“I wish I did.”
There's a slight silence, and I wonder if they're communicating with their eyes, trying to figure out if they should ask me questions. They like to do that, talk with their eyes, and sometimes, I do that with Romelia. She can know without my saying a word that I love her.
“I will introduce you to her one—”
“Oh! Berric is cutting a tooth already! Can you believe it?” Mom laughs. “It’s a milestone, but one that I don’t mind having delayed a bit. As for Valerie, she coos every time she’s picked up. It’s adorable.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
“Are you that serious about this girl?” Dad asks slowly.
“Yes,” I say without hesitating.
“Okay,” he continues in that same slow tone.
He’s wondering and questioning how serious I am if I won’t bring her home, but they don’t understand. It could very well be dangerous for them and maybe for Romelia too if I bring her home. Not yet. When it’s safe.
What if it’s never safe?
"Kraig and Ophelia have taken to carving into the wall. You know how you used to want to paint on the walls or draw with crayons and markers? That was one thing. A quick paint job, and it would be covered up, but carving? I swear they think we live in a cave." Mom tsks her tongue.
“That’s… Wow.” I burst out laughing. “What are they carving?”
“Their letters mostly,” Dad says.
“They’re learning how to spell their names,” Mom says. “Kraig has an easier time with it, although he sometimes writes a ‘C’ instead of a ‘K.’ Ophelia is struggling more with her name, but it is more complicated, I suppose.”
“She did yell at you a few nights ago,” Dad says.
“Yelled at Mom? Why?” I ask.
“‘Why didn’t you name me Jane?’” Mom asks in a perfect impersonation of Ophelia.
We all start to laugh.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Romelia? No, I can’t imagine that she would risk coming here, and I quickly check. There’s not another text from her. She’s still napping.
“Someone’s at the door. I’m going to go,” I tell my parents. “I love you all.”
“We love you too. Maybe you can see us again before your third and final year begins.” I can hear the smile in Mom’s voice.
“Just stay true to yourself,” Dad says.
"Oh, if we're dishing out advice," Mom cuts in, "then I hope that you always consider your actions, reflect on the consequences, and have no regrets. Do what's necessary, and you'll never have to worry about becoming a ghost."
“That’s morbid advice, Mom.”
"It's not morbid. It's the truth," Mom protests. "I had a nightmare last night that you were killed trying to help a werewolf in one of those terrible fights, and you became a ghost because you weren't able to help that werewolf. Then, that werewolf died, so there was no way for you to finish your unfinished business, and you were stuck as a ghost forever."
“I thought you had a good night’s sleep,” I say.
The person at the door knocks again.
“I have more nightmares when my sleep is constantly broken by the babies crying. No regrets, you hear? We love you.”
I hang up and open the door.
Mercy strolls in. “How’s it going?”
I grin at her and try to act a bit nonchalant. “Not too bad.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“My parents.”
“You have good ones.”
“You do too,” I point out.
“Yeah, well, it can be a bit tough at times. You know how it is.”
I nod. Mercy's alpha is her father, so she's much closer to being alpha than I am. Well, she's closer to being an alpha of a decently sized pack than I am, considering I'm my alpha's nephew instead of his son.
"There are so many expectations on me," she says. "I feel like I can't always know if I'm doing something for myself or for my pack."
“That’s how it is for all of us.”
“It’s a bit… It’s a little different for me. Every action I do has to be for the betterment of the pack. I know that it’s supposed to be that way for every werewolf, but…”
“You’re to be alpha one day.”
“Maybe,” she murmurs. “There are some who don’t care for the idea of a female alpha. I mean, it’s not as if we’re in the Middle Ages, but…”
“You’re strong and capable.”
She sighs and crosses over to my window, staring out at the expanse of land that stretches between this residential castle and the next one over.
“Is that why you tend to be ready and eager to fight the vampires?” I ask. “Because you want to appear strong?”
