The Guily Ones

Tunnel memory

There aren't many moments in life that you truly remember. In reality, we just think we remember things. We believe that everything was once better than it is now. That's called memory distortion.

Of all things, this thought crossed my mind as I still heard the blood pounding in my ears, while my first great love stood there, calmly telling Eric to sink his teeth into the little girl and drink her blood!

My brain couldn't process the fact that Tom was the one responsible for this.

Instead, images of the Tom I thought I knew, flooded my mind.

I remembered Tom grinning mischievously at me over his book as I sat at the other end of the couch, desperately trying to knit. I remembered Tom holding my hair back on the nights when I'd had a bit too much to drink—nights when the nightmares and memories from my past and the foster homes I'd been through, couldn't be suppressed no matter how much I pretended otherwise. Vividly, I recalled Tom standing protectively in front of me when James had lost his temper, after I failed to bring in the spoils we needed from one of our ridiculous heists. That was my Tom.

And now, I was faced with the image of him wanting to hurt a little child. I felt sick.

Sure, I should've been more worried about the fact that Eric now believed I had played a role in the murder of his maker, but somehow, that seemed irrelevant compared to everything else. Eric didn't look like he was capable of moving an inch – All he did was kneel there, growling. Besides, I was fairly certain that if he eventually succumbed to whatever was happening to him, my future would no longer matter anyway.

There was no way out for me.

As I slowly regained some strength, I could feel the weight of everything pressing against my bones—the pain caused by betrayal, the fear for the little girl, for myself, and yes, even for Eric. And, to my shame, still for Tom. He was a tangled mess of emotions that I didn't want to examine too closely. Instead, I carefully rebuilt the walls I'd spent years constructing around my battered heart. Brick by brick, I shut down every feeling until I could think clearly again.

I tried to block out the loud voices of the men echoing across the room, who had begun arguing amongst themselves.

"You said she was a descendant of the Arsinnians," Monroe snarled, grabbing Tom by the throat. "But it seems the only thing she's good for is dinner."

I felt my heart—buried deep beneath layers of emotional numbness—begin to race, partly out of fear, partly out of some twisted satisfaction that someone was strangling Tom. The part that felt betrayed and was furious at him, revealed at the sight. Apparently, I hadn't quite gotten control of the emotions flooding through me. Maybe I needed to strengthen that wall a bit more... "Dinner and a good screw, I assume."

Both Tom and, to my surprise, James growled.

Judging by their reactions, Monroe's suggestion wasn't an empty threat but a real possibility.

Not good. Soooo not good. 

I quickly shoved my emotions down again. You've got this, Ash. Just don't feel anything, I coached myself.

"Freya, the goddess of seduction and war!" Tom assured, as Monroes grip tightened on Tom's throat. Tom gasped for breath—not because he was actual suffocating, I reminded myself, since he wasn't human anymore—but more from discomfort. I forced myself to shake off the fear that gripped me on his behalf.

Monroe snorted. "I can see she's got you all wrapped around her little finger." His voice dripped with disdain, his fangs glinting in the dim light. It hit me then—I had been spending too much time around civilized vampires. They never hissed at me, never manhandled me, unless I really deserved it. Monroe, on the other hand, was all feral fury, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Your job was supposed to be the exact opposite."