Vanish (Firelight #2)(5)

Several elders loom behind Severin, their postures alike in their rigidity. They wear nothing special to mark their status. Their inherent bearing, the features schooled into impassivity, identifies them. I can’t recall a time when I didn’t know how to pick out an elder from the rest of us.

Severin scans us in one broad sweep and his gaze comes to rest on Tamra. His eyes flicker, the barest movement, the only outward sign he gives that he’s surprised by her changed appearance. He examines her, missing nothing. Not the silvery gray eyes. Not the shock of pearlescent hair. It’s the same way he’s looked at me for so long. I’m seized with the mad impulse to move between them, to block her from his drilling gaze.

“Tamra.” He breathes her name as though he were tasting it for the first time. He steps near to rest a hand on her shoulder. I stare at his hand upon my sister and something churns in my stomach. “You’ve manifested. How wonderful.”

“So I guess she matters to you now.” It’s too late to take the defiant words back. They rip from my lips with the speed of gunfire.

Severin glares at me. His eyes cold, dark pools of night. “Everything—everyone—in this pride matters to me, Jacinda.” His possessive hand still lingers on Tamra as he says this, and I want to wrench it off her.

Yeah. Some of us just matter more.

“It’s very unfair of you to imply differently,” he adds.

I resist the urge to press close to Cassian, hating to appear intimidated as his dad stares me down. I hold my ground and keep my eyes locked on Severin. My heart aches, a twisting mass in my chest. I’ve betrayed my kind. I’ve lost Will. Let them do their worst.

A corner of Severin’s mouth curves upward with slow menace. “It’s good to have you back, Jacinda.”





Chapter 3

I’m taken to my old house like a prisoner. Elders lead the way and follow at my back. It doesn’t seem to matter that I returned voluntarily. Cassian made a point to tell them this. He said it more than once. But it only matters that I left, that I had the nerve to slip away—a precious commodity who dared to flee when the pride has specific plans for me.

Stepping inside my childhood home—it feels strange. The space seems smaller, more confining, and I become angry at myself. This house had been enough before. I inhale the stale air. No one has probably been here since we snuck away in the dead of night.

I stare at the couch, at the center cushion with its permanent indentation. It’s Tamra’s spot, her sanctuary. Shunned by the pride as a defunct draki, she’d lose herself for hours in front of the television. It feels wrong without her here, but I understand that it has to be this way for now. Severin commanded Tamra to remain with Nidia. Mom didn’t argue, and I know it’s because she thought another shader would know best how to care for Tamra during her adjustment to her talent.

“Are you going to tuck us in, too?” Mom snaps at the elders lingering inside our house. The faces that had been so familiar and harmless to me growing up watch me with condemnation.

Slowly, they turn and exit.

“Did you see Cassian walk off with Severin?” Mom asks, hurrying to the window. I nod as she parts the curtain. “Hopefully, he’ll persuade him not to . . . punish us too harshly for leaving.”

“Yeah.” Recalling Severin’s delight over Tamra, I think it’s a distinct possibility he’ll be lenient with us.

With a grunt, Mom lets the curtain drop back in place. “Two of them are still out there.”

I look out the window and spy the two elders standing on our front porch. “They don’t look like they’re leaving any time soon. Guess they want to make sure we don’t sneak away again.”

“Tamra’s with Nidia.” Mom says this as if it’s reason enough for us to stay put. And it is. Even if I wanted to leave the pride, I would never go without my sister. Especially now. My chest feels suddenly tight at the thought of what she must be going through. She must be so confused, so . . . lost.

“I’d never leave here without Tamra,” Mom says, echoing my thoughts. Her heated gaze shoots to me like I implied we should.

I look away, down at my hands, back out the window, anywhere but at her. I don’t want her to see that I hear that other thing she’s not saying. That I understand what her angry gaze tells me. But I would leave without you.

Maybe I’m not being fair. Maybe it’s my guilt and she doesn’t think that way at all.

Mom sighs, and I look back at her, watch as she tugs her hands through her hair. There are some gray strands in the curly mass. A first. “I can’t believe we’re back here,” she mutters. “Right where we started. Worse off than before.”

I cringe, feel this is a strike against me. Because it’s my fault we’re home again. All of this is my fault. I know that. And so does she.

“I’m tired,” I say. Not a lie. I don’t think I’ve slept since leaving Chaparral, my thoughts too twisted up in everything that’s happened. In all my colossal mistakes. In Will—wondering where he is, what he’s doing, thinking, remembering. Or rather, failing to remember.

I move toward my room, feeling older than I’ve ever felt.

“Jacinda.”

I stop and look over my shoulder at the sound of my name. Mom’s face is indecipherable, cast in shadow. “Are you . . .” I hear her take a breath before she continues. “That boy. Will—”