Alpha's Legacy (Black Moon Saga Book 3)

41. Moving Day: Anna Jade

I think it’s the evening of what I believe to be my fourth day with Grayson, including the day that he brought me here, but I can’t be certain. It might be the third evening, or maybe even the fifth. Maybe it’s morning time for all I know. But whatever time of whatever day it is, he suddenly stops speaking in the middle of a sentence, freezing in place with a panicked expression on his face.

Whatever has him so worried, it’s made him forget that he was just telling me about the Alphas here in this city. He talked at length about Alpha Miles, who he seems to despise despite working for him, at least I think that’s what he was alluding to. But then he had just moved on to telling me about an Alpha Kaiden of a pack I’ve never even heard of, one that's much smaller than Riptide, but according to Grayson, it's also quickly amassing both territory and wealth and becoming enough of a concern to Alpha Miles that he’s been considering trying to make peace and establish an alliance with them.

Warrior Moon, that’s what he’s been calling the other pack, though he also mentioned something about it being what other people call them rather than the official pack name. He was just about to tell me what The Council calls them, but that’s when he freezes and seems to forget our conversation.

“I’ll be right back,” he says worriedly, dropping the pen that he’s been playing with back on the desk and scurrying over to the center of the room to give him space to cast a teleport.

He actually tried to figure out how to create a summoning circle that would make it so that his teleports drain less of his power, but even with my help, he couldn’t figure it out. He has been using some of the sigils that I helped him figure out to anchor various spells around the room, though, claiming that he both needs the practice and wants to ensure that no unwanted intruders can get in. I know that includes vampires, but I fear that I also might have helped him make it harder for me to be rescued.

I try not to let that concern me too much, that or the fact that he just hurried off in a bit of a panic, choosing to focus instead on finishing the microwave meal that he provided for my dinner. I haven’t bothered to ask where the microwave even is, but he seems to prefer making my meals with it, so I know it exists.

I did ask him at one point why he doesn’t just conjure me something to eat so that he doesn’t even have to worry about bringing in any food for me, but he told me that he doesn’t like the idea of it. He doesn’t know whether the vampiric power that fuels his spells might somehow corrupt the food, and he isn’t interested in making me his guinea pig for figuring that out.

When he reappears in the same spot that he left only a few minutes before, he’s no less stressed. He seems even more stressed, in fact, quickly bustling around the room gathering things and shoving them into a bag, packing up his books and spellcasting components it looks like.

“What’s going on?” I ask worriedly.

“Moving day,” he answers shortly.

Then he tosses me an empty sack, grumbling when it hits the barrier and falls to the ground. He pauses to wave his arms around and mutter under his breath, and then the barrier goes down.

“Pick that up and put whatever you want to take with us in it,” he instructs me. “And then add whatever else of mine you can see. We’ll sort it all out later.”

I hop up from the bed and begin doing as he asked, pausing only for a split-second to wonder if I should refuse. But not wanting to do anything that might inspire him to knock me out again, I decide to just go along with it.

“Where are we moving to?” I do risk asking another question, though, worrying whether my rather comfortable time in captivity is about to be over in exchange for something worse.

Maybe the person he’s been waiting to trade me to is finally here, which in my opinion, is not a favorable development. Not for me, anyway.

“Just another location,” he explains hurriedly. “This one’s been compromised.”

Oh, well that’s different. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? So, if whoever is coming is someone that Grayson doesn’t want here, then it might be someone that I do want to be here. I feel a flickering of hope bubbling up somewhere inside of me, realizing that my long-awaited rescue may finally have arrived. I hesitate, wondering if there’s anything I can do to stall this process, wanting to still be right where I am when the intruders get here.

“Anna Jade,” he cautions lowly, bordering on sounding threatening. “Now is not the time to be trying anything stupid and destroying all the good faith that you’ve built with me. You’ve been pleasantly cooperative, and I appreciate that beyond measure. I may even be willing to reward it, should it continue into the next location.”

Yeah, okay. I get the message. I can cooperate and continue having a nice, comfortable time, or I can try to resist with very little hope of succeeding and screw it all up.

