“You never asked about the location?” The judge asked, rubbing the spot between her eyes with one hand.
Emilie’s fingers twisted on the stem of the microphone, “They told me, but I don’t remember. Not the exact location.”
Several judgmental faces were turned on her, but she held her head high.
“What was the terrain around that area?”
“Wooded. There was a forest on both sides.”
“Coniferous or deciduous?”
She hesitated, “I don’t remember.”
After a moment of silence, the judge asked, “Is the Moroi who turned you in this courtroom today?”
Her blond curls bounced as she looked over at Karsten.
Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say his name!
The silence seemed to slow time in the room. Leaning forward, I rested my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands.
She forgave him. She won’t do it.
She couldn’t even remember.
Would she betray me? Break our deal?
The seconds ticked by…and I began to count.
“No, your honor.” The room burst out in murmurs, then went abruptly quiet again.
The judge looked up from her desk, holding her pen in hand. “No?”
“That’s correct.” Emilie sat ramrod straight on the edge of the wood chair. “I would recognize him anywhere, and the man who made me is not here.”
“Take a good look. Are you sure?”
“Yes, your honor.”
There was a pause while the Danish attorney conferred with the Global Council lawyers who sat with her.
Another pet peeve of mine of the Danish judicial system, I would like to see the witness’s face. This back to the audience thing was bunk!
The blond prosecutor’s eyes were surprised, and she turned to Emilie who still sat in the witness stand. It was the prosecutions turn to question her.
“Miss Edwards, the DNA specifically pointed at Karsten Ingvar. You say you struggle to recall that day. How are you sure that that man isn’t your attacker?”
Her curls bounced back and forth as she shook her head. “Because of his eyes.”
The attorney's chin went down, “Can you explain?”
Licking her lips, Emilie swallowed. “My attacker had blue eyes. When I saw Mr. Ingvar, I knew it wasn’t him because he has different colored eyes,” She looked around at the judges and lawyers, “One eye is blue and the other brown.”
The judge asked Hazel something, and she said, “Ing.”
Whatever that meant. It had to mean ‘no.’
Emilie was dismissed, and when she stood, her gaze met Owen’s across the room on the other side of the audience.
His jaw ticked and his eyes narrowed.
What did Owen know? Or think he knew?
I didn’t care. Shirley Temple had followed through.
When another Danish speaking witness was called in, I was nearly jumping out of my skin.
Would it be enough? Could Emilie’s words save Sten?
The judge rattled off a string of words; I imagined that she had marbles in her mouth and inappropriately, I almost laughed.
The new witness looked to be another scientist or doctor.
To answer the judge, he frowned and furrowed his brow before babbling what might as well be Swahili for all that I could understand.
I patted Aurev’s arm, “What’re they saying?”
“This is an expert in Moroi genealogy. He says that Karsten is Emilie’s maker.”
Karsten’s expression darkened, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his gaze lowered.
All the lawyers got to ask their questions, and then the prosecutor stood. Addressing the judges in Danish, she motioned to Karsten several times during a long-winded speech before taking her seat.
The audience looked at Hazel, and she stood. I wondered if she had an American accent in Danish.
Son of a… She addressed the judges in their language also, and I speculated as to her argument. Raising her palms upward argumentatively, my friend also spoke to the audience, gaining some hmm's and ya’s from the crowd.
When she finished, the judges left, and the crowd murmur grew to a deafening level.
A few people trailed out and came back in.
I sat in silence so tightly wound I couldn’t move.
Aurev wisely kept quiet, listening to the various conversations around us. Unlike me, he no doubt understood them.
The wait didn’t last long; after approximately thirty minutes, the judges returned.
Karsten was taken back to the witness stand where he stood.
All three judges remained standing, and the chief judge addressed him. My Viking ran his hands over his face, but all I could see was his back.
Hazel looked on, poised and calm, her face completely neutral.
Unable to watch anymore, I rested my head in my hands and waited, unable to understand the verdict.
Whispers spread out from something she’d said, and I looked up.
Then the judge motioned for the defendant to sit and addressed him some more.
When she finished, Karsten turned to me, his face lit from within. Reaching for me over the railing that separated us, he crushed me to his chest in a fierce embrace.
Tears rimmed the corners of his mismatched eyes and in turn, my own eyes prickled. His blond hair stood on end where he’d messed it up, and his lip trembled.
I let out a sob of relief.
We’d both been pushed to our limits.
“Sarah,” Sten crooned into my hair, “Min lille heks.”
I laughed into his t-shirt, before catching his eyes.
“Tell me what the judge said?” I asked before changing my mind and shaking my head. “No. I don’t care. I’m just glad that you’re free and this is over.”
His lips touched mine and at that moment, in his arms, I was home.
RUBY
Blood is Thicker Than Water
Prologue
1941
My left foot slipped out from beneath me, and I gripped the ledge tighter. Standing on the lip of the Queensboro bridge, my heart thundered in my chest. As my hair slapped my already stinging face, strands stuck to the tracks of my tears.
