Ginny tipped her head back to meet her husband’s eyes.
Her friend definitely hadn’t known this part.
“I warn you, it won’t be easy to watch,” Jonas said quietly. “But I can show you what happened that night.”
An invisible fist buried itself in the center of Roksana’s stomach. “There is a tape?”
“Surveillance footage, yes.”
She stiffened. Could she watch her friends’ lives being snuffed out? Being behind a door and listening to the slaughter take place had been the worst moments of her life. But seeing it? She would never get the images out of her head. And…
What if she had no choice but to alter the scene she’d envisioned for so long?
Elias ripping out the throats of her childhood best friends, feasting on them with the same lips he’d used to kiss her so passionately the night of the poker game. She’d operated with a strict set of beliefs concerning that night for so long…what if watching the tapes blew them sky high?
Don’t be a coward.
She’d spent years failing to avenge the deaths of her friends. Didn’t she owe it to them to at least watch this tape and go through the suffering with them?
“Show me.”
Roksana sat on a hard chair facing a computer screen.
She didn’t look left or right. Jonas had led her to this room and she’d gone silently, a numb woman walking, afraid to stare anywhere but the path ahead, worried doing so might tempt her to escape.
“The events prior to this are unclear,” Jonas said, his finger hovering over the keyboard. “Elias hasn’t told me who Silenced him. Or how it happened. Maybe he truly doesn’t know—”
“Does it matter how? He got what he wanted. To be immortal.”
The king’s skepticism was obvious. “Even if you really believe that was his motive, how could he have ended up at this chapel—”
“I told him we’d be there,” Roksana cut in, voice hard. “I brought this on them.”
Jonas gave a long exhale. “Roksana, those first few days and weeks after being Silenced are normally a tortuous blur. For Elias to not only remember the location, but transport himself somewhere with a clear mission? It’s not only unlikely, it’s practically impossible.”
“I recently played poker with some murderous fae,” she muttered. “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is impossible in this world.”
Jonas hit a button on the keyboard and left the room. She was grateful for it. She had no idea what it would be like to witness the hellish night from her memories and didn’t want an audience. The screen remained blue for several seconds before soundless, grainy black and white footage commenced, waves of static passing through a still image of the chapel’s interior. It looked so much smaller than the place in her memory, the cheap pews and three-day-old flower stands especially garish without her friends’ laughter to make it an adventure.
Roksana watched in a trance as she appeared on the screen, her smile effusive and youthful. Why wouldn’t it be? At that time in her life, she’d been happy to pretend the horrors of the earth didn’t exist. She’d chosen to live a life free of the lessons her mother tried to teach her, picking ignorant bliss instead. There was an extra lightness in past-Roksana’s step, too, courtesy of meeting the man of her dreams the night before. Knowing she’d see him again tonight. Never in a million years could she have imagined what was about to take place.
Her knuckles ached from gripping the arms of the chair, but she didn’t abate the pressure, needing it to stay grounded. Kira twirled down the aisle of the chapel, her skirt fanning out around her. Roksana passed around an inexpensive bottle of champagne to her friends, the chapel director trying to wrangle the group of free-spirited Russians and get them in place for the ceremony.
Suddenly, everyone in the group jumped, backing away from the entrance. They all moved, trying to find cover, but Roksana remained in place, frozen. Vampires prowled into the space. God, she didn’t remember there being so many of them, she’d been so focused on Elias. A lot like now, when she held her breath, watching him stagger into the open, obviously trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Elias…
That was him, but not. Her memory hadn’t catalogued details that stood out to her now. His gait was disjointed, blurring in short bursts of speed, then stopping, as if he couldn’t get control of his movements. His clothes were torn and streaked with blood. His own? And the misery etched into his features. How could she not have remembered?
A hand appeared in front of the lens, blocking the view of the interior. But not before she saw a white feather in the grainy corner of the screen.
Her stomach bottomed out.
There’d been a vampire in the bar with her and Elias the night before with a white feather in his hat. How could she have forgotten?