Embrace, Entice, Emblaze (99 page)

there. They called him “John” instead of “James,” and I think, in some ways, he liked that the most.

Issues? Us?

I’d decided to walk to the restaurant. It was near our apart-

ment building and I was early anyway, plus I knew Dad would be

running late.

Not far into the walk, my angelic senses kicked in. I smelled the flowers first, which only ever happened with him, that distinctive bouquet dominated by scents of musk and jasmine, a particularly moreish combination. The taste of crisp, ripe apple came next, and I saw the flashes of power that echoed morning and evening. Even though he wanted me to know he was there, my senses were less

perceptive of him compared to other exiles, the flashes more gentle but still, unnervingly, swaying in favor of evening.

I stopped outside a department store window and stared at

a mannequin wearing a beautiful, strapless, black dress with an intricately laced bodice from which fabric flowed to the floor in a sublime drop, a long slit in one side. The model was emotionless even though it showcased one of the most stunning dresses I’d ever seen. I locked my own reactions down and tried to replicate her numbness while I waited.

I didn’t need to turn to know when he was right behind me. He

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was so close, I could feel his breath on my back, feel the flickering emotion he was sending me, the kind that wrung my insides in

terrible delight. I focused on being like the mannequin.

“Stop it,” I said through gritted teeth.

He moved to stand beside me. The pushing eased and I could

breathe again.

“That would look ravishing on you. Would you like me to buy

it for you? I could even throw in the ravishing if you like,” he said, teasing and not at the same time.

I looked down the street. A moment before, it had been filled

with city- goers, hurrying from buildings, heading out for the night or trying to get home. Now, it was quiet. Apart from a few hesitant passersby, it looked like the area had been evacuated. Even the traffic had lightened considerably and seemed to creep past, as though the engine sounds were somehow muted. I knew it was

Phoenix; I just didn’t know if it was an illusion he was creating in my head, trying to give us some sick kind of privacy, or if he had poured something terrible into the minds of those surrounding us, something so awful that they had fled.

I could see our reflections in the window. He was taller than me, though he often slouched. He always dressed smartly these days.

Today, he was in black pants and a charcoal shirt. He looked both handsome and dangerous, and I couldn’t help staring at his hair in the glass— the way light danced across the black roots that were illuminated by ripples of deep purple and strands of dazzling silver.

Even in the image bouncing off the window, it was mesmerizing.

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He was watching me too. I knew what he was thinking, standing

there surveying me the way I had him, and I hated that we looked so good together. I could feel that he hated it too.

Hates
me.

There were other emotions there as well. He wasn’t good

enough to hide them completely— or didn’t want to. And every

time he bled those intoxicating feelings of lust and seduction into me, I sensed they were laced with an honesty he would deny even to himself.

But none of that mattered. Not anymore.

He recoiled, taking a small step back, into the shadows of the

reflection. I wondered if it was a reaction to me and my emotions or to his.

“We need to agree on buildings,” he said, his voice smooth

and sure.

I nodded. It was the last of the pretrade arrangements. We’d left it that way on purpose. Too much could go wrong otherwise. At

least I’d finally have some news to pass on to everyone.

He pushed a little at me again, emotions caressing me from

inside out. It was divine.

I put up lazy walls and bit down hard. “I said stop it or I’ll leave.”

“But I could make this exchange much more pleasurable.”

He tried harder this time and, like smoke seeping under a

doorway, lust rose, my body craving more.

Phoenix laughed lightly. “You have such an appetite. I don’t

know why you deny it,” he said, coercing me with his words.

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“Because it’s not me. I don’t want your emotions running

through me. It’s like some kind of poison.”

He didn’t stop but didn’t push any harder. Instead, he leaned in close, too close for comfort, and spoke with a low voice into my ear. “I would’ve given you everything.”

I held my defenses where they were— caught in the moment,

half up, half down, unsure for a second which way to go. But then I came to my senses, and my walls shot up. I stepped back and

turned to him, showing I wasn’t afraid.

“No. You would’ve taken everything I am until I was nothing

but your puppet. You might not have planned to, but you wouldn’t have been able to help yourself. And anyway…” I stopped. There

was no way to discuss that, to talk about how I couldn’t love anyone truly, anyone other than Lincoln.

Phoenix shrugged, but his expression remained intense.

“Guess we’ll never know.” He looked right into my eyes, making

sure he had my full attention. “But then, neither will he.”

Like I was back in Jordan again, I felt the tragedy of Rudy’s

death, of Phoenix calling out to his exiles to leave a moment

later. I’d wondered since why he hadn’t just grabbed the Scripture earlier and taken off. He was losing exiles and we were too evenly matched— it wasn’t a smart fight. If he was any other exile, I would have understood. In general, they don’t care and would be insane enough to take on any odds, but not Phoenix. He is an anomaly.

He was still watching me, and it was then that I realized why

he’d waited so long to leave.

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“You wanted Rudyard to die,” I accused, barely able to push the words from my mouth. It was too horrific, and even after everything he’d done, I really didn’t want this to be true.

