Page 204 of Victorious

This Eli was solid in a way Victor’s visions had never been.

This Eli was real.

“Eli. You’re alive.” The word went up at the end, caught between a statement and a question. Not just because Sydney had killed him, but because he looked—wrong.

Since the night he’d first become an EO, Eli Ever had been pressed in amber. Unchanged. Unchangeable. But now, fresh scars ran across his knuckles, ringed his throat, and what looked like a short knife was embedded in his side.

“I think you’ve been stabbed.”

Eli’s mouth twitched in a grim smile. “Always so observant.”

Victor didn’t need to ask who had resurrected Eli. That part was obvious.

“First Serena, then Stell, now Gray,” he said. “I’m starting to think you enjoy being controlled. And by another EO, nonetheless,” he added, emphasizing the word. Expecting Eli to flinch, recoil. He didn’t.

“I thought all EOs belonged in the ground.”

“We do,” said Eli.

We, not they, not you.

Eli had always made the distinction, convinced that he alone was special. A sword of God. A weapon, made for slaying monsters.

“Then why haven’t you killed Gabriel?” Victor wondered aloud. “Unless, of course, you can’t.”

Eli didn’t rise to the bait. His expression gave away nothing.

It unnerved Victor, the gulf between the Eli in his memories and this one. Where was the righteous anger? The conviction? Had death done this to Eli? Or had Gabriel?

“You’re not Eli,” said Victor, echoing the words aimed at him eighteen years ago. “You’re something that’s crawled into his skin.”

The blow landed.

Eli took a step toward Victor, who reached out before he could take a second one and wrenched on the pain in Eli’s side, as effectively as if he’d twisted the knife. Eli faltered, and Victor took the opportunity to shoot him in the face.

The bullet tore through Eli’s cheek, shattering his jaw, and as he reeled back, Victor lifted his gaze, addressing the camera he’d spotted in the corner. “What’s the endgame, Gabriel?” he chided. “I’m here to see you, not your latest pet.”

The voice rolled through the speakers.

“So eager to begin our sessions.”

“I’ve never been a fan of therapists.” An understatement, given his upbringing, his parents and their empire of affirmation and self-help. “But who knows, maybe I just haven’t found the right one.”

Eli straightened, blood spilling down his face as his jaw fused back together. Only, there seemed to be too much bone, sharpened fragments splintering like thorns, the skin scarring as it stretched and tore and sealed over his cheek.

“Something wrong?” asked Victor. “You don’t seem to be healing quite as … gracefully. Then again,” he added, “second resurrections always come with complications.”

Eli spit out what looked like a mouthful of spare teeth.

“Enough,” he growled, stalking forward. Victor inched back, trying to maintain their distance despite the confines of the room, knowing the moment he got within range, the other EO would—

Eli lunged suddenly, collapsing the space between them.

Victor had just enough time to twist out of the way, to take hold of Eli’s nerves and pin him still. Or try. For a moment, his grip held, but then it faltered, the current running through Eli too slippery to hold.

He slammed into Victor, knocking him back into the nearest chair, and catching his wrist before he could get the gun up a second time, the other hand wrapping around Victor’s throat. The two of them suddenly so close that he could see the variation in the brown of Eli’s eyes. The strain behind them. So close that he could reach the knife in Eli’s side, and pull it free, slicing the blade across his wrist, weakening the hold around his throat.

Eli had always been the stronger man, but Victor twisted, using Eli’s weight against him, knocking him off-balance and throwing him over the chair and into the glass table.