by Keary Taylor
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper. I pull out my cell phone and once more dial Ian’s number. It immediately goes to voicemail this time.
“Something is wrong,” I say, shaking my head and redialing. Same thing. I walk to the front door, standing on the porch in the dark, willing him to walk up the front drive.
“I could go look,” Danny says from behind me.
“No,” I say, squeezing my eyes closed. “As badly as I want to, we have to stay together. I won’t let anyone else get hurt.”
“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” LILLIAN suddenly perks up. She and I both sit up a little straighter and my ears strain for the sound again.
Someone falling. A wet, grinding sound. Followed by a cry.
“Alivia!”
I’m out the door and darting across the gravel drive, Danny at my side, a dozen others guarding the house with guns. Down to the gate, my eyes grow wide in the pre-dawn light as the metal gates come into view.
Lying behind them is Cameron, covered in blood, and someone lying facedown in the gravel.
Coiling my muscles, I launch myself over the gate, even as it begins swinging open. I land beside them, rolling Markov over.
“What the hell happened?” I ask in horror as I take in his bloody state. He’s been bitten, dozens of times. His leg is obviously broken, his face is a bloody mess, I can’t even tell what happened. He’s unconscious, and his breathing is labored.
Looking back at Cameron, I see he’s in little better shape. His left arm is shredded, like someone razed their fangs up and down his flesh. Blood pours from his nose and huge bruises bloom over his entire body.
“We were attacked,” he says, hardly able to breathe.
“Let’s get them inside,” Danny says, stooping down and gathering Markov up into his arms. “No need talkin’ out here all exposed.”
Cameron wraps an arm over my shoulders, and I help him up the drive. We walk through the front doors and Henry locks them behind us once more.
Nial is a flurry of activity. Danny sets Markov on a gurney, and Nial is digging through his medical cart, prodding and poking and demanding blood bags. He rips open Markov’s shirt to listen with a stethoscope, placing it right above the Conrath crest Cyrus branded into his flesh. The one most of my House bears.
Elle walks in, standing cautiously in the corner, her eyes big and watchful.
Cameron sinks into a chair next to the gurney, wincing as he does. “We heard someone scream, out past that corn farm, so we went to check it out, hours ago.” He grimaces as Trinity carefully dabs at the cut on his face. The look on his face is conflicted as she tries to take care of him. “We were ambushed. At least a dozen Bitten. Six of them took Markov down. Only took three to do this to me.” He hisses in pain as Trinity dabs some kind of liquid to the wound. “But they shot Ian with that toxin. Took him straight down.”
I crouch down in front of Cameron, hardly breathing. “Cameron, what happened to Ian?”
Elle’s bare feet pad over the floor, taking just five unsure steps forward.
The regret that is there in Cameron’s eyes is so apparent. “They took him, Liv.”
The room grows very quiet and everything seems to slow down.
They took him.
“Why…why would they take Ian?” I finally find my voice. It’s quiet. Lost sounding. “Why him? Why not me?”
“He’s your best fighter, right?” Lexington says. “Maybe they just wanted him out of play for when the real battle goes down?”
I shake my head, my eyes unable to focus on anything. “But then why not Anna? Why not Danny?”
“Maybe it’s just another way to hurt you, Alivia,” Francesca offers. “He’s your fiancé.”
“Maybe they’re going to use him as some kind of bargaining tool,” Christian says, folding his arms over his chest.
I shake my head, taking a step back from the group. “This…this was deliberate. Thought out. They utilized this huge distraction to take him. I… Why?”
“I think the better question is why didn’t they just kill him?” Trinity asks coldly.
A small little squeak springs from Elle’s lips.
“Enough,” Rath snaps at Trinity, glaring death in her direction.
“I think you should sit down,” Henry says, coming to my side and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. Rowan disappears in a flash and reappears with a chair from the dining room. He slides it up behind me and I do sink down onto it, my mind racing through a million scenarios, unable to grasp on to a single one.
An animalistic scream brings me back into the room. I look over to see Nial pulling on Markov’s leg, setting the bone straight. Samuel holds Markov’s shoulders down to the gurney to keep him from jumping away. Markov’s eyes glow red, black veins spreading throughout his face.
Lexington instantly disappears, hauling Elle up the stairs and away from the scene.
“Drink this,” Lillian says, shoving a blood bag in his face.
Markov grabs it, squeezing hard and making it pop before he flings it away from him. “I need fresh!” he bellows, a feral growl bubbling from his chest.
“You know you won’t be able to control yourself,” Lillian says, helping to keep Markov on the table. “In this state, you’ll drain anyone you touch.”
“I don’t care!”
I lean back away from him. His voice is demonic sounding, possessed. His wild eyes search the space around him. “The girl, the girl upstairs. Bring her to me!”
He yanks away from Lillian, but instantly, Leigh and Anna pile on top of him, Anna’s knee pressed to his throat.
“Give me a bag,” she demands of May, who’s holding five of them. She takes one, rips it open with her teeth, and grabs Markov’s nose, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe. She empties the bag into his mouth, covering it with her hand when she’s finished, forcing him to swallow.
She repeats this five times.