"There's already been talk. Some of the other male wolves my age want to challenge me for the right to be alpha next before my dad's even close to dying. They already want to have a claim to power. Others have been trying to date me, but they don't actually care about me. They figure that they can just marry me and serve as alpha, as if I'll just be a figurehead or something. A stepping stone on their quest for power. I can't show any weakness, and I don't…"
Mercy turns to face me, and I’ve never seen her more conflicted, hurt, or unsure.
“I don’t pretend to understand how you can love a vampire, but I don’t know if I can risk falling in love. Not if I want to be alpha. I don’t know if I can trust the werewolf, that he wants to be with me and not because of my power, my position.”
“Mercy, that’s so—”
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” a bitter voice asks.
I whirl around to face the newcomer. Golden brown hair, flashing red eyes…
Tyra. Romelia’s friend, and she doesn’t seem friendly one bit.
Mercy moves to stand just in front of me, her blond hair swaying. She just had it cut recently so it's short, chin-length. It won't get in the way during a confrontation.
Why am I even thinking about that?
Maybe because Tyra’s flashing her fangs at her, her fingers curled into tight fists.
“Julian, it’s done. It’s over between you and Romelia,” the vampire claims.
I can't help but smile. Tyra doesn't have any idea what she's talking about.
"I challenge you," she continues. "I challenge you to the death."
Chapter 25
Julian
A heavy silence descends, and I gape at Tyra. She can’t be serious, right?
“Vampires don’t do challenges,” Mercy says, her shoulders back, her nose lifted high into the air.
“Why are you even here? Can’t Julian make up his mind about who he loves?” Tyra snaps.
“It’s possible to love a friend,” I say slowly. “You love Romelia, and I understand that. I appreciate it! Romelia needs friends—”
“I’m not just Romelia’s friend,” Tyra snaps through her fangs. “I’m family!”
I nod slowly. It’s time for the truth to come out. As much as I wish Romelia could have been the one to tell her cousin, I see no other choice. I cannot and will not fight Tyra.
“I refuse your challenge.”
Tyra’s red eyes flash dangerously. “You can’t refuse a challenge,” she hisses, her words coming out slightly slurred. “You have to fight, you coward! Don’t you have any honor at all?”
“Julian has more honor in his pinky than you do in your entire body,” Mercy snaps.
“Hey,” I murmur, seizing Mercy’s elbow and drawing her back a step as I move to stand closer to Tyra. “I can, and I do refuse your challenge.”
“You aren’t worthy of Romelia!”
"That is not your call to make," I say calmly. "I love Romelia, and she loves me."
“She doesn’t realize just how toxic your kind is.”
“Our kind?” Mercy barks a bitter laugh. “You’re the one coming here and demanding a challenge to the death.”
“Mercy, please.”
Tyra burst out laughing. �
��Mercy? Your name is Mercy? Oh, that’s rich!”
“You—”
“Enough, Mercy,” I say in a tone that shocks me.
I’ve heard that tone before.
From an alpha.
Mercy recognizes that too. Her eyes widen, and she slides back a half-step.
I refocus on the vampire. “I don’t refuse to fight you because I’m afraid of dying. I don’t refuse your challenge because I worry that Romelia will hate me if I kill you. And I don’t refuse because you’re a woman.”
"Then why do you, coward?" Tyra snaps, her golden hair falling forward over her shoulders. She quickly whisks it up into a ponytail, so her locks are out of her way.
“Because we are now related, not by blood but through marriage,” I say simply.
Mercy inhales sharply, but she makes no other sound, makes no move.
Tyra’s jaw drops, and I can feel her body growing hotter, hotter than most vampires can be. Her face alters from porcelain to a deep red as anger washes over her. She’s incensed. The scent of brimstone washes over me, the stench of her fury.
“You married her?” she spits out. “Here I thought you two became engaged, but you married her?” Her voice is shrill to the point of piercing, and I wince.
“I did.”
