by Tanith Frost
“First, the identity of the werewolf from whom you took your power when you fed on him.”
Bethany winces slightly and steps away from Lachlan, out of my field of vision. I don’t imagine he was immediately forgiving when he found out she hadn’t disclosed that bit of information.
“Why? So you can find him and take a piece of my power for yourself?”
Lachlan’s expression doesn’t change. “His name.”
“Silas. Not that it will do you any good unless you want to dig him up and feed on his bones.” My throat tightens at the thought of that beautiful body rotting under the stony earth of the sanctuary, but for the first time since he died, I’m glad he’s out of the picture. Not for my sake, but for his. Wherever he is, I hope he’s found more peace than the rest of us have.
“Interesting.” Lachlan nods to Bethany, who steps back into view. Though Lachlan’s in his customary suit, she’s dressed for fieldwork, not dissimilarly to how I’m dressed—black pants, long-sleeved black t-shirt, protective boots.
“During your time with us, Lachlan asked you about the source of Maelstrom’s particular flavour of void power—the thing that made all of you so different from vampires in our territory.” Her voice is softer and calmer than Lachlan’s, but no more comforting. “You said there was none that you knew of.”
“That was true. I swear.”
The idea rises slowly in my rattled brain: just this once, it might serve me to tell him the truth. I was being honest when I told him I didn’t know the source of our power, but I’ve learned much since then. Even in my foggy, addled state, I’m under no illusion that spilling the beans will save Maelstrom—if anything, he’ll only desire more strongly to control this territory and its powers if he knows they could benefit him. But surely knowing the truth will end his mad desire to see other energies and the creatures that hold them destroyed.
I push myself up, ignoring the blossoming pain in my head, my ribs, and my left thigh, and lean back against the wall. I want to stand, but I also need to be clear-headed. Sitting is my compromise.
“You’re right about Maelstrom. It’s different. But it’s not because Miranda is hiding some source of void power that you don’t have access to. The void is different here, but we draw from the same supply you do, wherever it comes from. What makes it different in us is the other powers, the ones you’ve eradicated. They oppose the void, it’s true. That’s why it feels so pure in your territory. But the opposition is what makes it stronger here—or rather, what makes us stronger when we draw on it.”
I pause for breath, and Lachlan and Bethany exchange a look I can’t read.
“Other energies weaken the void,” Bethany says.
“They do. And that’s what benefits us.” I open my mouth wide. My jaw pops again, and it relieves some of the pressure in my head. “The exposure. The void fights back, and it gets stronger. Or maybe we do because… strength training, or immunity, or…” I close my eyes. My own powers are still strong, but it’s going to take a bit of time to heal from the beating I’ve received. “If I’m right, you’re shooting yourselves in the foot by destroying everything else. If you want what we have, let the other powers come back. Bring back the werewolves. The… whatever else you’ve wiped out.”
I look up. Lachlan and Bethany are both watching me now. Listening. Hearing me.
I touch my tongue to the cut on my lip and taste blood. Not like what I tasted in my stock earlier, but weak, reliant on the life in others to sustain it. “I think that’s why I feel so different to you. I carry a fundamentally opposing force within me. My portion of the void is always challenged.”
“I’m so glad you’re finally being honest with us,” Lachlan says. “Mostly.”
I’m waiting for a bigger reaction to my revelation—shock, denial, anything. But it doesn’t come, from either of them.
Bethany crouches—not within reach, I notice. Her eyes are glazed with pain, but I’m not going to suppress my fire for her sake. Misery does love company.
“I’d guessed all of this,” she says.
I blink slowly at her. “You what?”
The little smile she gives me doesn’t disguise the sharp glint in her eyes. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? That I saw a handful of Maelstrom’s best and strongest hunters facing torture and didn’t observe them as their power waned? That I didn’t feel the change in Daniel as he fed in Tempest’s lands, drawing from the pure void there, acclimating to it and losing whatever it was he had here that makes you all so different?” She tilts her head, and her long, black ponytail falls over one shoulder. “If nothing else, I thought you might at least respect me as a researcher and observer.”
