Page 33 of Tears of Revenge

What was she supposed to do to escape?

“I find it helpful to lay in bed and read while Varos enjoys listening to music.”

She could only stare at them. Once she’d worked her way through the nightmares, sleep had become her way of comforting herself. She’d loved to curl up and dive into her sleep, her dreams often freeing her from the stress of another day of survival.

“What kind of books do you like?” Varos asked. “I can call Lysander and see if he can bring some back.”

“I don’t want to read.” They both exchanged a worried look. “Can I go outside?”

“Of course.”

She felt as if the walls were caving in around her. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be dead anyway. Stepping between the two men, she walked into the cool night air. She could hear traffic from miles away as if it were right next to her, sirens screeching through the night while somewhere else, music played. She’d never heard the night so loud, but she listened closer in an attempt to distract herself. Not too far from the glass doors laid a rose garden and almost of their own will, her feet carried her towards it.

Her mind swirled as the soft scent of the roses wrapped around her like a cocoon.

Troy had come for her, ripping her away from the life she’d built herself. He’d made her pay for leaving him. The memory alone nearly paralysed her. She wasn’t sure how long he’d held her captive, but it had to have been days.

Every time she’d opened her eyes and seen his looming figure above her, she’d begged the darkness to take her once more. She didn’t even remember Varos and Marcus rescuing her. She only remembered passing out after…

She couldn’t even bring herself to imagine the things he’d done to her.

The next thing she knew, she was in Lysander’s arms, naked and covered in blood.

Had they? No, they wouldn’t have hurt her. They’d always looked out for her. They probably found her naked.

Her mind spun, and she let the noises around her ground her.

Her throat still ached, dry like the Sahara, but she didn’t want to drink anymore blood. Though Varos had told her it was donated, she still found it disturbing. The thought alone made her stomach churn.

Part of her still thought she was dreaming. But the woman in the mirror earlier was as real as the bloody tears she’d shed.

After all, she’d always thought they were angels. She’d seen their speed and their strength the night they met. She’d always known they weren’t what they seemed.

But she never thought she’d become one of them.

Thirteen

Marcus

Avalon stood frozen amongst the rose bushes. She likely wasn’t aware of how still she actually was. She no longer felt the need to move, nor did any of her organs need movement to survive. The absence of her heartbeat frustrated Marcus to no end, but a large part of him was glad she was with them—even if she was no longer human.

The front door opened, and Lysander approached. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw him place armfuls of bags beside the couch before stepping next to him and Varos.

“How long has she been standing there?”

“A while.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Varos sighed. “Because Lysander thinks she might smell blood and disappear on a killing streak.”

Ava’s hand twitched. “I won’t hurt anyone.”

“You didn’t want to hurt me,” Lysander countered. “But your fangs sunk into me the moment you located my pulse.”

Instinctively, Marcus spun around and smacked his flat hand into Lysander’s sternum. His friend flew across the room, crashing into the marble of the kitchen island. “Fuck you. You made her do that by cutting your damn wrist.”

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