by Holly Hook
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Thank You!
TrueSide
The Forgotten Vampires, Book Three
By Holly Hook
CHAPTER ONE
A loud banging brings me from a deep sleep.
I wake in the sea that is my sprawling bed, gasping for air. The darkness tells me that dawn is still far off.
“What’s that?”
Riley’s hand brushes my arm for a split second before pulling away again, almost as if I'm too hot to touch.
Or as if I’m poison.
“Riley,” I mutter, blinking as I stare at the deep night between the heavy burgundy curtains. “I heard something.” The stars wink overhead and a crescent moon slowly rises. The grounds of the former Beaumont mansion spread out below, full of tall trees, tall grass, shadows, secrets, and death.
And I remember.
Dad’s gone. He's run off, leaving me and Riley in charge of this nightmare.
And all week, he hasn’t returned.
I gasp, not because I've woken from a nightmare, but because I've woken up.
Riley rolls over beside me, wrapping the blanket around himself as he puts his back to me.
I sigh after listening for the thump again and hearing nothing. I hate this. Ever since the night Dad got caught and ran away, Riley has insisted that we can still work things out, although I almost lost control and made him kill Dominic. His words, however, don't match his actions when he's asleep.
He looks like a hunched, hurt angel under the covers, his dark hair disheveled. His bare back shines in the faint moonlight, almost giving him a magical glow. Of course, we haven't touched each other yet. The last week has made it impossible, with so much activity in the mansion.
The thumping knock comes again, and footsteps echo on the hardwood floor below as someone goes to answer the door. I jump and eye the clock. It's three-thirty in the morning. Riley and I went to bed an hour ago and we've almost gotten enough sleep, but not quite.
I sit up, fully roused.
No one knocks at this time of the night, even though someone is always up here at the Nightside mansion.
“Riley?” I ask, grabbing his shoulder.
“Hmph,” he mutters in his sleep.
And no good news comes at three-thirty in the morning.
The door opens below, and I let my enhanced senses take over and let them expand down the two floors. I sense that Daeshawn, who Riley and I have appointed to the new management council, is at the door because those are his new sneakers squeaking against the floor.
“Hello?” he asks in confusion. I hear the slight distortion of his voice as it floats up the stairs and through the railings that mark off the balcony.
“Hello. Are you a servant or familiar to this coven?” an older woman asks. “We are here to speak with the new leader.”
Shit. “Riley,” I say, gently patting him on the arm and bracing myself for the recoil that will follow.
But he springs, sitting up and eyeing the closed bedroom door. “Is someone attacking?”
“Someone's asking for us,” I say, missing whatever Daeshawn is saying.
“Tell your master that the High Council must speak with him or her immediately. This is not negotiable,” the older woman says. She has a faint, classy accent, as if she's the head of Rich Kid Academy. I instantly get an image of a gray-haired woman with a bun and spectacles, but there's something powerful in her voice. It warns the listener not to mess with her.
“Who?” Riley asks, turning and blinking sleep from his eyes. He lets the blanket fall around his perfect torso, which I haven't gotten to touch while he's asleep. Riley lets me wrap my arms around him when we're awake, but once he’s in dreamland, I'm repulsive.
I swallow my pain. “Someone called the High Council is here and asking for the leader of this place. I suppose that's us?” I get out of bed, irritation gathering in my fists as I change out of my long nightshirt and start throwing on the clothes I’ve left on the floor of the master bedroom.
Yeah. The master bedroom is vast, complete with carved pillars and ours.
“What?” Riley's at Defcon 5 as he leaps out of bed in just his trunks. “You said the High Council is here?”
“That's what I heard,” I say, pulling on my jeans. Just Riley's shocked tone dispels every ounce of irritation I had a second ago. “Who the heck is the High Council?”
But Riley doesn't answer. He opens the walk-in dresser of the master bedroom and rummages not through jeans, but through suits. Gray suits. Brown suits. And of course, the stereotypical black ones. He settles on the burgundy one he wore at the dance and starts putting his limbs through a white undershirt once he tosses it onto the bed.
“Why are you dressing up?” I ask.
“Olivia,” Riley says. “Just stay back for this.” His tone is ice.
“Riley, I know you're still upset with me, and I don't blame you, but can you explain what's going on?” I ask.
He pauses just enough to look at me. “I'm not upset with you.” His face widens in confusion. “I know why you lashed out. I would have, too, if I were in your position.”
He's not being completely honest. I fear Riley just doesn't want to put any more burden on me than he already has. Or maybe he's scared that I'll completely snap. It's not a good feeling. Indescribable, really.
But we can't pursue that now. Riley thinks this requires a suit, so this must be serious. I help him dress, glad he doesn't push me away.
“Should I wear something special?” I ask. I realize I've lost track of what the woman at the door is saying to Daeshawn with all my focus on Riley. As I listen, I hear several sets of harsh, clicking footsteps back away from the mansion and stop on the front porch.
And they pause there, as if they're expecting Daeshawn to do something on his own. He doesn't speak.