I let my head rest against the wall. “Then why are you still trying to destroy all of it?” I look to Lachlan. “You want what I have—what we have here. Don’t you?”
He seems to have regained his composure. It’s eerie how quickly he shifts gears. “Of course. But what’s that worth if everyone can have it?” He smiles coldly down at me. “I really thought you understood. Power is only worth something if it’s exclusive, if one wields power that is better. Maelstrom is unique, and it was even before other clans began eradicating opposing energies. It was a bit of a joke to some when Miranda accepted this land. She barely made it through the trials to prove herself as a worthy high elder of a clan, and then she got stuck with the most challenging territory of all thanks to the profusion of supernatural energies here…” A joke, maybe, but his smile fades. “I thought she would fail quickly and I’d be free to take this land for myself. I waited patiently through her unwillingness to exterminate the werewolves, her refusals when other clans offered to step in and find ways to bind up other energies. But her own power only seemed to grow. So I began looking for alternative paths to taking this territory for myself.”
“And I keep fucking you over.”
“Oh, indeed you do. It’s all the same in the end, though. Viktor would have been a quiet, easy path, but this puts me in a better position. No need to work in the shadows.” Lachlan crouches beside Bethany. “I will find the secret to having your werewolf power for myself and those I deem worthy. You’ll help me one way or another. My clan alone will be strengthened by Maelstrom’s power, and we will understand and control this resource as Miranda never has.”
The way he says control makes me shiver. “So the werewolves…”
“Will have their place. Captive. Contained.”
A wave of nausea passes through me. I didn’t think things could be worse for them than extermination, but I was wrong. I very much doubt captive werewolves would be treated as well as some of Tempest’s pet humans.
“Then what do you need me for?” I ask. “You already knew what I told you. You seem convinced your plan is brilliant. Why are you still asking me about the source?”
“Because there is one,” Bethany says. “Most powers are so diffuse on this island that I don’t believe they fully explain the effects in Maelstrom’s vampires. There’s something here—if not a void source, then an anchor aside from werewolves. Perhaps one she alone can fully access.”
Something tickles at my mind, but I’m too muddled to fish it out even if I wanted to. “Miranda has never told me anything. If you’re so convinced, why not ask someone who’s actually close to her?”
“We are,” Bethany says. “But there are surprisingly few of you. Her assistant has disappeared. The vampire who created and trained Miranda has been removed from society for decades, and he’s so damned old and powerful that—” Lachlan cuts her off with a sharp look, and Bethany pauses. “And Raymond likely knows no more than Viktor did. So tell me, who should we ask?”
“Miranda,” I whisper. And then I laugh. “You didn’t count on her heading out into the field, did you? You thought you’d catch her hiding here when you snuck in the back door. She’s a warrior. A better leader than you’ll ever understand. If there is a secret, she’ll never tell you.”
“I’ll find th
e answer, one way or another.” A smile twitches at one corner of Lachlan’s mouth. “Bethany, I think they should be ready for us by now.”
Bethany knocks on the door, and two vampires enter. They haul me out of the room and into a familiar corridor. My chest tightens as big, wooden doors come into view.
The courtroom where Viktor expected to cement his leadership and was instead condemned as a traitor. Where I was sentenced to be executed so Miranda could keep the tenuous faith of her clan. She needed Maelstrom united to withstand the enemy now striding ahead of me down the centre aisle between rows packed with vampires from two clans—those from Tempest dressed like warriors, those from Maelstrom looking more frightened than I’ve ever dreamed a group of vampires could look.
Because the vampires who remained here aren’t our warriors.
The realization that should have struck me far sooner now hits me like a landslide. Lachlan would have been pleased if his zombies had taken us by surprise and led to a secrecy breach. He could have sent them as a small, concentrated army and ensured that breach. Instead, he spread them out, giving us a chance to suppress the threat. On the surface, it might seem like a tactical error.
