by Rebecca Main
In another second, Adrian is a shell of what he used to be. Frail and wrinkled, skin littered with liver spots. His heart stops in the next step. And in the last, he makes his final transformation. His flesh withers to gray and collapses into ash before their very eyes.
Jakob drops to his knees, the blade falling from his hand as he reaches for Irina. Claire helps her into his arms, though her strength provides little help. He presses an ear to her chest, fragile hope seizing him as her heart gives a tremulous beat.
“I’m sorry,” Claire whispers, scampering away to give them space. Jakob grits his teeth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Bring me my family,” Jakob commands, eyes filling with tears. “Go. Now.” Claire nods hastily and stands, but she hesitates before dashing off.
“She’s going to die, Jakob Vrana,” she tells him, her voice full of sorrow. She flinches back from his snarl, and the vehement shaking of his head as he begins to rock her. Claire bites her tongue and forces herself to stand straighter. “She will… but that doesn’t mean it has to be permanent.”
Jakob stares after the banshee as she runs off, her shoes stomping loudly down the tiled hallway. He turns his sights back to his soulmark, feeling her bright energy drain painfully from his body and a blooming darkness take its place. For a moment, he does nothing, seeing only a grim future without her by his side. Then he sinks his fangs into his bruised and used wrist before pressing the stream of blood into Irina’s mouth as she takes her last few shuddering breaths.
California | Spring 2000
Jakob could feel the stars aligning in his favor.
Sebastian worked his intellectual charm along the east coast. Ruby—formerly Ying Yu—dazzled the Midwest. Allies from long past and connected by blood through one Cecil Vrana soared along on the southern hemisphere. And Jakob tended to the west.
The amethyst had proven… elusive, but Jakob kept a cool head. There were other matters of business that employed his thoughts, one of which could prove most helpful in the future.
There was a boy in Los Angeles, and he was drawing the eyes of those of his kind. Sorcerers.
Of course, the boy knew not of what power he housed inside of himself, but it manifested in bouts of anger and muttered curses. And though these incidents scared the boy, the young boy found himself intrigued.
Time was of the essence.
On a brisk spring evening, he approached the Beacon of Light Orphanage. The sun had only just set, its dangerous rays still present in the air. Jakob pushed past his discomfort and strode toward the orphanage's black iron gates. Sitting outside on the house's front porch was a boy… precisely the boy Jakob had come to see.
“Hello,” Jakob called pleasantly from the gate’s door. The child, no more than twelve, peered closely at Jakob. He scrunched his nose and drew his eyebrows together in such a way that Jakob felt as if the child knew him.
“Hi,” the boy replied. His light brown hair tossed in the breeze. It needed to be cut.
“I’m looking for someone,” Jakob said. “Perhaps you could go inside and fetch—”
The boy stood and walked forward a few steps. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
Jakob raised a brow. The itch to his skin was lessening as the sun sank further past the horizon, and yet another unsettling feeling caressed his skin.
“Who is him?” Jakob asked.
“The one they sent in my dreams.” Curious, Jakob thought. He leaned against the gate and let the human youth study his vampyric eyes. “You are,” the boy breathed. “You’re the raven man.”
Jakob’s lip twitched, and he inclined his head. “I am.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” the boy said with youthful excitement.
“And I, you, Jax.”
The stars had aligned indeed.
Chapter 19
Vrana Household | Present
“Did it work?”
The words don’t register the first time they are spoken, at least not to the broken she-wolf laid out upon the black walnut dining room table.
Ruby grips the table's edge hard enough to draw splinters. “Did it work, Jax?”
“Give me a minute,” the sorcerer snaps back. His staff buoys uncertainly above Irina’s prone form in a clear mimic of his trembling arms, both of which are held outstretched before him. His forehead drips with sweat as he squeezes his eyes shut, lips moving at an almost supernatural speed to call upon the powers that may be.