“You can get away with putting something plain on,” Riley says. “Maybe just a black or gray dress would work.”
Something is off here, and I don't like it. But I'll trust Riley's judgment. What if the arriving people are some sort of supreme hunter council? No, their footsteps don't sound heavy and human like the hunters’ do. They're too quiet, too predatory, too graceful. The newcomers could be other Nightsides who have heard about the new coven, or Truebloods. But how would they get back into town?
Riley’s rocking the professional look in record time. Ever since taking Dominic's blood, he's been three times as strong, as graceful, and in control. I don't deserve him, and yet, I can't walk away. We share too much. The pressure, the stress, and above all, our nature.
But I tried to control him.
I had the urge to make him fully mine, by overpowering his thoughts with my own.
And that's one thing I haven't confessed yet.
“Truly,” the woman says down below, now on the porch. “Has your master not educated you on who the High Council is?”
“Let me fetch my master,” Daeshawn says, and not without a hint of disgust. This newc
omer is treating him like the lowest servant, and one who might deserve a whipping. Yikes. And Daeshawn is anything but. He’s a Nightside, and a brilliant one at that.
“Ready,” Riley says, combing his hair to the side just as Daeshawn's feet climb the steps and onto the balcony.
He knocks on our bedroom door. “Master,” he says with an Igor tone. “You have guests, waiting for you down at the front entrance.”
“One second.” I pull on a plain gray dress, feeling like an ugly duckling next to Riley. Why shouldn't I dress as nice as him? We’re both running this coven. I have plenty of dresses tailored for me by the Beaumonts' former shop in downtown Moon's Peak. We both have plenty of money, just waiting in Dominic's former bank accounts. I comb my hair a bit with my hand before I answer the door.
Daeshawn stands there in his black slacks and white dress shirt, rocking on his sneakers. Yes, he wears sneakers, despite his new role as the head of managing Moon's Peak lumber industry. Turns out he's a graduate of a prestigious business school, and he was on his way to a bright future before coming into contact with a Trueblood date and awakening his Nightside mutation. He's been on the run for the past two decades, trying not to hurt people and doing whatever he can to support himself.
“Your Highness,” he says, bowing before me.
“Stop it. I heard how they treated you,” I say. “Ridiculous.”
“I guess they look down on Nightsides?” Daeshawn asks, looking between me and Riley. “They know I’m a lowly Nightside and therefore second class. They stepped back outside, by the way, but they're all waiting outside the front door and are demanding to come in immediately.”
“These people are Truebloods?” My heart leaps into my chest. This is bad, and Riley knows something about it. “How did they know you're a Nightside? I mean, you can't tell the difference unless you hang around one for too long and see it for yourself.”
Daeshawn shrugs. “She said she could smell it.”
“Who?” Riley asks, pushing ahead of me. He doesn't mean to shove me out of the way, but he's desperate to get out there and settle whatever's happening. “My father couldn't even smell the difference, and he's an ancient vampire.”
Daeshawn motions over the balcony to the entryway below. “These Truebloods are even older? We'd better deal with it. I don't know why they're here, but it's serious business.”
“Thanks,” I tell Daeshawn, following Riley out the door. But as I step onto the balcony that overlooks the entry hall, Riley holds out his hand.
“Walk behind me,” he hisses, almost inaudible.
I look to him, and his dark eyes are dead serious. Why? I want to ask, but Riley leans close and whispers in my ear.
And his words send shudders down my spine. “Because the High Council are the rulers of all the Trueblood covens. And if they see a Nightside in charge, they won't let any of us live to see the next day. But if we don't obey them and let them inside, we’ll face a death penalty.”
CHAPTER TWO
I’m full of scared insects darting around the black hole in my torso. The hole opens wider, and I'm going to fall inside and suffocate.
The leaders of the Trueblood covens are here?
Daeshawn has clearly heard Riley's words, because he backs into the balcony railing and utters a few silent and creative curses. “I'll tell the others.”
“Thank you,” Riley tells him, assuming a leader tone. “I will speak with them in a moment. There are a couple things that this might be about. We must call a mandatory meeting, in the dining room, immediately. The cooks aren't here, so you and the other Nightsides will need to get refreshments ready.”
Daeshawn nods and I understand.
Some covens kill Nightsides, but others keep them as servants and slaves. Riley told me that once. Us Nightsides will need to look like servants, like second-class citizens. While I know that Truebloods fear Nightsides for their mind powers and often kill them, I also know that keeping Nightside servants and slaves is another way to keep us under control. We’re excellent hunters, and the Truebloods will take advantage of that. It must be a common thing with other Trueblood covens, which I have heard little about until now.
“What about me?” I ask.
Riley frowns. “Just walk behind me and stand at attention. Olivia, I don't know how effective you'll be against these people. They're much older than Dominic. And the older a vampire becomes, the more powerful they get.”