But Lachlan’s “error” ensured that our fighting forces would be divided across the island, leaving the doctors, the record-keepers, and the bureaucrats of Maelstrom to hold down the fort. These are vampires—fast, strong, trained to fight. But they weren’t fully prepared to defend Miranda’s throne against an impossible backdoor invasion.
Lachlan was ready for his zombies to fail. And while we were out winning the battle, he was moving in to take the whole damn war.
He seats himself in the massive chair at the front of the room, facing the rest. There’s only one other seat up there now, placed beside his. He motions toward the guards, who drag me forward and place me roughly in the chair. It’s hard to sit up straight, but I do my best. All eyes are on me—on my injuries. Let them see this monster for what he is.
“What is this?” I ask, my voice hoarse and flat.
Lachlan rests his elbows casually on the arms of his throne and nods to another guard, who drags a vampire forward. Not one I know personally, but I’ve seen her around the Inferno.
“This is what you brought upon your clan when you removed Viktor as my key to this territory,” Lachlan says, speaking loud enough for me alone to hear. “I could have played nice, at least for a time. I would have spared them this. This is your doing, Aviva.” He leans in closer, and his cool breath tickles my ear.
“Welcome to judgement day.”
17
For the first time since I swore loyalty to this clan, I’m glad I don’t have many friends. As I look around the room, there aren’t many faces I can put names to. Most of those I know are still out hunting zombies. Or they’ve escaped.
Or they’re gone.
I can’t think about Genevieve. Not now. Not when it would be so easy to wish for the sharp flash of her black-emerald eyes and a reminder that self-pity is not becoming of a vampire. If she were here, she’d tell me to keep my shit together, so that’s what I’m doing.
The vampire standing before Lachlan wears her reddish hair in a high ponytail. That and the pink yoga pants make me think she was taking a night off when she was rounded up.
“What is your position within the clan?” Lachlan asks, not sounding as if he really cares.
Her pale blue eyes shine with fear—and I think defiance. “Assistant healer. I work at the hospital.”
“Still learning your trade?”
“I am. I wasn’t a doctor in life, but—”
“And I don’t care.” Lachlan looks to Bethany, who’s standing a few paces behind the vampire. She shrugs, and Lachlan leans forward. “What I care about is this: Are you prepared for a change in leadership? Are you tired of Miranda holding Maelstrom back, and are you ready to become part of something larger?”
The vampire holds her head high and looks right back at him, meeting his gaze without fear. “I swore loyalty to Maelstrom and Miranda five years ago. I said I’d defend this clan against any threat, whatever the cost to me.”
“And what a fine job you’re doing.” Lachlan snaps his fingers. “Execution by sunlight. Take her to the holding cells.”
The vampire’s eyes widen. “You can’t do this!”
He turns to me as she’s dragged out. “Are you all walking clichés, or can I expect better responses from the others?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy thinking about sunlight—how painfully it burns, how a vampire’s mind and senses would be too muddled by daylight to make sense of anything as the sun rose bright and clear on the horizon, how a body would struggle to heal itself even as it burned, drawing out the agony and confusion until… until what? Until we turned to ash?
How much can we suffer before the end?
They’ve got twenty of Maelstrom’s vampires lined up in the aisle now, accompanied by Tempest guards armed with guns and stakes. As I look more closely toward the back, I spot a few familiar faces who weren’t sent out into the field.
Trent—that’s a relief. He looks weak and lists to one side as though it’s nearly impossible for him to stand, but he’s still here. If anyone will give these guys hell, it’s him.
And then there’s Xavier, who’s physically supporting Penelope. She’s in rough physical shape at the best of times. Her dark eyes roam around the room, wide and apprehensive, taking everything in. As I’ve heard it, she rarely left the Agonites’ underground lair. I guess she was brought here for safety.