The pages crumpled in my hand as the wind whipped them with its ferocity. I’d only received the letter this afternoon. My fiancé, Leo, had been killed in action.
How could I live in a world without him?
After scanning the pages, my feet had taken me here to the bridge. My hands had pulled me over the railing. The slick bottomed heels strapped to my feet were unsteady on the narrow metal lip.
I hadn’t planned to jump, but here I was, contemplating it.
Compelled to do it.
Leo was dead.
A sob caught in my throat.
My skirt billowed up, and I instinctively reached down to grasp the material but in doing so the fingers of my other hand slid along the metal banister. As my hand lost contact with the metal railing, I pictured Leo’s blue eyes, crinkles around them as he smiled, his brown hair messed up from the wind.
My heart thudded in my chest as I fruitlessly tried to clutch the round rail. The pages of the letter began to slip away and fly into the wind. When my grip was secure, I let out a relieved sigh and a shaky laugh. But as soon as I’d relaxed, my foot flew backward off the slippery narrow ledge, shifting my weight dangerously. I dangled, trying uselessly with my feet to pull myself back up. My simple work dress and underskirt hampered my progress as I frantically tried to save myself. When my fingers slid off the ledge, a cry escaped my mouth.
Time seemed to slow, and I felt nothing below me but air. The black water beneath me reflected the moonlight, the surface menacing and frigid.
It was going to hurt, and I was going to die.
My father’s face flashed in my mind. Even though I was one of eleven children, my death would devastate him. He’d never wanted me to come here to New York, but I pushed and pr
odded and planned.
He would be shattered.
Why had I come here to the bridge? Why had I climbed the handrail?
Fear and regret for my foolishness swamped me, and I cursed myself for my stupidity.
The water came closer and closer, and in those few moments, I began to accept my fate.
I began to accept my stupidity.
Would my father know? Oh, the shame! He wasn’t a religious man, but we were Catholic, and my suicide would be seen as a sin. According to the church, I would go to hell.
I’d never thought about what I believed, but I knew that soon, very soon, I would find out what came after this life—If anything.
The water hit me like a wall of ice, and as I entered the water everything went dark.
I assumed that was the end of my twenty-nine years of life until consciousness crept up on me.
Pain.
The pain was the first sensation I can recall after waking—pain and a beautiful, dark-haired angel looming above me.
When he opened his mouth to speak, the coppery scent of his breath blew across my face.
“Did…did you save me?” My breath came in shallow gasps, and when I coughed, blood filled my mouth and came to my lips. I tried to move, but my body wouldn’t obey my brain’s commands. “What? Oh God!” I cried out, unable to move.
The angel’s hand smoothed the wet hair from my face. “Shhhhh… It’s alright. Just tell me this—do you want to live or did you mean to jump and die?”
“I…” cough, “I fell. I want….live.” My voice gave out on my last word. Did it matter what my intentions had been?
Pulsating, angry agony encompassed every inch of my body. He should’ve just let me drown in the water, quickly, instead of suffering on the shore—freezing in the breeze and wet to the bone. My vision began to blur, and unconsciousness pulled at me.
Then my dark angel kissed my neck and blackness encompassed me again.
When something nudged at my lips, I groaned awake again — slowly remembering everything that had happened.
I didn’t want to wake. I didn’t want to open my eyes, so I kept them closed. Why hadn’t I died yet? How long was I going to have to suffer?
Leave me alone! I wanted to yell, but lacked the strength.
Then tangy, metallic liquid began to fill my mouth until I was forced to swallow the foul stuff. It brought on a coughing spell, and I tried to lift my arm, but it refused to obey me.
Dark drops spattered my savior's face, and it took several moments for me to realize what I was drinking.
Blood, I was drinking blood. But I was so tired and so broken that it didn’t matter.
In my mind, I wanted to slap the angel away, but when my eyes opened, my gaze locked with his. His eyes seemed to be black as night, and I wondered in my pain and cold addled mind if he was a demon, come to collect me for Hell because of my sins.
Then sleepiness overcame me and my world went black again.
Swimming to the surface of my consciousness, I stretched one arm above my head and let out a long sigh.
Then I sat up abruptly after memories came crashing over my mind like waves.
I gasped and clutched the cream-colored bedding to my naked body.
Gazing around the room, I tentatively called out, “Hello?”
On a chair, next to the bed, lay a silk kimono. Trying to keep myself covered and snag the gown, I dipped one foot out of the bedding, and it sank into a plush carpet.
With my modesty intact, I tied the belt around my waist and neared the window. Thick curtains held the light of day back, save a narrow sliver of gold that held swimming dust particles.
Another gasp escaped my lips as the view below was revealed to me. I was inside one of those new steel buildings downtown. The water sparkled in the distance between houses, and I could see Lady Liberty standing tall in the gap.
I guessed the time to be around late morning because the sun shone from the east.
Where was I? Did my angel (…or demon) from last night live here? It was such a strange sight for a girl from rural Iowa.
I’d come to New York two years before to work as a secretary for a friend of a friend of my father’s. My employer was a partner in a small law firm. I’d always been interested in the legal system but as my father had told me several times, “Women don’t become lawyers, it isn’t done.”