“No, it can’t be legally binding. It can’t—”
“If you’re wondering if we shared our blood, if we drank from the same cup, we did,” I inform her.
“Disgusting,” Mercy murmurs.
“It’s not disgusting,” Tyra snaps, her eyes narrowing at Mercy. “Well, it is disgusting that you would share your blood with a vampire. You’re tainted—”
“Tainted?” Mercy snaps. “How so? Because we have a wolf inside of us? Last I checked, vampires have the ability to shapeshift too, so why exactly are you so against us? Because long ago, the first werewolf killed the first vampire? Vampires have killed how many werewolves?”
“Not enough,” Tyra growls, almost sounding animalistic herself.
“You’re the tainted abomination,” Mercy continues.
“Mercy, stand down,” I say.
But Mercy doesn’t listen, and she doesn’t have to. I might be willing and ready to step up as alpha for myself and Romelia, but that doesn’t mean I have authority over every werewolf I see.
"You drink blood to survive," Mercy adds. "You survive on others. You kill, and you take, and you destroy life."
“You can act as if you’re better than us, but you aren’t. Plenty of your kind still drink blood and eat flesh too. Don’t forget that tidbit,” Tyra spits out. “You can’t act as if you’ve evolved that much because it’s just a front. You’re all monsters, and monsters should die.”
“Is that so?” Mercy asks. “How is Julian here a monster? Because he dares to find it in himself to see past the blood, the thirst, the fangs? He loves Romelia, and if you can’t see and understand that, then you’re a lost cause. Julian is a good man—”
“Oh, spare me!” Tyra shouts.
“Do you think Romelia would love just anyone?” I ask.
“I think that Romelia might not realize what she’s doing,” Tyra says. “She’s desperate to get away from Constantine, and she’s using you. Don’t you see that?”
“I know about Constantine, and I want her away from him as much as possible, but that doesn’t mean that she’s using me. Romelia doesn’t use people.”
“You don’t know her as well as you think you do. She’s part demon. You do know that, right? She can’t help it. Using people is in her nature, and I would know. I’m part demon too.”
I grit my teeth. "Romelia suppresses that side of her, for better or for worse."
“Is that what you said in your vows? For better or for worse? That’s pathetic.” Tyra smirks. “It’s always going to be worse for you two because vampires and werewolves don’t belong together. You’re nothing more than a mangy pet to her.”
“Enough!” Mercy shouts. She marches around me, standing directly in front of me. “I hate that you’re dishonoring Julian, and if he doesn’t want to take on your challenge because he’s related to you—”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Through blood, through marriage, it doesn’t matter,” Mercy says coolly. “I accept your challenge in Julian’s name.”
“No, you don’t.” I reach for Mercy, but she rushes ahead, grabbing Tyra. The two girls lock arms, and Mercy spins them around, racing toward the window. They crash through it and fall to the ground.
Muttering a curse, I jump out of the window to follow them. A blur of golden brown hair mixes with golden blond hair as Mercy and Tyra roll to a stop.
Immediately, they spring apart, warily watching each other. Tyra’s fangs are out, and Mercy has hers out too. Her fingers transform into claws, but she doesn’t take on her entire wolf form. Not yet at least.
“There’s no need for any of this,” I cry. “Tyra, does Romelia even know you’re here?”
The vampire ignores me, breathing heavily. I’m not sure she even can hear me at all. She seems possessed as she uses her vampiric speed to launch attack after attack at Mercy, but my werewolf friend manages to block each blow. Always being on the defense won’t help her to win, though, and Mercy must realize that because she accepts the next attack—a slash to her stomach—and sneaks even closer to Tyra to slash across her throat. It’s a superficial wound, both are, but now that blood has been shed, they back off slightly, back to watching, more feigning attacks than actually going for the kill.
My stomach churns, and I don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away. My phone. It’s still in my hand, and I call Romelia.
No answer.
I call again.