As much as I kind of hate myself for it and wish I was braver, I choose what seems like the easy option, the path of least resistance. Help him and be a pal. Maybe I'll even earn myself a pretty sweet upgrade when we get to wherever we’re going.

I set to work on stripping the bed and packing up all my bedding, not wanting to risk lacking it again in the next place, and then I add the papers, sketchbook, pencils, markers, and even the lamp he gave me, though I wait to unplug it until we’re ready to go.

Glancing at the sketchbook peeking out of the top of my bag, an idea occurs to me. I’m cooperating just like he asked me to, but I think I might have a way to be just a tiny bit rebellious and maybe even leave a clue for whoever is coming. Grayson said nothing about doing anything with the remnants of my dinner, so I just leave the plate and plastic tray on top of the mattress, tucking the sketchbook underneath, as much as it pains me to leave it behind.

But if he finds it, I can just tell him that I forgot about it in the midst of all the hustle. He saw me doodling in it when he brought me my dinner, and he knows how much I love it and wouldn’t want to lose it, so I don’t think he’ll question me leaving it there or assume that I did it any other way than accidentally.

But that’s because he hasn’t been paying attention to what I’ve been doing with that sketchbook. The pages are filled with what appear to just be normal pencil drawings, but I’ve been tucking a lot of the information he’s been telling me into the pictures. It’s an art style that I learned back in school in one of my art classes, turning poems and song lyrics into illustrations of the imagery that they’re meant to convey.

You have to look closely to see the words within the picture on the top page because at first glance, it just looks like a sketch of some kid skateboarding through his neighborhood. But that bush right there? Its leaves are made from details about Alpha Miles. The skateboard? It’s built from gossip about the Luna. Yesterday’s drawing is about Raja and some laboratory she kept up in Canada, which is where Grayson was created. And so on. Every conversation we've ever had, it's in there.

I started doing it pretty much as soon as he gave me the pencils and paper, mostly because I was worried about him taking my memories from me. Then once he gifted me the sketchbook, on the off chance that he’d let me take it with me to wherever I’m going after I leave his custody, I was hoping that it might help me remember who he really is and the danger that I’m in. Though I don’t want to lose it, I think it might be worth it if anything that I’ve written in there might contain some clue about where he’s taking me or what he has planned.

“My bag is full,” I announce apologetically, realizing that I won’t be able to help him pack anything other than my stuff.

“You’re cute,” he comments, laughing when he sees what I’ve packed. “I didn’t figure that you’d even include the bedding. I assure you that you won’t be needing it.”

“Yeah, well, once you’ve spent one night freezing your buns off,” I start to say, but he cuts me off.

“Yes, yes. I know. I’m awful,” he finishes for me. “But it’s no matter. I think I have everything that I’ll need anyway.”

Then he glances over my bag again and shakes his head. I get nervous worrying about whether he’ll notice my dishes and the book tucked underneath, but he doesn’t seem to.

“Leave the lamp,” he commands, pointing to the desk. “I promise you won’t need it, and I’d rather keep it here.”

It’s probably not the best time to argue with him and draw more attention to what I have and haven’t packed, so I just do as he says, unplugging it briefly and then blindly feeling my way across the room to return the lamp back to the writing desk. I fumble around looking for the outlet, but then once it’s back on, I can see that he’s made it across the room and added my bag to the three he’s already carrying.

“Come,” he instructs, beckoning me over.

And I do as he says yet again, resisting the urge to look at my food tray one last time and draw his attention to it. I’m sure that the book is still where I left it anyway, otherwise he would have said something about it.

I hold onto his arm as he teleports us away, and he does it the same way that he did when he was invisible and restraining me in Bria’s basement the other day, relying on what sounds like angry muttering instead of the normal gestures that I see most casters perform when they teleport. I’ll have to ask him how it is that he does that when he’s supposedly such an unskilled novice. That’s a high-tier skill that requires experience as much as power.

Although I suppose he did also mention that making a dramatic exit is kind of his thing, so I guess he probably does have plenty of practice with it. My exit from this underground prison has certainly fit the bill, even though he didn’t bother waiting around for an audience to witness it this time.