Vendetta (20 page)

"Whoa," I say, recoiling, he
art beating heavy in my ears.

"Sorry. Just letting off some steam." He shakes his hands, releasing the tension in his fists.

"I don't have any problem killing
you
, Carter," Seth says, an icy edge to his tone.

"You'd have to get through me, first," I warn,
wiping the sheen of sweat off my cheek with the back of my hand.

Carter smiles, lifting an eyebrow. "Good luck with that."

T
WENTY-FOUR

Seth strips off the focus mitts and tosses them to the floor. I remove a glass from the cupboard, set it on t
he counter, then pull open the freezer door. I close my eyes, feeling the arctic air cool my body. Seth reaches around me and grabs the tray of ice cubes. I pull at my sports bra and yoga pants. They're stuck to my damp skin.

"Water?" Seth asks.

"Please."

He works around me, pulling a bottled water from the refrigerator, uncapping it, and pouring it into the glass. I shut the freezer door.

"That wasn't half bad," he says, passing the glass to me. I take a swig, lungs burning, waiting for my breaths to retu
rn to normal.

"I know. You're improving."

Behind us, Joshua and Mara are on the couch. Mara is reading. Joshua is watching TV, flicking from channel to channel.

"Ouch. I could always call Carter back over. You could spar with him, you know, if he present
s more of a challenge."

A subtle swipe, less of a blow and more of an acknowledgement that he's noticed something in the last few weeks. Carter spending more time around the pool house. Training. Being with me.

I take another hard swallow. "
It’s not like that," I tell him. "He's not himself. Ever since Selena. . . ." A loud exhale.

"Look, if you want to hang out with Carter . . . ," he teases.

But I'm in no mood to joke around. Not about Carter. Or Selena. Or anything. "I don't. I mean, I d
o, but not like you're saying." My voice lifts instinctively, defensive. "It's not like that. You
know
that."

"I'm just saying that if you ever find yourself wanting to go back to him, I won't hold it against you."

Joshua continues changing channels. Flick
. Flick. Flick. The screen flashes.

My eyes narrow. "Do you even
listen
to yourself? Do you even hear what you say, sometimes?" I shout. Across the room I feel Mara and Joshua. They've stopped, listening, but I don't care. "It's like you don't believe me,"
I go on. "You don't
want
to believe me. I don't want Carter, but I'm not going to get on my hands and knees and beg you to stay around if you'd rather me be with him."

"Genesis, that's not what I meant," he replies, eyes weighted with regret. 

I open my
mouth, ready to ask him what, exactly, he meant and why it always keeps coming to this when words, spoken from across the room, capture my attention.

"Police are searching for a local boy tonight . . ." 

They echo, whispered directly into my ear. My eyes
find the TV just as Joshua lifts the remote, preparing to change the channel.

Something deep inside—some kind of primal instinct—moves me to speak. "Don't," I growl, low under my breath. The word barely makes it past my lips, but it's enough. Three heads
swing in my direction. Seth. Mara. Joshua.

My eyes fix on the anchorwoman. Unflinching. Listening.

No.

My body goes rigid, a shiver rippling across my skin.

No.

With each new piece of information my heart inches further to my throat.

"Genesis?" Mara call
s, not understanding.

I close my eyes and see the chubby face. The sandy blonde hair. Those eyes. I see them in my head like it was yesterday.

"Are you an angel?"

His tiny voice sings, reverberating, screaming at me.

I cover my ears, trying to rid them o
f the sound.

No. No. No. No.

But something inside already knows.

The muscles in my stomach tighten in a spike of panic, legs unsteady under my own weight, and when my eyes open the most recent photo of the young boy gone missing flashes across the screen
.

I swing my fist, sending the glass of water sailing across the kitchen. It hits a cabinet, shattering on contact, exploding.

And Seth is there, wrapping his arms around me.

"No!" I scream, voice raw. "No!" I thrash against him, kicking my legs as he dra
gs me out of the room, away from the splintered glass. I find my footing and spin around, hammering my elbow against his broad chest.

"I have to—I have to go! You have to let me go!" I beg. "I have to
help him
!" The words, severing my throat, come out as s
hrieks, more animal than human.

Seth holds me tighter, crushing me. "Genesis, stop. Stop it!"

"Let me
go!
" I demand, teeth clenched.

"Genesis!"

"I have to help him! You're not
letting me!
"
I pound furiously, a sobering awareness seeping through my veins. He grabs my hands, clasping them between his. I struggle to wrench free.

"He said I was his angel! His
angel!
"

His voice lowers. "Genesis."

I stop fighting against him and study our hands
locked together, chest heaving, feeling the string of tears gathering along my lashes. His eyes fix on mine and he blurs, disappearing with them. I gasp, grappling for air. "It's too late, isn't it?"

Nothing.

It's her. She's doing it on purpose. Undoing i
t. The little boy. And Selena. She's undoing everything I've done.
All
of it.

"It's all my fault," I whisper, the words etched with a lingering pain.

Seth's face pinches. His hand relaxes, releasing me. He wipes the tears from beneath my eyes with his thum
bs, swallowing hard. "It's not your fault," he assures me. "It's not. . . ."

