Page 51 of Veiled Yearning

A chorus of nods and sounds goods follow, with the exception of Sam, who has an odd expression on his face. Not angry or irritated, or even scared, but almost… anticipatory.

“Okay.” Lucas turns to head out of the room. “A hot shower sounds great. I’ll try not to use up all the hot water.”

“You would.” Knight hustles after Lucas, swatting at him.

Gavril is still standing beside Sam and Larkin, and he asks Sam, “Are you doing alright? After everything earlier…”

Sam’s features go hard. Then this weird smile appears, changing his normally open and friendly face to something more devious. “I’m doing great. Perfectly, in fact.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, the calm turns to chaos.

Sam launches himself across the living room, speeding in my direction. His lips draw back, exposing his elongated incisors, and his eyes turn dark and dangerous.

Metal flashes; as he raises a blade high.

Cackling, his voice like poisonous oil, he spits at me, “He’ll find you, no matter where you go.”

What?

Everything is moving so fast. I leap over the back of the couch, putting it between myself and Sam.

Gavril lets out a furious roar and tears after Sam.

Frederick yells to Cait, “Now. Protect Chiara!”

If only I had some weapons.

But. In a flicker of thought, I know what to do. Whatever happened to Sam—mind control, it has to be that, I can’t believe he’d turn on the Sentinels—I can take his ability and slow him. Give the others time to control him. To figure out what’s going on.

Faster than I’ve ever done in the past, I concentrate on drawing his energy. It’s hard to focus with him running toward me, but somehow I do it, and I yank the ability away, intending to use it on him.

Except it doesn’t work as I planned.

The ability isn’t Sam’s. I can’t slow him down. Instead, I have this ability I don’t understand; it feels horrible and dirty, and I fling it at a chair across the room in my disgust and panic.

And then it gets more confusing.

Sam isn’t Sam anymore. It was only a disguise.

It’s a woman, tall and skinny, with long, brown hair in a braid. She still wields the blade, shining wickedly in the light of the crackling flames.

She shrieks, a high, horrible sound. “You’re just like him. Just as he thought! And when I bring you to him—”

Something strange is surrounding me, this glowing orb, pulsing with energy.

And Gavril.

A rampaging warrior, his features like stone, all his muscles flexed, huge and threatening. He bears down on the woman, snarling, “You dare attack her? You’ll pay for this.”

And then the next things happen quickly.

Gavril tackles her, knocking the woman to the ground only feet from me.

The blade slices, crimson splattering onto the floor.

A furious roar.

The woman—the Custodian—on the ground, broken and bleeding, a different blade at her throat.

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