I can't argue. We're only a week into this, and we don't even have a name for this coven yet. How can Riley convince this High Council that things are hunky dory, when he's the only Trueblood left here with about a dozen Nightsides? Yeah, the High Council won’t let that fly.
We might all be dead in minutes, but I have to stand there and look harmless. Riley hasn't even suggested running away.
“Are we going to come out of this alive?” I hiss as Daeshawn rushes down the stairs.
Riley swallows. “I don't know.”
I want to hug him, but the tension rolls off him in waves. Neither of us needs to say why. As one who stole an ancient vampire's blood without permission, Riley will be on the shit list of this High Council.
It's my hope that they don't know what he did, that word of it didn't reach them.
Riley and I descend the steps, and I can't calm down my heart rate. We could die. Riley and I could get captured and taken to some sort of trial, and Dad isn't here to help. I'm just glad Mom is staying at the Derp House tonight, at my insistence, and that she's probably safe from these people. And how did they get into the town with all the hunters and other Nightsides out watching the perimeter?
Doing what I'm supposed to do, I stand back, hating that I can't help Riley through this. I keep my hands folded over the top of my gray skirt, a skirt that can only fit an employee of this place, or maybe some long-forgotten relative here trying to scrounge for money. Yay.
“Greetings,” Riley says in that drop-dead, graceful voice as he opens the door and stands there with confidence. Maybe this High Council doesn't know about his theft, and the new way Riley carries himself will impress them.
“Greetings,” the woman says.
I get my first glimpse of the High Council. And immediately I know that I'm dealing with power and danger.
The woman stands in the front, and despite the Truebloods not aging, this woman looks older, maybe in her upper fifties, and she has dark hair that's graying and tied up in a bun. I hold back a nervous laugh because she looks almost the way I imagined her. The woman wears an elegant, dark purple dress that communicates high nobility or maybe even royalty, and she looks like an old-fashioned, mean tutor from nineteenth century Victorian high society. She's minus the spectacles, though, with bright blue, severe eyes. A copper ring shines in each, matching those of the other Truebloods. I sense age in them, great age, and wisdom, but also a sharp edge formed by hundreds, no, thousands of years of life and experience. This is a woman who's probably seen every horrific act that people can do to each other, and she's bringing that to the table.
And behind the woman, who is clearly the leader, stands three men, just as powerful and controlling. One dark-skinned man wears a gray suit and very shiny black shoes, and his dreadlocks hang gracefully around his shoulders. He's got a square face and a firm jaw, but his features look like that of a chiseled statue. The other two men look like twins, with the same sandy blond, almost white hair. They, too, have severe eyes, only in the shade of brilliant, copper-flecked hazel. One wears a black suit, and the other a cream-colored suit that does not complement his light hair well at all. They're going too far, trying to tell each other apart.
“You are the new master of this mansion and this coven, correct?” the woman asks. Her accent is classy but unidentifiable, almost as if she made it up on her own. Or it could be some weird hybrid of a bunch of countries she's traveled and lived in over the millennia.
I stay back as Riley offers a small bow. “Yes, I am now. Come in. I hoped that we'd see you.�
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The woman's question gives me hope that they don't know about Riley's theft, and that they're here for some other reason. The woman studies him slowly as Riley waits, and at last, she sniffs a bit and nods. So Riley has passed the scent test. I still don't get how these Truebloods can smell the difference between Truebloods and Nightsides. If Dominic had done it, I would have been dead before I could defend myself.
I let my hunter senses take over. The four step inside, gracefully, as Daeshawn scrambles around in the background. I hear his voice as he gets the others up somewhere in the back of the mansion. Only Trish and a guy named Walton are here, and I'm glad that Stanley is missing. The sounds of dressing follow.
“Gather everyone in the mansion,” the woman says, firm but with a tone that says that there is no room for argument. “We would like to see this new coven.”
“Of course,” Riley says. He motions to the dining room, but this woman and the three men don't seem to need direction. Either they've sensed it already or they've been here before, and they're walking to the elegant space before Riley even finishes raising his arm. The four walk past me, in a perfect line and almost with matching footsteps, and as they do, one of the blond men looks right at me.
His nostrils flare.
And then he looks at me as if I'm a butler ready to bring him his wine.
The pressure rises in my head, and Riley looks at me in warning. He's sensed the whole exchange. These are people used to getting what they want.
I wonder why they tolerate us being alive when Dominic sure didn't.
The four seat themselves at the table, and I'm shocked when the woman doesn't take the head of the table the way Dominic used to, and the way Dad used to. The red tablecloth is bright under the chandelier that is always on, and the plates are empty and shining. Fighting down the pressure to lash out and take control of these people, I enter the kitchen behind Riley, biting my lip and standing off to the side.
But the woman looks directly at me. “Sit,” she orders as if I'm a dog.
I'm about to lose it. My head aches with my anger, and Riley pulls out a chair for me and motions with a stern nod. No. I've got to keep control because if I lose it, then I'll ruin every chance all of us having of getting out of this meeting alive. We're already tiptoeing on broken glass.