Ruby snatches the staff out of the air just as Jax drops his arms with a gentle cry. Sebastian drags the sorcerer into his side for support as he slumps forward, giving off his own grunt of effort from the small task.
“Did it work?” Ruby asks again, heart in her throat as she stares at the unchanged state of Irina.
“It’s too hard to tell,” Jax admits. “It is, and it isn’t. It's like a war is going on inside her.”
Jax straightens and gives a nod of appreciation to Sebastian as he pulls away. The sorcerer looks to each weary face around the table: Sebastian, Ruby, and Jakob… Jakob who stares so desolately at his soulmark, his eyes vacant and cheeks hollow.
“I don’t know what to do,” Jax admits, wincing as if physically pained to confess such a truth. Ruby let’s out a small whimper, drifting closer to Jakob’s side but thinking better of it.
“It’s all right, Jax,” Sebastian tells him, voice rough. “We know someone who does.”
All three heads snap in Sebastian’s direction. He adjusts his weight against the cane he uses—a token from Jax’s private collection—and clears his throat.
“The Beast is with Nova as we speak,” he says. “Surely he could provide some insight.”
Jakob says nothing, but his hands curl into white-knuckled fists at the suggestion. A beat passes, and Sebastian looks to Ruby.
“Go.”
She leaves in a blur, and the men wait restlessly for her to return with the Beast. It takes several minutes. Ruby comes flashing back to her previous place. The Beast strolls in seconds later with a carefully blank face.
“Please, William,” Ruby begs, bottom lip trembling. “You’re the only one who has the knowledge to save her. Everything Martin Allves did to you and your pack… all of the records were burned. We don’t know what to do.”
“Aye,” he agrees, the deep purr of his accent falling harshly from his mouth. “They were destroyed for a reason—so no other lycan might go through this torture.”
The dining room, generously lit by half a dozen candelabras and every wall sconce, flicker as one at the icy tone of the hybrid. Ruby ducks her head, shoulders pulling up to her ears as she lets out a sniffle. Her hand reaches out over the table and takes hold of Irina’s cold hand.
“They didn’t destroy the records to spare your kind. They destroyed the records so an army couldn’t be built up against them,” Sebastian says. He holds William's glare with ease. “Your very existence is a threat to their perfectly kept order, isn’t that right, Jax?”
Jax startles at the address, eyes ablaze at the familiar rhetoric. “It’s true. They wanted you dead, William, or have you forgotten the trial they put you through?” The hybrid snorts and folds his arms across his chest. “They still want you dead, William. You’re a danger to them. Not just because of your strength and skill, but for the respect you’ve won throughout the court.”
“I wouldn’t call it respect.”
Jax leans across the table toward William. “You wouldn’t know. You don’t spend time with anyone outside your own household, but the other supernaturals that populate the court… they see you as more than the Pit’s reigning champion. You are a symbol of what they could be. Accepted and powerful. Regarded with more than a sneer.”
William grunts and turns his stony regard to Irina. “She’s got a chance at transitioning,” he begrudgingly admits, ignoring the sounds of relief issued by each member of the Vrana family. “No vital organs have been damaged. Her neck hasn’t be
en snapped, nor her head banged in. It doesn’t work when the body has that kind of damage.”
“What about the wounds on her neck? She died.” Ruby pauses, biting down on her cheek as she collects herself. “She died because of blood loss.”
“Best way to go,” William says curtly. “She’ll need more vampyré blood in her.”
“How much?” Sebastian asks.
The hybrid watches as each vampyré stands near Irina’s head, their wrists at the ready. William’s lips draw to a firm line and a curse drops from his lips. He runs a hand briefly over his face.
“I’m not sure the exact amount, but she’ll need plenty over the next three days. And not that way,” William says with exasperation. “You’ll only make her ill feeding it to her.”
“But that’s how Jakob gave his blood in the first place,” Ruby says over Jakob’s retorting growl.