Markov glares death and curses at her with each and every one. But finally, with the last, his eyes grow heavy, the adrenaline burning out of his blood. His head lolls back to the table, and he passes out once more.
“Damn maniac,” Anna breathes as she climbs off of him, licking the leftover blood from her hands.
Sometimes I forget.
Forget who it is I rule.
What I am.
What our species truly is.
But then there are reminders. Like this. We need blood to survive. Some of us are not able to control our instincts. Some of us come from truly dark backgrounds.
We are vampires.
THE SUN CUTS THROUGH THE foggy morning with a harsh glow. Dew collects on everything, casting the Estate in glitter and humidity.
But none of us see it. We wait from within the House. Every one of us armed to the teeth. Watching. Waiting.
I don’t know what to do. How to strike. How to retaliate.
I don’t know.
“Is that Albert Tillerman?” I hear Lillian say from down the hall. Darting to a window, I look outside. A man in his late fifties walks up to the house. He seems nervous. Afraid.
“And Juanita Hernandez,” Lillian says. I walk into the bedroom she’s watching from.
“Who are these people?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
“They both live here in Silent Bend,” she says. “They’re just…people.”
“Got another three out the back,” Cameron calls from downstairs.
In a flash, I’m down in the ballroom, looking out the window with him. “That’s Peter, Cassius, and Ruby,” he says, pointing the individuals out. “They were all a few years older than me in school.”
“What are they doing here?” I question, squinting against the light. I place my hand on the doorknob, determined to go out there and question them, but Cameron grabs my wrist.
“Don’t,” he says, shaking his head. “Look.”
I do look. Just in time to see each of them raise their hands. Just in time to see the huge, glass bottles with
clear liquid that each of them carries.
Just in time to see them throw them at my house.
Most shatter on the back veranda or the side of the house. One hits a window, shattering it, but doesn’t get into the house due to the metal window coverings meant to keep out light.
I swear, my eyes frantically searching for the individuals again.
“That’s gas!” someone yells from down the hall.
The next moment, every one of the humans throws a lighter at the wet, dripping areas, and it all goes up in a great ball of fire.
“Get out of the House!” I bellow, turning and racing for the table by the front door with the drawer that holds all of the sunshades. Only when I yank it open, it’s completely empty.
“Find some shades!” I scream. Footsteps barrel around the house, voices yelling, frantic and angry.
“Mine are gone!” Christian yells.
“Mine, too!” Leigh screams, a hint of terror leaking into her voice.
“Same here,” Smith yells out.
“I told you we have a mole.” Markov comes limping into the foyer, his eyes glowing red. The instant Smith begins walking down the stairs, Markov is on him, pinning him to the stairs, his fangs bared. “Where are they?” he bellows. “And why are you helping the Bitten?”
Smith’s eyes only ignite themselves as he throws Markov off of him. He rights himself, squaring his shoulders.
“You’ll not accuse me of such crimes again,” he growls.
But a scene has been caused, even as smoke thickens in the air. Anna and Samuel surround Smith, their hands both with stakes in them, ready to attack.
“Now, let’s just calm down, everyone,” Smith says, holding his hands up, sensing that he really, truly is in danger.
“You’ve been helping them this entire time,” Samuel growls. “Let them trick the humans in town, then steal our only way to escape. You won’t be surviving this one, buddy.”
And a tiny amount of movement catches my eye.
A small figure, darting from the kitchen, back to the north wing hall.
“Wait,” I say, holding my hand up, just as Anna is about to jump, stake at the ready. “Don’t let him go anywhere. But wait a second.”
Silently, I dart after the figure, moving down the hall, just in time to see them skirt into the very last bedroom on the left. Moving faster, I follow, hearing someone following me for back up.
I step into the bedroom, just in time to see Francesca sliding the window open, a black duffle bag over her shoulder, and a set of sunshades on her face.
“Wait!” I yell, darting to her and pulling her away from the window. Another set of hands grabs her harshly, and Trinity throws her to the floor, placing a foot on her chest to pin her to the ground.
“You got some explaining to do,” Trinity growls at her.
Francesca holds her hands up in surrender, trembling from head to toe. Tears instantly spring into her eyes. “Please,” she whispers as they break free onto her cheeks. “Just kill me. I deserve to die.”
“You don’t get that kindness yet,” Trinity says, grabbing Francesca’s ankle and dragging her out of the room. “First you owe an explanation.”
“Take her into the library,” I instruct.
House members scramble, running around with pails of water. But each of them shies away from the sunlight, screaming in pain.
And just as we’re about to head into the library, I see Henry open the door, standing in the full sunlight of day, and walk out. I rush to the door, cracking it open, to find the humans gone and Henry retrieving a garden house from the front, which he aims at the house, dousing the flames.
I can only watch for less than a minute before my eyes are on fire and my brain feels as if it’s withering. I slam the door closed.
Blindness temporarily makes it impossible to see. Hands out, relying on my sense of hearing, I make my way to the library. My sight clears, one tiny bit at a time.
Trinity has Francesca pinned to the floor, literally sitting on her chest, with her hands wrapped around a stake that hovers over her heart. Just then, Anna drags Smith into the library, as well, stake pressed to his back, Samuel holding a gun to his head.
