Page 120 of Devoured

“P-pardon?” The word leaves me on a mangled breath.

“New. Courtiers.” She slides a hand through her hair, already turning. Already walking to that door and leaving Evander and me in the sand. “I’m tired of the downtrodden; I want fresh blood. Consider it a present for your future mother-in-law. Retrieve me the best prospects you can find, Vanessa. I want them sweet. Like you, I suppose, or that friend of yours who died. What was her name again? Celine?”

A growl rumbles through me, but I contain it—trap it in a prison of my own flesh and bone. “Celeste. Her name was Celeste.”

Cora hums her delight, though she stiffens. Claws lengthen from her fingertips. “Yes. Celeste. What a delightful addition she would have been—had my son and nephew not slaughtered her. You know who bit her, don’t you? He’s here. He lives and breathes and sleeps only a floor above yours. One of my original pack members.”

I hold my breath. I don’t speak. My rage begs to free itself, slamming against my bones again and again and again, but I ignore it. I have to ignore it. “I don’t know.”

“It was Luca,” she says. “Luca bit your little friend because he was bored. She died because he found her outside a party, and he thought she was cute, and he assumed he could make her life better. Unfortunate, isn’t it, that he’s the reason you’re here… and the reason she’s dead?”

Relief and anger war inside me. At least it wasn’t Sin or Calix. It was Luca. Luca. I hadn’t known. Not about the party—not about any of this. I swallow my emotions and nod once. I try to control my voice when I respond in order to placate her. “Th-thank you. For letting me know.”

She stares at me. Silence stretches as my knees threaten to buckle, as the world spins in a vicious rotation around me. Celeste is dead, and it’s Cora’s fault. It’s Luca’s fault. But none of that matters in this moment. I can’t save her now. I can’t bring her back. All I can do is fight to make sure no one innocent ever dies again.

Cora snarls at my reaction as if my calm has only enraged her further. She grips the handle of the door. It splinters in her grasp. “The police station, or the high school.”

At first, I don’t hear her. Fear roars in my ears. My vision darkens at the edges. But—“What?” I ask slowly. “What did you just say?”

“You may hunt for new victims at the police station or your old high school.” She pulls the half-broken handle. “Did you really think your precious city would survive my reign, Vanessa? No, no, no. It is time we turn the rest of the mortals. I do not need the other courts to join me. I’ll simply amass an army to conquer them all.

“Now, I’m granting you this choice out of kindness, darling, and I hope you remember that when you fetch me more mortals. You will bite them yourself. Be it your father or your friends, I will fill my court again. With stronger warriors this time. No matter how much I have to break them first.” Her gaze slides to Evander before she opens the door. “Am I understood?”

“Absolutely,” Evander says.

All the while I stand frozen in the sand, terrified, hearing her condemnation repeat over and over in my ears.

“Your father or your friends.”

40

VANESSA

I DON’T SPEAK AS EVANDER AND I WALK THROUGH downtown St. Augustine.

He maintains a steady pace at my side, allowing me to weave us left and right, taking sharp turn after sharp turn, until we begin to circle the edge of the city. He makes no move to stop me or pull me in a different direction. He doesn’t note when we pass the same bakery twice or hear the same Chihuahua barking on the same stoop. Whistling a jaunty tune, he strolls evenly along the sidewalks, peering into various windows as we pass them.

He looks like a tourist.

Maybe it’s how his gaze widens when he spots an ice cream truck careening through a red light, its whimsical melody slashing through the city’s quiet roar. Maybe it’s the way his polished black shoes feel so at odds with the bright Florida sunshine. Something about him doesn’t belong here.

Then again, I don’t belong here either. Not anymore.

Cars roar past us, honking at one another while they battle the usual afternoon mess of traffic, and store doors jingle to greet each new customer. I watch as two girls duck under the pink-and-green-striped awning of Lou’s Coffee & Bakery, giggling over something on their phones, their cheeks red and their lips glossy. Fresh curls cascade down the backs of their sundresses, where matching raincoats have been tied high on their waists. Their gazes lock, and they burst into another fit of laughter as they head inside. A mundane scent—cinnamon body spray and clean soap—wafts toward us in their wake. They look and smell and sound so… so human.

They don’t check over their shoulders in fear. They don’t worry about werewolves springing from the nearest tree to rip them to shreds. They don’t worry about death being around the next corner or the next or the next.

I was like that once.

I was born here, but darkness has carved me up for the last six months. I was born here, but this is no longer my home. A chill racks my spine as I realize I’m no better than a tourist myself.

“Do you know them?” Evander asks, finally ceding his pace when his gaze follows mine. His head tilts curiously, his golden eyes glimmering with sudden mischief. “Shall we say hello to those girls?”

No. No, I don’t know them, but—somewhere out here, my friends from volleyball are in the gymnasium. Brooklyn Davies, the boy Celeste was in love with before she died, is probably walking home. Somewhere out here, my dad is working, and Celeste’s parents are buying groceries, and time has moved on. People have grieved.

I’ve been left behind.

My voice comes out hoarse. “Those girls are probably twelve.”