Page 66 of Ever Dark Academy: Vol. 3
Grayson, why would this Sect member be wearing Ryder’s face and saving you? So convenient, don’t you think? Balthazar pointed out.
You’re right. Or maybe not. They know I’m with Ryder. Am I supposed to know that this is Ryder or not? Grayson asked. Which way do I play this? Like I know or–
If you didn’t know Weryn, would you know Ryder so well? If you hadn’t spent eons of time with him in the past, would you be able to tell the difference so easily? Balthazar questioned. I think not. Your brain lights up in all sorts of ways with Ryder that it’s not doing now.
You’re right, I wouldn’t know. So I shouldn’t know here, Grayson said.
But I can’t believe this is a coincidence that they would go after you, Balthazar replied.
Grayson smiled more broadly and leaned forward until his entire body was against the Ryder-clone’s body. It felt familiar and yet wrong. He wondered what it was that was giving this creature away. Was it just the eyes? Maybe the scent?
He doesn’t smell like Ryder at all, Grayson realized.
But it was more than that. The soul was wrong. And he knew it. This creature felt empty to him. An oily, black fog that was filling a pretty vessel. The other Mirryrs didn’t feel this way. It took all of Grayson’s willpower not to show his revulsion.
“This is supposed to be the Mirryrs’ night, Ryder,” Grayson said into the cusp of not-Ryder’s right ear.
He grunted and turned his head so that Grayson’s lips were practically pressed against his bearded cheek. Daring him to kiss. Daring him to touch. If this had been Ryder, he would have been dying to do this. He would have had to fight himself not to. Instead, he was fighting not to jerk away and wipe his mouth.
He rested his front against the not-Ryder’s and brushed his lips along the bearded jaw until they were face to face. His eyes were hooded. He let a small smile play on his mouth. He couldn’t make his pupils expand, but it was dark in the stairwell and he hoped that mimicked arousal. But, he reminded himself, he would have known the difference.
“This stairwell is a little too crowded for my taste,” Grayson murmured practically against not-Ryder’s lips. “Shall we get out of here?”
“How about we dance?” Not-Ryder asked and, without waiting for consent, curled an arm around Grayson’s shoulders and practically carried him down the stairs.
Grayson realized, of course, he was heading in the exact wrong direction. But he thought of something else, too. Why would the Sect member be going after him? Not because they knew Grayson was Ashyr.
No.
It was because he was Grayson.
The Grayson that had spoiled the Sect’s plans.
The Grayson that was a clear favorite of Ryder’s.
A potential fledgling of the great Immortal Weryn.
Balthazar, Grayson said in as calm a tone as possible, I know who the intended victim is tonight.
Who?
Grayson smiled up at the not-Ryder. It’s me.
On The Dance Floor
Grayson allowed the not-Ryder to lead him towards the dance floor. The basement was far more packed then it had been just moments before. It seemed as if everyone in the party was headed here. Perhaps because they’d been lubricated enough with alcohol and drugs to want to dance. But he had a feeling that something else was behind it.
You’re right, Balthazar gritted. There’s a Hum.
A what? Grayson asked, hearing the capitalization of Hum in the mind thought.
A Syrin is doing this, Balthazar explained. They are able to create low level sounds that have commands in them. It’s barely perceptible even to Vampire hearing, but it’s like a worm, digging inside one’s brain. Slowly, but surely the command makes it way inside and the victim is doing the thing before they are even aware of it.
And this Hum is telling people to come to the basement? Grayson clarified as he avoided a kissing couple.
To watch you get murdered, I’m guessing, Balthazar responded dryly.
That makes a terrible kind of sense, Grayson responded feeling his stomach flip end over end.