“That’s all fine and good, lass, but now you’ll need to treat it like a direct transfusion. Take turns giving her your blood, maybe every three hours or so. Her lycan blood, or what’s left of it, will fight against it, but there’s nothing to do about it. It’s the way the transition goes.”
“A transfusion?” Sebastian turns to Jax, his brows drawn. “I don’t know if we have the items necessary for a transfusion.”
“No,” he agrees lowly, mind whirling before his eyes widen. “But I know who might. Valdora was a healer before she came to the Dark Court. She might have what we need.”
“Then you best be on your way, sorcerer,” William rumbles.
Jax nods and looks to Jakob. “We’ll save her. I swear it,” Jax says, his voice driven low with earnest.
Jakob shudders in response. “Go.”
William watches the tense exchange with thinly veiled interest, waiting until the sorcerer leaves until he speaks again. He turns his attention to Sebastian, noting the way Jakob Vrana stands as close to Irina as possible. Jakob's hands rest near either side of her face at the end of the table but do not touch her.
Every so often, a whine curls up the patriarch's throat, and he closes his eyes as if in pain. It brings a questioning frown to William’s face.
“What’s his problem?” William asks.
Ruby and Sebastian look to one another for a suitable answer, a silent conversation conveyed between pinched lips and pleading eyes.
“Bash….”
Sebastian groans, tightening his grip on the cane and glancing at his sire. He receives no look in kind or utterance of direction. William, losing his patience, serves a look of disgust to the three vampyré.
“Don’t tell me she really was a thrall. A blood—”
Jakob lunges, and it takes both Ruby and Sebastian to pin him to the dining room wall. William stands his ground, studying the scene. Jakob issues expletives like a seasoned sailor, struggling valiantly against his children. Sebastian attempts to calm Jakob, but it is Ruby who does the deed.
“That’s his soulmark, you idiot,” she seethes through clenched teeth.
William goes white. “Soulmark?” His throat bobs uncomfortably as he begins to shake his head. “That isn’t possible. What kind of God would pair a lycan and a vampyré?”
Ruby grunts, shouldering Jakob into the wall as he lunges forward again. “It doesn’t matter,” she huffs. “They’ve already completed the sealing and marking.”
“Christ almighty,” William utters, bending at the waist and planting his hand heavily against the table. “What a mess.”
“Don’t touch her,” Jakob growls, his eyes now a deadly crimson.
William backs away slowly from the table. “I won’t. I know better than to touch another man’s soulmark.” William sighs, a pained look crossing his features. “I apologize,” he says with gruff finesse. “But perhaps instead of trying to murder me, you’ll listen to what I have to say instead.”
Despite the apology and offering, it takes Jakob several minutes to calm enough for his children to consider leaving his side. His eyes, still crimson, watch the hybrid with unrestrained fury.
“What else is there to know?” Jakob demands.
“First and foremost, there’s no guarantee she’ll survive.” William holds up his hands in a placating manner when Jakob makes another attempt at William’s jugular. “Calm yourself, man. I won’t make a promise I can’t keep. I don’t know all the vile things Allves tried on my packmates. I don’t know what made me the only survivor of his experiments. I’ll tell you what I know, but I can’t promise it’ll work for the she-wolf.”
“Of course, William,” Ruby says, her voice smooth and level, even as she holds Jakob back once more. “We’re only grateful you’re helping us in the first place. Thank you.”
The hybrid nods, crossing his arms and turning serious. “Tie her down. When you start the direct transfusion process, it will be… it’ll be painful for the lass. I won’t lie to ya. It’ll feel like hell racing through her veins. Three days you keep it up and give her a good amount of your blood every three hours like I said. If your sorcerer can offer her some kind of tonic to keep her under, it might be better for her.”
“I’ll fetch some ropes,” Ruby announces and sprints off.
“You might give her something to chomp down on as well,” William tells Jakob and Sebastian. “She’ll be getting a new set of canines, and it’s not the most comfortable process.”