Still no answer.
I risk looking away enough to send a flurry of texts to Romelia, but she doesn’t respond to any of them.
Even more desperate now, I try calling Romelia one more time.
It goes straight to voicemail.
Her phone is dead.
“Romelia doesn’t know you’re here, does she?” I ask, but I’m more or less talking to myself.
“You think you can defeat me?” Tyra asks. “You can’t. You won’t. Romelia needs to be set free. I will say this much. Julian is right that she’s denying the demon that she is. Her demon needs to be unleashed, and this will do so.”
“That’s why you came here? To kill Julian so Romelia can go insane with grief?”
“No, she won’t go insane, and her grief will be short-lived. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she doesn’t love—”
“You don’t know love yourself, so how can you possibly understand the love Romelia and I share?” I demand.
It’s as if the vampire is purposely ignoring me. She feigns a strike to Mercy’s right and then brings her claws to Mercy’s left, slashing her side.
Mercy goes to counter, but Tyra ducks. The werewolf isn’t done, though, and she kicks Tyra’s knee. A human’s kneecap would’ve busted at the attack, but Tyra doesn’t even buckle. She just grins, and I realize her teeth are bloodstained. It makes for a disturbing scene, her squaring off against a werewolf.
They have to stop fighting. This nonsense has to end.
I start forward, and Tyra straightens. A slow, chilling smile crosses her face, and at that moment, despite her bloody fangs, she doesn't look at all like a vampire. No, she's a demon through and through. I half-expect horns to sprout on the top of her head.
She whips around to Mercy’s backside, and then they’re gone.
Tyra used her vampiric speed to take them somewhere.
Despite the fact that they're moving too quickly to be seen, I should still be able to smell Mercy. It's taking too long for me to locate the scent, though, so I shift into my werewolf. Now, my senses are even stronger, but it still takes me a minute to locate Mercy's scent. I take off, following the trail, and then I smell something else.
Blood.
But whose?
I don't want either of the
m to fight to the death. Neither of them can die. As much as I think Tyra is in the wrong, very much in the wrong, I do understand that she thinks she's protecting and helping Romelia. We both love her, and we both want what's best for her. Unfortunately, we don't agree on what is best for her.
Tyra doesn’t want to lose her friend, her cousin, not to a werewolf. I understand that, but I’m not a typical werewolf, if I do say so myself. I’m not sure any other werewolf would even consider a vampire. I knew from the start Romelia was a bloodsucker, but that didn’t stop me from talking to her, from dancing with her, from getting to know her. I fell in love with her, and that isn’t a crime. It shouldn’t be punishable and certainly not punishable by death.
Despite my using a potion to hide my appearance, I risked everything to let Romelia know that first night who I was. Neither of us was deceived. We bared our souls, and we found love. We're alike in so many ways, and we push each other to be stronger. Romelia and I complement one another, and there's no one else for me.
Tyra will have to accept us, or else she won’t, but if she dies… if Mercy dies…
I don’t want to think about either scenario, but their fighting has to end. The challenge must end, and it has to before one of them is dead.
The scent of both Mercy and blood grows stronger, and now I can see them. They’re fighting viciously, tearing at each other, vampire and werewolf, a human and a wolf, and the grass beneath their feet and paws is already slick with blood.
Chapter 26
Julian
My stomach churns at the sight of Tyra and Mercy trying to kill each other. There are no pretenses this time around. They're going for each other's throats. Mercy is trying to rip and tear into Tyra, and the vampire is trying to disembowel the werewolf. The blood coating the grass makes their feet and paws slip. Whose blood is it? I can't tell from this distance.
I bound over to them, and once I’m a few feet away, I shift back to my human form.
“Stop it!” I shout. “There is no need for anymore fighting!”
But they don’t listen to me. I’m going to have to enter the fray if I’m going to divert their attention away from each other.
Blood Haven: Year Two: A Mayhem of Magic World Story Page 16