His eyes flickered, then narrowed. At first I thought my accusation surprised him, but then he just let out a calculatedly bored yawn.

“An acceptable casualty of war.” He put his hands in his pockets, showing he wasn’t concerned.

He’d planned it all. Made sure Lincoln and I would never be…

My good arm went out so fast I hadn’t even realized I’d decided to do anything. My closed fist swept across his face, hard. He hadn’t expected it, and it hit him in the jaw, jerking his head to the side.

He stood tall again, as if it hadn’t happened. He didn’t even put a hand to his face to rub the spot I knew would be hurting. In fact, he left his hands in his pockets.

Bastard.

I kept my own hands fisted, anticipating his retaliation. But

instead, he just growled, “Buildings.”

“Maddox,” I said quickly, still in a bit of shock.

“Fine. We’ll be on the Brighton. Tomorrow night. Eleven p.m.

No tricks.”

“No tricks,” I agreed, suspecting I wasn’t the only one lying.

“And you can stop sending your lackeys after me too,” I added.

“We’ve returned them all, Phoenix. Surely you’re getting sick of losing fighters.”

He smiled without any kindness. “Just making sure you have no

more hesitations.”

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I glared at him. “No such luck,” I sneered. My apprehension at

drawing my dagger had ended the night I’d returned Jude. But I

felt sure he knew that.

“
And
I thought you’d appreciate the extra training.”

A shiver ran down my spine. The way he said it and waited for

my reaction— I was suddenly convinced he’d been watching me,

following me on my additional sessions.

He turned to walk away but stopped and looked back.

“Violet…”

“What?” I snapped.

“Thank you,” he said, now touching his face. And then he was

gone with a more forceful than usual gust of wind that pushed me back a step before I caught my footing.

“Shit,” I mumbled nervously, taking a few calming breaths and

trying to shake the quiver from my hands.

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chapter
five

“People only see what they are prepared to see.”

raLPH WaLDO eMersON

Dad was picking at a plate of spring rolls when I made my

late entrance.

“You get lost?” he asked, but his smile paused mid- upcurl and

he dropped his roll into the dipping sauce. “What happened?” he asked, looking worried as he stood up and carefully reached out to touch my arm.

In my haste, I’d let the shawl drop and bunch into the crease of my elbow. Dad was surveying a pretty big bruise on my bad arm.

I had to take a few steadying breaths, still working hard to pull myself together after seeing Phoenix. “Oh. I…bashed into a tree,” I eventually said.

Technically…true.

“Accident,” I added.

Technically…false.

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“It looks painful. Must’ve been one angry tree,” he said, some-

thing in his tone unsettling me.

Suspicion?

“It’ll teach me for not looking where I’m going, I suppose,” I

said, looking at my arm as if only now noticing how bad it was

while trying to ease it out of Dad’s hold, pretending it didn’t hurt like hell. Once free, I readjusted my shawl and took my seat. “Have you ordered anything else?”

He nodded, taking his seat too, still looking at me strangely.

“The usual.”

“Great,” I said, pepping up convincingly. “I’m starving.”

A plate of spring rolls, a chicken pad thai, a green curry, and two glasses of Coke later, I was looking for a way out. Fast.

It was like Dad had undergone some kind of personality trans-

plant. Not only was he conversational, but he’d also never so closely scrutinized me or asked me so many questions in…my entire life.

I was right; he was definitely suspicious.

I’d dodged the questions about my after- school activities,

brushing off my busy schedule on preparing for the Fenton art

course due to start after graduation and studying at the library with Steph. But when Dad started asking about Lincoln, not just if we were still friends, but what Lincoln’s plans for the future were, if we were still training— since I was looking very fit— I knew I needed to get out of there.

“Dad, I, umm…I’m feeling a bit exhausted, actually. Do you

mind if we just grab an ice cream on the walk home?” Okay, so blow 47

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me down or something, because
my
father, the man who usually jumps at the opportunity to remove himself from any personal

moment, put down his napkin, and said, “To tell the truth, honey, I’d really like it if we could chat for another few minutes.”

I sat there, dumbfounded. I considered asking him if he was feeling okay, if he had been struck down by some terminal illness and only had days to live. When I went to open my mouth…nothing.

“It’s just that, well”— he cleared his throat, oblivious to my

stunned state— “I know I’m not around a lot. And recently it’s

come to my attention that maybe I’m not…
there
enough in other ways too.” He sighed.

My mind was reeling.

Come
to
his
attention? Who the hell managed to get his attention
long enough to bring anything to it?

“I’m not good at this, Vi. I know you probably think I’m a

terrible father, and I…I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But I feel like I’ve been caught between worlds since…your mother. I never really took up the reins, and you were always such a good girl. I guess I just let you carry the load.”

Good
God, did my father just use the word “feel”?

The front door to the restaurant swung open and a happy

family left, calling out their thanks to the waiters as the boy swung between his parents’ hands.

If
I
run, I could make it out that door before it closes.

“I know something is going on in your life, Vi.”

Does
he? Is it possible that all this time, Dad has actually known?

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