I inhale, lungs shuddering.

How could I ever think I would get away with this? That I could win?

He tries to draw me closer, but I shrink back, pulling away, leaving him.

*
             
*
             
*

I refuse to get out of bed the following morning. And the next. By day three Mara is hovering over me, desperate to get me moving again. I haven't the gall to tell her I quit. That I quit it all. Training. Fighting. And so I ignore her. In the afternoons
I can hear Carter in the other room, working with her. He enters my bedroom a few times, tempting me with the pool. Trips to the beach. A night out. I hide beneath the comforter, pretending to sleep. Seth brings me breakfast, lunch, dinner. I don't touch i
t. I don't want to see it or smell it. I send it back uneaten.

I just want them to leave me alone.

When sleep finally comes there are nightmares. New. Old. I'm always searching for something. Chasing something. Running from something. Fighting something. I
wake up sweating and out of breath, unable to fall back asleep for hours. 

On that third night a scream pierces the dark, filling my ears, reverberating in the shadows. I thrash against an invisible force pushing against me.

"Genesis!"

The screaming in
tensifies, growing louder.

Someone is calling, yelling my name. I struggle against him, legs tangling, arms cemented in place.   

"Genesis! Wake up!"

It's me. The screams are mine. My eyes fly open and Seth is on top of me, holding me by the wrists, pinn
ing me down.

"Wake up!" he demands, dark hair falling into his eyes.

I gasp, and my lungs spasm, desperate for air. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and my pillow is damp with sweat, the room on fire.

The moonlight
falls across Seth's face. His eyes are wide, face haunted.  

My body shakes as he lets go. Shivering. My head feels light, the room swirling around me as I pull myself upright. I work to steady my breathing, but no matter how hard I try, I still feel like
I'm drowning. Suffocating. I bury my face in my hands, a wave of panic washing over me.

"I . . . I saw. . . ." But I can't find the words. They won't come.

"Deep breaths, Genesis," Seth urges.

I
suck
in a lungful of air, then blow it out.

"Another one."
He leans across me, sliding open the nightstand drawer. He fishes around in the darkness, then pulls out my inhaler.

"I don't want this," I tell him, tears spilling over the edges. "I can't do this. I can't. I don't want the nightmares. I don't want the vi
sions. I want her to leave me alone."

He slips his arms around my shoulders, hushing me, whispering. "I know. We'll figure something out. You won't have to do this anymore, I promise."

I press myself against his warm body, letting him hold me.

"I saw it,
" I finally confess. "I know what happens. How it ends."

"What?" He pulls away from me, eyes searching mine. "What did you see?"

"A battle. Angels. Demons. Angels against angels and demons against demons. People were . . . dying."

"Was it a dream or a visi
on?" he asks, traces of panic clouding his eyes.

If it's a dream, then it could be nothing. An overactive imagination. My innermost fears playing with my subconscious. If it's not, all Hell is going to break loose. 

I squeeze my eyes shut. "I don't know.
I can't tell the difference anymore."

*
             
*
             
*

"You
have
to speak to them, Mara." Seth's voice carries into my bedroom, urgent, desperate. The door is cracked, a sliver of light slipping through. "You've seen her. She can't keep doing this."

"They won't all
ow it." Mara's voice is quieter, more determined, but I know they're talking about the Council. Me.

"She's of no use to them like this. There's too much interference from Viola. She's not predicting anything. It's as if she's only seeing what Viola
wants
her to see, and if something's coming. . . ."

I listen to them, eyes trained on that perfect white rose muted in darkness, still in its vase on the dresser. The one constant through all of this. The only thing left unchanged.

"Exactly. There's no way to kn
ow what her latest vision was about. The battles foretold are against angels and
demons
."

"Maybe this wasn't foretold."

"You expect me to believe this fight has us pitted against ourselves? How would a revolution of this magnitude play out without the Coun
cil knowing? It's impossible, Seth. Guardians, Powers . . . we're not capable of rebellion."

"At one time, yes, we were."

I know he's speaking of the fallen. The demons. The angels cast out of Heaven.

"Even if there was a faction willing to rise up and ac
t against us, how would they not be stopped immediately? The Council . . ."

"The Council is not omniscient," Seth breaks in. "There's only One with that power. The Council is no better than you or me. They're self-appointed, self-indulgent.
And I'm not convinced they know what's best for us."

"When did this happen?" she whispers, accusing. "This defiance? This attitude toward the Council?"

"When it didn't matter anymore."

"You won't get away with this."

"My only concern is sleeping in that r
oom right now dreaming about God knows what because of me. I'm
begging
you, Mara. Please. Talk to the Council. If they can step in and eliminate Viola. . . ." He trails off, and a heavy quiet settles between them.

"Fine," Mara relents. "I'll go to them. I'
ll tell them what's happened. That things have changed. Viola
is
out of control," she agrees. "We're still unaware of her motives. . . . If we can get Genesis back to where she's able to predict . . ."

"No," Seth says, interrupting. "She's done."