Page 58 of Xantera
Shhh,I scold him. The last thing I need right now is to be distracted by how his voice seems to be coming straight from my core.
Too soon, Malcolm and I are in that courtyard before the double doors, herded into positions by the sentries forming a blockade around us. I look down at the rows of people, packed as tightly as crops ripe for picking. Twelve inches apart, shoulder to shoulder, line by line, we stand and wait for the Guardians to come out.
And wait.
And wait.
The ridiculousness of this settles into the marrow of my bones. At how accepting we are. How utterly used I feel. Why I never realized this before.
A few of my neighbors glance up at the sky, their foreheads furrowed in confusion, and I realize that it’s a little too quiet tonight. The air is stagnant, almost like it’s missing the very thing that produces the wind. During every other Choosing I’ve been to, the Monster has made his fury loud and clear, but tonight, the blood-red ink stain spilling in a halo around the moon is unmarred by any sound that usually fractures the sky right around now.
You’re too quiet, I tell Lucan.Howl so the Guardians don’t get suspicious.
Look who’s bossy now.His voice rumbles between my legs, making me tense with a shudder, but he obliges.
The next second, it’s his real voice that splits my eardrums, swooping over the courtyard in wave after wave until my neighbors look back down. The echo inside my head is like the inside of a drum, and I shove down the insane urge to cover my ears and experience it inside myself. Beside me, Malcolm straightens his shoulders, facing straight ahead, and I hear the creak of the doors as they open.
Like always, I can sense rather than see them, as if they’re wisps on the breeze that suddenly blows through everyone. The slight stirring in the crowd alerts me to their presence, and Lucan falls silent again as he listens to me concentrate on not moving a muscle—though his fury leaks through me anyway, even more potent than his howls indicate.
Relax,I tell him.I’ve only ever even seen two of them before. I probably won’t even—
The people around me tense. Okay, never mind. Malcolm inhales through his nose, and one of the Guardians prowls into view like a flash of brightest skeleton-white among all the black cloaks.
My stomach bottoms out as I catch sight of him again: the Third Guardian, the one with golden, wavy hair, bone-white skin, and crimson eyes. He weaves slowly through his options, eyeing the colors of the badges around him with his hands clasped casually behind his back.
What are the odds that I see him twice in a row? Surely, I didn’t accidentally fall into the same exact place I stood last time? In all my times sneaking through the catacombs, I’ve watched a few other vampires slink past without noticing me hiding in the shadows, but I haven’t seen the Third one down there at all.
Don’t look him in the eye,I remind myself.This will all be over in a couple more minutes.
If one of them fucking touches you…Lucan rumbles.
I can almost see the future five seconds from now. The Third will approach me like he is now, that small purring sound growing louder in his throat the closer he gets. He’ll pass me by with a quick glance at my scarlet badge. His eyes will shift to the person behind me, and he’ll move on to find his Chosen One.
But the Third Guardian doesn’t pass me by.
When he approaches me, he slows, his eyes on my badge—
And then he halts in his tracks and looksup. Right into my eyes.
“Hmmmm.”
His voice nauseates me, and I try to swallow the sudden acid in my throat. Lucan himself stays silent, but I feel his energy—burning hot with loathing as he realizes who I’m staring at. A savage possessiveness slams into me, so hard and fast that I almost double over. The hatred almost spews from my mouth like they’re my own thoughts.
Back the fuck off. She’s mine.
But of course, the Third Guardian doesn’t hear Lucan’s snarling words. He merely tilts his head as he analyzes me, his lips pulling up in a smile to display his fangs.
“Yes, I think you’ll do nicely,” he tells me.
NO!
Whether it’s me screaming in my own head or Lucan, I have no clue.
I don’t even have enough breath left to gasp as the Guardian’s hand—as cold as ice—places itself on the small of my back and gives me a small push.
I stumble forward, and all I can think through the sudden crescendo of frenzied howling that explodes through the air is thatI have to hold my chin high.I won’t be walking into my potential grave like a trembling coward.
I’ll kill him, Saskia.Lucan’s voice drags down my spine like claws, as if he’s desperate to hook himself into me, ground me, keep me. But I can’t do anything except put one foot in front of the other.Eventually,he adds, tone grating.Eventually, I’ll rip out his fucking throat. I promise you.
