Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) (10 page)

On the scale of worst-case scenarios, his
current situation could very well break the scale. Although the
violent effects of her blood had faded, his would-be assassin was
still unknown, and standing in front of him was a being who could
tear the entire Highworld apart. He should kill her now and walk
away, but for the first time, his curiosity overwhelmed his
commonsense.

Regardless, before he killed her, he had to
find out if she was alone—if more dat vitae lived in his zone or
any other. He hoped he was wrong, that he’d reacted as he had and
now felt so different for another reason. There was only one way to
know for certain without exposing either of them. An oracle.

But the oracle wouldn’t talk to him about
another. She would, however, talk to the being herself.
Addison
.

Rhyse wouldn’t be allowed to ask the oracle
about the dat vitae without Addison there. Therefore, he couldn’t
kill her yet, not until he knew how many other vitae there were in
the world.

The first taste of her was divinity, not
because he hadn’t fed in a long while, but for the same reason it
was poison. As the deadly nightshade’s beauty disguises its danger,
so too did her blood. He’d felt pain tear through him, take over
his mind and make him lose control. If he’d taken more, if he’d fed
from her vein, his violence would have forced him to tear her apart
barehanded. Even the silver chains were nothing against the craving
for her murder. Only because he’d had so little was he able to
control himself inasmuch as he had, until the effect passed through
him, as would a snake’s venom for a human.

As it was, he’d lost a bit of himself
already. He felt it. The taint of her blood had changed him, made
him less than he was. He knew this as he knew himself. Although,
perhaps he didn’t know himself as well as he had hours ago.

If what he believed was true, Addison was a
being from time lost, one he’d heard whispers of centuries ago, but
who no longer existed. Tales of a supernatural’s self, immortality,
and power stolen and replaced with humanity, in all its
weakness.

“Get dressed,” he said. “We must go out.”

“I
am
dressed and I’m kind of tired.”
Her voice was weak. “I had a hard day. Why don’t you go without
me?”

His eyes ran the length of her, lingering in
a few areas more than others. Her face was near perfection, her
neck divine, all the way down to where her unfortunate shirt began.
He could tell that her waist was small, her hips curved, her legs
long and fit, but they were covered by a hideous fabric that formed
some sort of pant. The horror ended at dirty running shoes. Why she
chose to hide under clothing he was hard pressed to refer to
as
clothing was beyond him.

“I meant get dressed in something you do not
sleep in.”

“I don’t sleep in these,” she said, wrapping
her arms around herself. “These are my work clothes.” Her voice
dropped to a mumble no human could hear. “And my off-work
clothes.”

“You deliberately dress to look unattractive.
Why?”

Her jaw dropped open. “Excuse me? It might be
a good idea to be a little nicer. Because, in case you didn’t
notice, I saved your life.”

“And then tried to kill me—first with a
stake, then sunlight, and then with your blood. Although each was
unsuccessful, attempts were made.”

“I’m not changing my clothes. And I’m not
going anywhere.”

“If you value your life—as horrible as it may
be—you will come with me.”

“Where?”

Why must she always question him? It was
infuriating, and he’d killed beings for far less. But he neither
desired to see her executed nor for her to continue directing her
inappropriate frustration at him. “We must speak with someone who
knows more about the dat vitae than any other, even the
historians.”

“I’m not dat whatever. Promise. Maybe you’re
just allergic to me or something.” She shook her head and rolled
her eyes, as if the actions would negate the truth.

“I have tasted the blood of every race except
theirs. And I have heard stories.”

“Like bedtime stories? Because those are made
up, mostly to teach morality. So, obviously it couldn’t have been
those.”

“I hope you are amusing yourself, because
your chiding does nothing but make me want to gag you. This may
mean your death; therefore, you may want to pay attention.”

She glared at him. “What in the last few days
hasn’t
meant my death?”

He didn’t answer her directly because they
both already knew what it would be. “You are not what you have
always believed yourself to be. Are you not curious to find out
more?”