Good theory. Didn’t work out all that well.
I recognize the next one in line, but it takes me a moment to place her. She’s a crime scene tech. Not a vampire I’ve ever had a conversation with. I don’t know her name, but she was there the first time I saw the cruel tortures inflicted on a family of humans by rogue vampires… when I ran out and puked in the bushes. She seemed to think it was funny.
She’s not laughing now.
Lachlan’s questions are the same, and she answers them quickly, her voice even and clear despite the panic in her eyes.
“I am ready,” she says. “Things are fine here under Miranda. But I’ve been elsewhere. I know she’s not doing what she could to protect us. Things have been going to shit lately.”
“Traitor!” someone yells from behind her.
She looks over her shoulder. “Yeah? And where is she now when the danger’s finally arrived?”
My own voice surprises me. “She’s out putting her own ass in danger to save you from—”
Lachlan strikes me with the back of his hand, then wraps his fingers around my throat and pulls me close. “One more outburst and I’ll throw you in with those waiting to face the dawn,” he whispers. He looks at the murmuring crowd, and they fall silent. “Bethany?”
“She has potential,” she says. “Not top-tier power by any means, but she’s still young. And she may be useful.”
He nods. “Take her aside. Next.”
The next vampire stumbles forward without help or encouragement from the guards who flank him. “I can be useful! Miranda is running this clan into the ground, but under new leadership—”
“Enough!” The disgust in Lachlan’s voice is clear. “Lies won’t get you far here, no matter how desperately they’re offered. Take him away.”
The vampire screams as he’s hauled off.
The vampire. I don’t know his name. Lachlan isn’t asking for them. They don’t matter.
The judgements continue. Few vampires are spared the punishment they’ve earned merely by being members of Maelstrom. Even those who say they’d have preferred Viktor’s leadership, who believed his lies and would have backed him if he took power, aren’t necessarily spared. If they don’t get the nod from Bethany—if their loyalty is in the right place, but they don’t have the raw power and potential that Lachlan values above all else—they go to await their meeting with the sun.
I focus on the pain in my body, let
ting it numb my emotions and distract me from the curious stares of the vampires who approach Lachlan for judgement. They know who I am. They know what I’ve been accused of in the past, and they probably aren’t sure how I weaseled out of my own execution. And here I am—obviously no friend of Lachlan’s, obviously beaten and bruised, but seated beside him.
I accept the pain. It won’t strengthen me as it would an Agonite, but I won’t let it weaken me as it would if I ignored it for too long. It’s there. It stabs; it throbs; it aches. But the fact that I feel anything at all means I’m still here.
The doors open, shaking me from my stupor as two guards haul Raymond in.
They drag him directly to the front and dump him before Lachlan. I guess being an elder gives one line-jumping privileges.
I’ve never seen Raymond in anything but fine clothing, but here he is in black cargo pants and a t-shirt that shows off a surprisingly fit body. Raymond’s not the tallest vampire in the clan, but he seems larger than life as he stands straight-backed before his enemy in spite of the wounds that cover his exposed skin, many of them already showing signs of healing.
It’s easy to discount Raymond, but he’s not an elder just because he’s old. He’s also incredibly powerful.
“What do you want with her?” he asks, nodding at me.
Lachlan leans back in the chair Raymond occupied at Miranda’s trial. “Not your concern.”
Neither says anything for a few seconds. Then Raymond smiles. “Are you waiting for me to congratulate you? Ask you how you got in? It’s impressive. I am curious.”
“Again, not your concern. You know what I’m going to ask you, Raymond. We’d best get on with it.”
I have no idea what to expect. Viktor said Raymond was a lapdog, that he used his power to serve whoever held authority—whoever would make his existence better and easier. Viktor assumed that meant Raymond would roll over when he felt the winds shifting within Maelstrom and offer support to him when Miranda fell. Maybe he would have been right if things had gone according to plan.