Ruby returns and helps Sebastian straighten Irina’s limbs. “She’s so cold now,” she whispers, her hands lingering on Irina's ankles. Tears begin to blur the vampyré’s vision. “She used to be so warm.”
“That’s going to be the least of her problems,” William says, earning another round of panicked looks from the room’s occupants. “The transformation will take a toll on her mind. In death, she will be parted from her wolf.”
Ruby gasps. “But… you’re both lycan and vampyré. How can she lose the part of her that makes Irina a lycan?”
“It’s difficult to explain, lass,” William says with a grimace. “A lycan shares their body and mind with the wolf. Transitioning will take away the wolf’s presence and voice from her mind. The separation will hurt her most of all,” he continues softly, his grimace turning to true sympathy. “May the Gods be with her.”
++
The transition is a heavy cross to bear for the entire Vrana family, but none more so than Jakob and Irina. Yet, life must go on as usual, lest suspicion be drawn.
And far too much attention falls already on their household.
They take shifts, just as instructed. Two remaining at the apartment suite at all times, while the rest make their public rounds. Word spreads quickly of the Mubarks’ bloodshed and that of Iris's ill fate. Speculation over their demise ranges from the absurd to guesses far too close to the truth.
The Vranas play along.
++
“No more,” Irina gasps, her voice ragged and full of sorrow. “No more, please.”
Ruby stares resolutely ahead, legs crossed beneath her, and continues her rhythmic squeezing of the rubber ball in her palm. Connecting the two women—by artery and vein respectively—is a long piece of thin tubing.
“You should let me take over,” Nova says, stepping into the dining room.
The younger vampyré's nose scrunches at the incense left burning by Jax—sandalwood for serenity. jasmine to ease heartache, pine to encourage relaxation. Irina unleashes another wretched cry, seizing upward and tossing her head to the side.
“I’ve only just begun,” Ruby says plainly.
“You've given twice already today,” she counters, twisting the new ring of glittering amethyst on her finger. For now, they are only to be worn inside the apartment suite.
Ruby’s cheek twitches. “Is that concern I hear in your voice, little gem?” Before the young vampyré can retort or color, Ruby drawls on. “I’m fine. I drank my fill of blood after the first transfusion. I'll do so once again after this time.”
The two shar
e a look, then pass their eyes over the fatigued figure of Irina. Irina’s head falls back to the table with a thud, her breathing erratic though no pulse rings from her veins.
“The cloth, Nova.”
Using her vampyric speed, Nova reaches the far end of the table where an icy bowl of water sits with a soaking cloth inside. She smooths the damp cloth over Irina’s forehead, meeting the unfocused eyes of Irina.
“No more,” Irina pleads.
Irina attempts to raise a hand but is stopped short by the rope that keeps her down. A moan parts her lips.
The she-wolf doesn’t understand what is wrong. Had she been stabbed by the sorcerer’s poisoned blade like the others? If so, why hasn’t Jax freed her from this terrible affliction?
Tears fall down her face as another wave of cramping arrests her. A war rages inside her, and she and the wolf are losing. Irina tosses her head to her right, finding Ruby’s stiff profile. A ribbon of red connects them, and Irina’s chest tightens unexpectedly. The sight is so contrary to the inferno in her veins.
All Irina knows is that the coil of crimson is the source of her pain. She whimpers.
The searing and sudden want for her brothers strikes harder than any blow she has ever received. It shakes her very being how badly she wants, no—needs, them. But even now, through what feels like her last days on this earth, she cannot reach them through their pack bond. She cannot reach any of them. They are too far apart… and maybe Irina is too far gone.
A strangled sob catches swiftly in the young woman’s throat as she attempts to breathe a lung full of air, but the coil of crimson wraps too tightly around both her heart and lungs. It squeezes them frightfully tight. And there is nothing she or her wolf can do. It pants and whines, as pinned down as the woman to the merciless pain.