically?”

“I do not know. Other than dusk and dawn,
time has little importance to me.”

“Must be nice. How many dusks and dawns have
I slept through?”

“Three.”

“Shit. I’m totally fired.” She closed her
eyes again, groaning. “Doesn’t really matter anymore anyway, does
it?”

“That is something we can discuss later. Once
you are out of bed.”

“I had the most horrible dream—you were
actually being nice to me.”

He grimaced. “Sounds detestable. I am
surprised you did not scream in your sleep. Or perhaps you did and,
sadly, I missed it.”

“You weren’t here the whole time?”

Almost. “I have far better things to do than
stare at a human.”

“I’m not human.”

He nodded in agreement. “Yet you act like
one.”

She looked ashamed, avoiding his gaze. “You
mean I’m weak.”

He stopped himself from saying no—what he’d
meant was that she could laugh and cry and love.

“I have all the weakness of a human and none
of the benefits of being a super. Dang, if things get any better
I’m going to start believing in angels and demons, maybe even
fairies.”

“No one believes in fairies. They are far too
flaky.”

She shot up. “That was a joke. You just made
a joke.”

“Yet you are not laughing. Am I required to
threaten you to make that happen?”

“Ah! There’s another.” She laughed. “Not a
great one, but I appreciate the effort.”

“I suppose this means you feel better.” He
sat on the other side of the bed.

“Like I haven’t gotten out of bed for three
days.”

“Does that mean ‘better’?”

She nodded. “Not sure how much, but at least
I feel well rested. And I’m not bawling like a baby anymore, so
that’s something.”

“You are much stronger than I originally
thought.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, her eyes dimming.
“Did you sleep?”

“I do not require it.”

“Ever?”

“It is enjoyable, though not necessary.”

“Wow. You’re so old.”

“Was that meant as an insult?”

“No.”

“Are you still angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“I would take you home as soon as the sun
sets, but I still need your assistance with something that will
benefit us both.”

“Sure it will.” She looked at the nightstand
and picked up a piece of fruit from the tray he’d brought her. He’d
fed much of it to her earlier, watching it pass her lips, envying a
plant product. “Did I eat this?”

“And more.”

“What is it?”

“It is a Mexican guava.”

“It’s actually from Mexico, isn’t it?”

“The closer to the equator, the less likely
one is to run into other supernaturals.”

“Thanks.” She put it in her mouth. “It’s
really good.”

“I have also hired a servant who can go into
town, if you need anything else.”

“I could use a toothbrush,” she said,
covering her mouth.

“That I have. Because there is no running
water or electricity here yet, she has drawn you a bath. I will
have the utilities taken care of as soon as possible.”

“Did you…drink from her?”

He shook his head. “I had Mexican.”

“That’s so fucking gross.”

“I must have blood to live, and the humans do
not remember it. You saw me feed. Did those women seem
discontented?”

“Just spreading the contentment to as many
people as possible then, aren’t you?” she asked flippantly.

“I do not have to explain my actions to you,
nor do I regret them.” He stood to leave, not wanting to argue,
especially with someone as willing to do so as Addison.

“Wait!” she called, as if she wanted him to
remain with her. “How long has it been since anyone lived
here?”

“Approximately fifty years.”

“It’s in pretty good shape, then. There’s not
even any dust. Vamp or otherwise.”

He grimaced, disgusted. “Is that what you
call our remains? Dust?”

“Gee, I hope you’re not offended, Rhyse.” The
shyness in her eyes was gone, replaced with anger. “Because we also
use it as a verb—dusting, dusted, dusts—”

“Enough. It is terrible regardless of how it
is used. As for the house, a caretaker comes by once or twice a
year. You are fortunate he was here recently or there would be a
lot of…
dust
.”

“Well, I sure as shit
feel
fortunate.
Imagine how much it would suck if my prison cell was subpar.”

“This is not a prison. Believe me, I will
toss you out the moment it becomes possible.”

“Then it’s a holding cell.”