She paused, looking away, her brow furrowed
as if to control her emotions. “I’m not one of those things,
Rhyse.”

Was it worth this argument? She couldn’t do
anything to stop him from tossing her over his shoulder and taking
her wherever he wanted. But he needed her cooperation in front of
the oracle, so he tried again. “If my reaction was not enough, then
consider the fact that I did not drink from you. In bloodlust, we
do not choose who we take. Whatever is closest will do.” And only
by sheer will developed over centuries had he been able to prevent
his own demise.

“Your pupils and irises were red. Is that a
bloodlust thing?”

“Really?” After she nodded, he said, “There
is more proof. Our eyes do not change color.”

She sawed her lips together, her eyes pensive
and restless. “Why haven’t I ever heard of them before?”

“They were the greatest weakness of all
supernatural beings. Do you enjoy talking about your weaknesses?
The dat vitae were very rare, very dangerous, and kept themselves
well hidden until they were all eradicated.”

“I guess they didn’t keep themselves
that
well hidden. Why were they so dangerous?”

If he told her, would she be more of a threat
or less? The oracle would undoubtedly tell her. By seeming open and
honest, Rhyse could control her. Until he killed her.
“They—
you
—are a poison to all supernatural races. Your blood
nullifies our magic.”

“Great trick. But while I’m not the Heights’
most self-aware being, I think I’d have figured out by now if I was
a super.”

“Have you ever fed or been bitten by one of
us?”

“No. Mostly because I try my hardest to avoid
situations like this.”

“If you are dat vitae, the time for avoidance
has passed. To know for certain, I must ask someone who knows more
than I.”

“Seriously—”

“We will purchase some proper attire for you
on the way.”

“Like hell.”

“Are you always this stubborn when someone
offers you a gift?”

“A gift? Not sure, I haven’t been given many.
And I haven’t been dressed by anyone since I was ten.”

“Obviously.” She must be in her third
decade—twenty-four or -five years old. A third to a quarter of her
life already gone. “It is surprising someone of your age has no
interest in males.”

“Someone of my age? After the first wrinkle,
a woman’s life is over, right? Besides, I
am
interested in
males—men.” She had no wrinkles, no flaws he could see. Other than
the clothing, of course.

“No woman who dresses as you do desires to
attract a male.”

“Fuck you!”

His eyebrows popped up. “Then you
are
interested in males. I will gladly take you, but only after I know
it will not harm me. Another question we need answered.”

“It wasn’t an offer.”

“Then you should not have suggested it.”

“It’s an expression. It means go screw
yourself.”

“That does not appeal to me in the
slightest.” He was beginning to understand her attempts at humor.
The look of frustration on her face was highly amusing.

“Seriously? You’ve never heard—Of course
you’ve never heard it. Who would tell the Prime to fuck off?”

“No one.” He looked through the clothes in
her closet. It only got worse. “These are all unsuitable. Whoever
you purchased them from should be set on fire. After I have killed
those responsible for my current situation, I will assign a demon
to the task.”

“You could just say thank you.”

He turned towards her. “Why would I do
that?”

“Because I saved you.”

“I believe we dealt with this point
previously. Additionally, it is your duty to assist me in any
manner I require.
Any
manner I require.”

“If I go with you, what are the chances I’ll
die?”

“I will not allow anyone to kill you.” When
it became necessary, Rhyse would do it himself.

“Fine.” She sighed. “Let’s just get it over
with.”

“You will need to hold on.”

“To what?”

He phased in inches in front of her, wrapped
his arm around her waist, and pulled her into him.

“To me,” he whispered. Then they were
gone.

As soon as they arrived in the catacombs of
the oracles, Addison threw her hand over her mouth. All he saw was
her panicked eyes.

“What is wrong?”

“I’m gonna—”

He spun her away from him just in time.

“—vomit,” she mumbled.

“How fortunate we did not stop for other
clothing. You now have the perfect use for that shirt.”