I’d graduated from St. Mary’s Ladies College back in Iowa, ripe for adventure and ready to take on the world.
A noise startled me from my reverie, and I jumped.
After pulling the curtains back, I got a proper view of the room but had little time to investigate. I needed to find my clothing and escape this strange place.
Opening up ornate drawers of the bureau, I found them empty.
Wardrobe—empty.
But someone was out there, in the hall or elsewhere in the vicinity.
“Hello?” Nearing the door, I turned the knob and pulled it open. Biting my lip, I hesitated to explore this strange home without proper clothing. A silk robe was near to nothing. Not to mention, I wore no undergarments. My poor mother would roll over in her grave.
Poking my head out into the hallway, I could hear some dishes clanging and followed the sound to a tidy kitchen with large windows that looked over the city.
My dark angel turned to me, his chocolate eyes sharp.
“Good, you’re awake!” He smiled, his steps eating up the distance between us. “Our introduction is a little late. I am Aurev Vatia.”
Reaching out, I took his cool palm in mine. “Better late than never,” I told him. “Hazel Richards.” I pursed my lips and averted my gaze in embarrassment, my naked toes tapping on the pricey tile floor. His eyes searched my face, and I stared back at him defiantly. “Where are my clothes?” I asked abruptly. I wasn’t by nature a modest person, but this situation put me at a disadvantage.
Aurev wore a dashing pinstripe suit, and his matching hat sat on the table nearby. “Oh! Right.” He blinked, and his cheeks suddenly blushed, “Oh…no. I didn’t undress you…My housekeeper Gerta…erm… I’ll send her to fetch your things from your home. Just write down the address.” His pale cheeks now thoroughly flushed pink at this point, and I laughed as he pushed a tablet of paper and a pencil toward me.
“No. I’ll dress and go myself. I board with Mrs. Jennings. I need to get back. She’ll be worried sick.” Mrs. Jennings was a meek lamb and couldn’t care less where I’d been, but I didn’t want him to know this. My angel might have saved me, but trust needed to be earned.
“Gerta!” He called into the apartment. A moment later, a thick blond-haired woman in a maid’s uniform strode in. My angel, Aurev, spoke to her in German, my first language. I had been the first generation in my family to be born in the United States. “Where are this young lady’s clothes from last night?”
She answered in the same language. “They were wet, and I washed them.”
He looked at me. “You’ll have to wait. Would you like to write a note to your landlady? I can have my valet take it over.”
A corner of my lips twisted and I snorted. What was this, the 1800’s? “May I use your telephone?” I looked over to it sitting on a table next to the wall.
When my angel’s hand settled on my arm, it sent a fission of pleasure and danger through me. “Not quite yet.” He motioned to the table. “Please, have a seat. We need to have a conversation.”
I pulled the silk robe closer around my body, uneasy about my bare legs beneath. “I prefer to talk when I’m decently dressed,” I told the dark angel, pulling on the hem next to my thigh.
“I’m afraid this cannot wait.” Pulling out the elegant wooden chair, he motioned once again for me to sit.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I pursed my lips and sat, narrowing my eyes.
Angel? Or Demon?
I would leave, even scantily dressed.
I would leave and scream and get help. We were in the city and as mortifying as it would be, I
would do it.
“Fine,” I told him, raising one eyebrow as he gracefully slid into the chair opposite.
“Last night, I’d been taking my evening walk when I saw you on the edge of the bridge. I watched you. You weren’t going to jump. Then you slipped, and I jumped in after you, pulling you to shore. Do you remember last night?” He sighed.
I scoffed. “Yes, of course. I’m fine. I’m obviously fine…” My mind reeled as uneasy memories of the night before swam through my thoughts: the pain, the paralysis. “I’m fine now,” I said uneasily.
“No, you weren’t fine.” His long fingers reached out and held mine. “Your back broke when you fell, and you were bleeding internally. You were going to die…” He paused, searching my skeptical expression, “And I asked you if you wanted to live and you said you did.”
I nodded, puckering my lips in thought. “What does this have to do with anything?”
There aren’t words to describe this conversation as I remember it. What Aurev told me next, changed my life forever in ways that no imagination could comprehend.
“You, my dear, have taken your last mortal breath. As of that moment, when you drank of my blood, you have been transformed into a new creature.”
I pulled my hand from his, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “You’re mad! I need to go,” I said even as the truth of his words sank into my mind. On some level, looking into his deep dark eyes, his smooth complexion and old fashioned speech, I knew he was telling the truth.
I felt different.
That small pain in my hip from when I’d been thrown by a horse as a twelve-year-old—that same ache I’d felt every day since—was gone. My thoughts felt a clarity that I’d never experienced before and my poor eyesight—now razor sharp and crystal clear.
Sucking in a breath, I felt my racing heart beneath my breast bone.
I was still alive.
I was alive.
Instead of following the actions of leaving, I sat rooted to my chair. My lips parted in some understanding, shock and wonder—and fear—zigzagging through my head.
“What am I? What have you done to me?”
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