Her skin was already cold when I touched a hand to her forehead. Closed her eyes. “Bye, Audra. ”
All my talk of power. I had no power. These were vampires. How could I ever kill them? Forget power.
And forget Alcántara, too. Al was small-time. Some greater force was at work.
But then I saw it. Sonja’s dagger. The misericordia. It gleamed, wiped clean and placed adoringly on its velvet-cushioned platter.
Who was Sonja? What did this all mean? I’d thought she was my heroine, but—oh God—she wasn’t my Wonder Woman at all. She was at the root of all this. Ruling with an iron fist.
I’d thought much about the nature of strength. Of power. Standing there, utterly disempowered, I realized: Such things didn’t exist in a vacuum. Strength was meaningless without something against which it could be measured. There was a yin to every yang. Power wasn’t power until it was tested. Which meant, if there were such creatures as these fighting for dominance, then who were they fighting against? If there was a force this evil, surely somewhere there existed a good just as formidable threatening it.
I was tired of being strong. But I had no choice. I’d be strong a little longer. For Emma. I wouldn’t give these vampires power. I’d take it. And it would start here.
I stared at the misericordia. If it could make vampires, then maybe it could destroy them, too.
I didn’t pause. I took it.
And then I ran. The smoke had cleared, and with it, my thoughts. My instincts burst alive with renewed intensity. My body was an explosion of muscle and adrenaline. I raced back down the stairs, arms pumping, until I reached the tunnel; then I bounded down passages, guided only by my gut. I was heedless of danger. Heedless of anything but the need to flee. I’d have clawed all the way out of my skin if I could.
I tore off the robe as I ran. Ignoring my injuries, ignoring the elements, the cold and the wind and the darkness, ignoring the very real possibility that I was about to hurtle toward certain death, I leapt from the sea gate and plunged into the waves below.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Waves dark as midnight sucked at my legs. The freezing water churned, brutal slaps at the back of my head. Caught in the breakers, I couldn’t get my bearings. The surf wasn’t so very deep, but it was violent, tearing my feet out from under me, slamming my face into the rocky sand, holding me down. Waves rolled over me. I couldn’t tell up from down. Churning, churning, I stole a breath, then was sucked back under, pounded some more.
Survive. I had to survive. I gripped that blade harder, my hand frozen into a claw clutching the misericordia like a lifeline.
Rolling in the breakers, I turned the last of my energy inward. My own fear would kill me, not these waves. I imagined my panic was a balloon…and then I let it go. I could swim. I would swim.
I went limp, let my body spin underwater, trying to sense the angle of the riptide. Rocks punched my ribs. Caught my ankle. My knee slammed hard onto rocky sand. Feeling the bottom beneath my feet, my reaction was instinctive, instant. I jackknifed, kicking up out of the water, bursting as high over the waves as I could, diving sideways. My arms windmilled. I managed to begin a crawl stroke across the riptide.
I made it to shore. Lumbered up the beach. I had to get out of there. Far from the castle.
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down.
Hysteria would kill me. I lengthened my stride, slowing down. I slowed and deepened my breaths.
The knife. I had to protect the knife. I stopped, unzipped my wetsuit enough to slide the dagger in, nestled along my rib cage. Trembling, it took me forever to manage that simple task.
I was alive, though. Maybe Emma was, too.
But Sonja…she was immense power. Pure evil.
I had her blade. Would she sense it missing? I had to hide it. Had to act normal. I sucked in a deep breath, held it, blew it out slowly through my teeth.
I’d return to the dorm. Tomorrow, I’d make a fuss about Frost’s absence. I’d feign shock, surprise.
In the past hours, my world had tilted sharply. Everything I’d thought I understood about the island was wrong. Emma—I had to believe she was alive. Josh couldn’t be trusted. And Alcántara, what of him? Was he friend? Foe?
I’d felt so alone, but was that true? There was always Ronan. Would I see him soon?
My dorm came into view, a hulking shadow in the darkness. A single bulb was lit in the foyer. It was enough to illuminate the person waiting for me.
I wasn’t alone. It was Ronan, sitting on the front stoop.
“Ronan,” I exclaimed, so unutterably relieved. I took the stairs two at a time, ready to throw myself into his arms.
But then he stood, hands held stiffly behind him. He looked nervous. “Acari Drew,” he said formally.