“Do you always get your way?” She carefully
pulled the shirt over her head and used it the only way it should
be used.

“Of course.”

“Nice place,” she said, grimacing. “Where’s
the light switch?”

His gaze lowered from her neck to her
collarbone, down to her breasts. “That is far better.”

“The fun is
so
over, it’s like it
never happened,” she grumbled. “Can I go home now?”

“Once we have the answers we need.”

She looked down at his shoes, almost going to
her knees to see in the darkness. “Still totally pristine. Nothing
ugly even dares to touch you, does it?”

“Will you be sick again?”

“I’m fine. Freezing but fine. Dark scary rock
tunnels have great a/c. It would’ve been nice if you’d told me to
grab a flashlight and jacket, or that I was going to get
nauseous.”

“I admit to having little experience phasing
with humans, but I do not think your reaction was normal.”

An image flashed through his mind, an
occurrence common in these catacombs. A man set his coat on the
thin shoulders of a woman. Rhyse couldn’t see their faces, though
it was obvious by their frailty and paltry clothing that they were
human. They seemed familiar to him somehow. Perhaps it was a scene
from a movie he had seen. A period film.

The woman turned her head and smiled at the
man, beautiful even through her sickness. And Rhyse recognized her.
Because she looked so much like him. A vision of his past, his
human past. Both lovely and tragic.

Her focus changed, drew closer to the ground,
near Rhyse’s knees. Her smile grew and she motioned with her hand.
“Come here, my…”

Rhyse couldn’t make out the last word. My
what? My…love. That’s what she called him.
My love.

Her image blurred and then disappeared.
Desiring to see it again—
her
again—accomplished nothing. One
could not control what they saw in the catacombs.

Still within the spell of his past, Rhyse
took off his jacket and set it on Addison’s shoulders, just as he’d
seen his father do for his mother moments ago…and centuries
ago.

When Addison turned towards him, her normal
lovely color was completely gone, replaced by pale skin and
frightened eyes.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “The magic here
brings us memories, messages. What did you see?”

His words brought her out of her stillness.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, looking away, trying to hide emotion whose
power and depth could not be.

“That is too bad.” And a lie.

“What did
you
see?”

“A moment from my human life. Something I had
forgotten.” Something that now filled his consciousness, reminding
him what humanity was, both wondrous and horrible. The sensation
left him confused, his thinking muddled, much as it had been for
the seventy years after he’d been turned. A human lifetime of doubt
and anguish.

“Was it a
good
memory?”

He nodded. “Yours was not.” She made no
movement, but he knew. “That is unusual. Perhaps it has something
to do with what you are.” As long as her secret didn’t involve him,
he didn’t care what it was.

“I’m just me. Really.” She slid her hands
into the arms of his jacket, but they never reappeared.

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch
again. “It is much too large for you.”

“That’s because it was custom-made for a
giant dead guy. So…do you come here often?” Her strength and
ability to adapt continued to surprise him. She seemed to have no
concept of how fragile her life was. Or how short it would be.

“No,” he said, turning to the two open
doorways. “Choose a path.”

“That one,” she said, pointing to the one on
the left.

Walking through it, he said, “Visiting the
oracle is very uncommon.”

“Wait, the what?” Her steps to catch up with
him were small and quick until he could feel her heat on his back.
“‘Oracle,’ as in someone who figures out prophecies?”

“Among other things.”

“If I am in a fucking prophecy, I’m going to
be so pissed.” Her voice dropped to little more than a mumble.
“Should’ve brought a hammer and chisel.”

“What for?”

“To chip my name out of the wall if
necessary.”

If it would keep her alive, he would carve it
out with his fangs.

No
. He flinched as if another stake
had been wielded. No, he would kill her for the safety of all the
races. As soon as he confirmed his suspicions and learned if there
were other dat vitae, he would kill her. If anyone discovered her
existence, there would be too much fear to control.