Page 29 of Wicked Dove
I didn't do anything, but something tells me I clearly did whatever it was that happened. I don't think I like it. I lift my head and look at my open palms, trying to find any difference about them. Not even the poor lighting reveals anything; they look just the same as they always do.
Self-doubt churns inside me as I worry over what it is I’ve done and am now apparently capable of. On top of all of that, what even is this entire world that I find myself in? It's too much, and I think I'm a little bit scared.
The second that word flickers through my mind, my thoughts immediately go to Walker. He's been my safety net for years. Every time I’d find myself drowning, I made my way back to him. Until now.
It’s a hard pill to swallow. He’s the reason I get myself out of situations every time, like the last time I found myself locked in a closet like this. The memory threatens to play out on the back of my eyelids, holding me captive as I mentally torment myself.
It was in high school. Not because any other kids dared come near me, but because a teacher chose to explore his intrigue with me. When I didn't like his advances, I promised to slander his name and he locked me in a supply closet just like this.
This feels different than that, but dark spaces, however big or small, have never been my thing—another layer of my trauma, thanks to my father. I shake my head, trying to forget the memory, but it’s impossible. The door was locked when Mr. Preston did it too. Only, I had a best friend on the other side, hell-bent on finding me when they realized I was nowhere to be found.
My chest tightens when I recall the next day. Free from my makeshift prison, I was ready to wreak havoc on Mr. Preston, but it pretty much ended in me dropping out of school, because who believes a nobody from the trailer park?
Defeated, all I want in the whole entire world is for my friend, my lifeline, to come through that door and save me once again. The reality of that feels slimmer than ever, but it's Walker, and I have to hope. If he doesn't come to me, I'll find my way to him.
With my mind made up, I take a deep breath, fueling myself with my newfound determination.
From my seat on the floor, I knock against the door once more. I don’t bother calling Kael’s name. He’s probably on the other side, enjoying himself at my expense. I huff at the thought as I shake my hand, trying to ease the ache building in my knuckles.
The moment it becomes bearable again, I lift my hand, ready to go, when the door opens. My breath rushes out of my lungs, catching in my throat and leaving me breathless.
In the dim light, my vision is weakened, but I know that height and the broad set of those shoulders. I tremble to my feet. “Walker?” I breathe, delusional and wrecked with hope, but as I come face to face with my rescuer, raking my eyes over him from head to toe, I realize my mistake.
My eyes dart to the man's neck first, where claw marks slash across his flesh, leaving it raised and puckered. His brown hair is longer than Walker’s, messy and scattered, but it’s his hazel eyes that capture mine, a vortex into another world. As I gape at him, he assesses me.
“You know this is a broom closet, right?” he says, and I roll my eyes, folding my arms across my chest as I give him a pointed look.
“I didn't choose to be in here,” I clarify, trying to see a way past him while also painfully aware of the fact that he fills the entire frame. Taking a step toward him, I nod. “Can I get past?”
It's as if he doesn't recognize the words leaving my mouth or acknowledge the question in them at all as he cocks his head and furrows his brows.
“Why don't I recognize you?”
I sigh. “Because I'm not supposed to be here.”
He huffs a slight snicker as he muses at me. “Everyone is at Thirteen for a reason. What's your name?” he asks, and I shake my head.
The tightness in my chest grows worse the longer I stand here feeling like a captive. Steeling my spine, I take a deep breath. “Let me through,” I demand, and he purses his lips.
“Tell me your name,” he repeats, the challenge clear in his eyes.
It’s overwhelming, and I know I need to concede if I plan on getting out of here anytime soon.
“Elodie,” I grunt, refusing to ask for his because that would insinuate that I care or even need it.
“Elodie, what?” he pushes as he steps toward me.
Another sigh falls from my lips. “Blackwood. Elodie Blackwood. Now, can I get past?” I snap, but again, my question goes unheard.
“What brought you here?”
“You asked for my name, that’s all. Now, let. Me. Through.” The panic is noticeable in my tone as I aim a finger in his direction, considering whether to give him a piece of my mind or shove him out of the way, when another figure looms over his shoulder.
“I wouldn't let her touch you with those,” Kael grunts, pointing at my hands, reminding me of what I'm capable of.
Rage ripples through my limbs, and before I can think twice about it, I slam my hands against the new guy's chest, desperate enough to force him to his knees so I can run past him. But to my dismay, he doesn't even stumble back a step. All he does is frown.
Frozen in place, I glance at Kael, who looks as confused as I feel, and I slowly retract my hands. Clenching my hands into fists at my sides, I glare at the vampire in question. “Let me out or we’re going to find out if it's just you my magic works on,” I warn.
