Page 5 of Illusory

His shoulders relaxed a little, but he certainly didn’t look any less angry about any of it.

Not that I expected any different from him. Trace had never minced words about how much he loathed Revenants, mostly because of what had happened to his sister Linley, but also because of how he’d been raised. Because of what the Order had ingrained in him since before he could even walk and talk.

Becoming a Revenant was probably the worst fate I could’ve cursed him with. But what the hell else could I have done? Sat there and watched him wither away and die? Thethought alone was preposterous. I couldn’t do that, no matter how selfish I came out looking. I’d already had to watch the life get snuffed out of his eyes once before and I’d be damned if I’d ever willingly live through that again.

I swallowed past the thickness in my throat and held his gaze. “If you need to hate someone, hateme. I’m the one that did this.”

His jawline hardened as he looked away again. It was as though he couldn’t even stand to look at me anymore, and honestly, I didn’t even blame him.

I could only imagine the fifty shades of fucked up I would feel if I had woken up from a strange time lapse only to find out that the person I loved and trusted most had turned me into the thing I hated most.

Without my consent.

“Are…are you…okay?” I asked tentatively, unsure of what to say or do next. I mean, of course, he wasn’t okay. My idiotic future-self had turned him into a goddamn vampire. Lord knew if he’d ever beokayagain.

“I don’t know what I am,” he answered, his voice hoarse and distant and broken.

The urge to care for him, to nurse him back to health came hurdling back to me like an old habit that wouldn’t die. “How does your head feel? Any pain or migraines? Are you hungry? I can get you some…?” I trailed off upon noticing the poignant look of annoyance on his face. What I needed to do was stop talking and give him some space to breathe. Of course, my mouth didn’t seem to get the message. “I’m so sorry, Trace. Tell me what I can do to make this—”

“I need to get some air,” he said curtly and started to back out of the room like he was suddenly allergic to me and my onslaught of misplaced questions. “I can’t be here right now.”

My stomach twisted at the look of revulsion in his eyes; atthe realization that he did in fact hate me and that things were definitely never going to be the same between us again.

“I’m afraid that’s not a good idea,” objected Gabriel, quickly stepping forward before Trace could leave the room. “It’s probably best if you remain indoors until you learn how to control the bloodlust. In fact, I’ll have to insist on it.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” growled Trace, looking him up and down like he’d suddenly sprung a third leg. “I’m controlling myself now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but that’s because you’ve only just fed,” explained Gabriel, his moss-green eyes flicking to me as though I were exhibit A. “You’ll need to be able to control the thirstat all times—especially during times of hunger or when you’re in the presence of new blood. It’s easier for Descendants to do, but it isn’t an automatic ability. You’ll have to work at it.”

The fury and utter abhorrence whirling through Trace’s eyes was almost tangible. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought a hurricane was getting ready to blast out of his glorious eyeballs and take the whole lot of us out, once and for all.

“For once, my brother is right,” agreed Dominic as he casually swirled the liquid around his glass, watching it as though it were far more interesting than what was going on in the room. “You’re not cut out to live with the aftermath of innocent blood on your hands.”

Trace glared over at Dominic, looking at him as though he were debating the different ways he’d like to make him die, and then seemingly let the thought go, probably because he knew that what Dominic had said was true. He wasn’t built for murder and innocent bloodshed. Not the way Dominic was.

Trace turned back to Gabriel. “Alright.Fine. How do I do that?” he said, grinding out every word as if his jaw had been suddenly fused together. “How do I learn to control this shit?”

“The same way we become immune to anything—with practice and time. By exposing ourselves to it repeatedly and training ourselves not to react on instinct.” Gabriel glanced back at me and nodded. “I’m sure Jemma can provide some of her blood and I’ll work with you to—”

“I’m not drinkingherblood!” snapped Trace, the hurricane back with a vengeance. Along with his dilating pupils.

I tried not to feel offended by the venom behind his words, but my skin was feeling unmistakably thin as of late. Still, I refused to get sidetracked by my own hurt feelings. This wasn’t about me. “Trace,please. Let me help you. It’s the least I can do. This is all my—”

“Don’t,” he warned, cutting me off again, his head angled away from me, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore. “I need you to…just…stop talking.”

My stomach fell out of my body at his painful demand, at the sheer sting of his words, but I refused to let it show and did my best to school my features instead. This wasn’t about my feelings. It was about him and the wholly fucked up thing that had just happened to him and I needed to remember that despite my own breaking heart. I pressed my lips together and nodded, working hard to hide the hurt from my face.

When he was satisfied that I wasn’t going to say anything else, his hard gaze darted back to Gabriel. “Notherblood. You understand? Not. Her. Blood. Just…just keep her away from me.”

Oh, holy painful death by way of biting words.

I wasn’t even sure whether I was still breathing anymore, but my expression remained steeled, nonetheless.

“Okay. That’s not a problem,” agreed Gabriel, holding his palms out to keep him calm. “We don’t have to use her blood. We…we’ll figure something else out.”

“Good. Let’s do that.”

Gabriel nodded. “Of course.”

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