“Why did you have these?” I demand of Francesca, holding up the duffle bag, unzipping it. I pull out a set of sunshades, tossing them to Lexington, who immediately heads outside. I toss the entire bag to Lillian, who takes charge of them. “Why would you turn on us?”
Francesca continues to cry, shaking her head. “Please, just kill me. I just want to die.”
“That’ll come soon enough,” Trinity says, pricking the tip of the stake through Francesca’s skin, causing a bubble of bright red blood to pool around it. “But first, you’ll talk.”
“Don’t make this get ugly,” I say quietly. Because even though I am a different kind of leader now, I will do what is necessary to protect my family.
A sob bubbles up from the girl’s chest and she shakes her head again. “They killed her. And it wasn’t even her fault. It was the House’s!”
I exchange glances with Anna and Trinity, and neither of them seems to know what she’s talking about. “Who?” I demand. “They killed who?”
Another sob heaves in her chest, driving the stake just a little deeper. “My mother. Chelsea Allaway turned her by accident, and then just killed her because of what she was.” More sobs. It becomes difficult to understand the words Francesca says.
“My mother,” she says. “She worked for them for years before one of their House members got her pregnant. I was born, they raised me, and she stayed close to be there for me, continuing to work for them. And then, Chelsea just turned her and killed her. Something…” she heaves a huge sob. “Something has to change. We can’t keep going on like this.”
I crouch beside the poor sobbing girl. “I’m so sorry about what Chelsea did to your mother,” I offer her. “But why would you turn on us? We’ve done nothing but treat you fairly.”
Francesca shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. All Royals are the same.”
It pierces me because I very nearly became just like the Allaways. “I need you to tell me,” I say. “Who is doing this? And what is their next move?”
Francesca shakes her head again, seeming to calm almost instantly. “It doesn’t matter now,” she says quietly. “We’re all going to hell, anyway.”
She suddenly lunges upward, her hands grabbing hold of Trinity’s wrists, and yanks the stake down, straight into her chest.
Trinity scrambles away from the now dead girl, her face turning stark white. Everyone backs away a little, taking a moment to process the horrific moment.
One of our own betrayed us. Another of our own is now dead.
“Told you it wasn’t me,” Smith growls as he stalks away, Anna and Samuel now releasing him.
I swear under my breath, looking back at her body.
“Don’t worry about her right now, there’s more important things at stake at the moment,” Anna says, touching my arm.
I turn back to her, nodding in agreement.
Everyone has on a set of sun shades and we all work at dousing the fire. The worst of it is in the back, facing the river. The flames lick up the side of the building, trying to spread to the second floor. Each of us has a hose or is dumping buckets of water from the windows.
Each of us wears sunshades. Except Henry, who darts around as if the light doesn’t bother him, at all.
It takes an hour, but finally, we get all of the flames put out.
The house has taken severe damage. The middle part of the house is covered in black streaks, burn marks stretching wide and ugly. The stones that cover the walls on the north and south wings are mostly undamaged, but here and there, the blackness stains their surface.
Just as it burned over 130 years ago, the House of Conrath was once again nearly burned to the ground. With more than eighteen people inside.
“History does have a way of repeating itself,” Henry says darkly a
s he turns the hose off and walks inside.
One by one, everyone puts their firefighting equipment away, and we each walk back into the house.
“Explain to me why you’re not in pain,” I say as we cross the foyer. “Why were you able to just run out there, with no danger from the sun?”
He doesn’t respond. He only holds his hand out, pointing to the key that hangs around my neck. I hand it over, and he walks to the middle of the ballroom. He inserts the key, and the platform begins lowering.
“Wait here,” he instructs me, even as a small crowd begins gathering around to see what Henry is up to. He disappears beneath the floor. I faintly hear him rummaging through something down in the lab, and two minutes later, he rises back up, small boxes in his hands.
“As you know, I’ve been fighting these Bitten for several months now,” he says as Rath walks to his side, holding the boxes for him. “While I am an apt fighter, everything I’ve accomplished would not be possible where it not for my ability to go out in the sunlight. It gave me an advantage over them, one that was critical.”
He opens the first box and takes out three small packs. He walks forward and gives the first to me. “It wouldn’t have been possible without this invention. Look closely at my eyes, Alivia.”
I lean forward, squinting my enhanced eyes. Where normally a vampire’s eyes appear mostly black, because our eyes remain completely dilated, Henry’s have a dark brown ring around his pupil. It’s subtle, but as I get closer, I see it expand, as if dilating.
“How did they do that?” I ask in wonder. “Dilation isn’t possible for us anymore.”
Henry smiles, before turning to Anna and handing her a box, as well, before moving on to Nial. “Modern technology is a marvelous thing sometimes,” he says, as he continues passing the packs out. “These are solar triggered contacts. They filter out blinding UV rays, like sunshades do, and are also designed with artificial contraction. They’ll contract in bright sunlight, just as your own pupils used to.”
“You’re saying you’ve fixed every vampire’s biggest downfall with a simple pair of contacts?” Lexington questions, opening the small packs and examining the tiny lenses within.