by Keary Taylor
Crown of Blood
Book Two - Crown of Death Saga
Keary Taylor
Copyright © 2018 Keary Taylor
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
First Edition: March 2018
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Taylor, Keary, 1987-
Crown of Blood (Crown of Death) : a novel / by Keary Taylor. – 1st ed.
Contents
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
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BLOOD DESCENDANTS UNIVERSE
THE FALL OF ANGELS TRILOGY
THREE HEART ECHO
THE EDEN TRILOGY
THE McCAIN SAGA
WHAT I DIDN’T SAY
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Chapter 1
Eight times now, my eyes have opened, newly transformed into a brilliant, violent red. Twice, at the castle. Once, in the bedroom of a palace in the desert. Once, on the lawn beneath the moon. Once, in the middle of a ballroom. Once, in a breezy seaside home. And once, under the dirt in the jungle outskirts.
But always, the fire races up my throat as my eyes slide open. And this time, the name…the name I have searched for through time and the dark whispers out over my lips.
Beat, beat, beat.
Contract, expand.
Burn, burn, burn.
Warm highways, pushing gushing liquid beneath her beautiful skin.
In one swift and utterly smooth movement, I rise from the bed and grip the woman’s shoulders. There it is: the old, old as time, familiar sensation of my fangs lengthening, followed by the pooling of toxins in my mouth.
I’m sure she is terrified. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t scream.
And I don’t care.
My fangs sink into her neck and as soon as I pull, she’s utterly still.
I draw in her blood. It rushes over my tongue. Down my throat. It pools in my belly. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough the first time to cool the burning inside of me.
So I suck harder. I draw it out of her.
Every.
Drop.
Slowly, the woman begins to grow limp in my arms. Slowly, her body begins to collapse. My hands wrap around her waist, easily supporting her weight, holding her tight as I continue to drink.
She grows lighter, and I grow heavier.
As the flow begins to slow, I feel my burning body begin to cool. The flames stop licking up my legs. Acid stops racing through my arms. The heat in my throat cools from a raging inferno to a dull burn.
Finally, as I pull the last drop, the heat is extinguished.
A contented sigh crosses my lips as I release the woman and let her exsanguinated body collapse to the ground.
Two people react inside of me—the one that feels the most familiar, the one I know I am, and the one who feels so far away, but rooted in my heart.
One is horrified. One screams that I’ve just killed a woman, that I did that.
The other regrets it, but knows it is only part of the circle of life.
Motion to my left pulls my attention.
And everything in me stills. Goes hot and cold at the same time. Falls backward through thousands of years and bounces off the moments just before my death.
Cyrus slowly steps forward, his eyes wide, his mouth slightly slack. Hope, fear, they’re both there in equal measures in his eyes.
“What did you just say?” he breathes, his eyes wide and fixed on my face.
I stand frozen, rooted, staring back at him. A violent storm rages through me, roaring with wind and rain and sand.
Emotion rises in me and it pricks the back of my eyes.
Finally, after all this time.
“I beg of you,” Cyrus whispers as he comes to a stop, just two feet in front of me. “Please tell me what you just said.”
He’s poised. Every muscle in his body is on edge. Ready to rush forward. Ready to rage in disappointment. Ready to tear this entire world down.
He can do it.
I know he can.
He can do anything.
A single tear pushes out onto my cheek, silently slipping down my face.
Slowly, Cyrus raises his hands to my face, placing one on each cheek. With his thumb, he brushes my tear away.
“What did you just say?” he whispers again, so quiet, that just four days ago, I would not have been able to hear his words.
I squeeze my eyes closed for just a moment, forcing out more tears. I take one breath, searching inside of me.
No. Please no, I offer up a silent prayer.
But I can’t deny the truth.
I know the truth.
I know exactly who I am.
“Sevan,” I say, with my voice clear as day.
Cyrus’ eyes widen, and his breathing stops. Crystal clear, so transparent I can see right down to his heart.
“I never once said that name to Logan,” he says, his voice holding a quiver. “I commanded that no other breathe it, either.” I see the desperation clawing its way to the surface. “Logan never knew that name.”
All of my insides tremble.
I’m going to fall apart.
I shake my head. “No,” I breathe. “You never told me.” I raise my hand, lacing my fingers into his hair, cupping around the back of his head. “But I remember, im yndmisht srtov.”
He takes a shaky, short intake of breath as his eyes fill with tears. “Sevan,” he breathes. And neither he, nor I, in some parts of me, can stand the separation any longer. His arms wrap around me, pulling us together, crushing our hearts together.
“Sevan,” he breathes, over and over. “Sevan, im yndmisht srtov.”
Sevan, my forever heart.
Spoken in our original tongue, the language we both spoke at one time. A time when I was just a girl, and he, a boy.
“All this time,” Cyrus breathes. “So many years. Too many centuries.”
His voice cracks, and his words come out mixed with sobs and cries.
He releases me, once more looking into my eye
s as he places his hands on either side of my face. His own is red, tears staining his cheeks, his eyes bloodshot with emotion. But he smiles. Bigger and wider and more genuinely real than I’ve ever seen as Logan Pierce.
I feel emotions rip inside of me. My heart can’t handle the two parts of me that truly are one.
The love in his eyes. The devotion I feel in his very hands. The relief in his shoulders.
For a woman I was not for the past twenty years.
“I pray a thousand prayers of gratitude,” Cyrus says as his eyes study mine and I witness his absolute joy. “For the days we have right now, for the uncertainty we don’t have to endure over the next few weeks. Never,” he shakes his head, still smiling wide. “Never before has it all come back to you in the very moment of Resurrection.”
He lets out a relieved sigh, still so overjoyed.
And he leans forward, his eyes beginning to slide closed.
I take a step back before he can kiss me, stepping out of his grasp.
His eyes fly open, confusion filling them as they return to me.
“Sevan,” he says, his brows furrowing. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Once more, tears fill my eyes. I shake my head, taking another step back, away from him. “I know…” I struggle to form the words, to get a grasp on my identity. “Please, don’t call me that. Not…not yet.”
His expression slackens slightly and I see the confusion and searching behind his eyes. He doubts. Maybe I’m not Sevan. But there’s no way I could have known her name if I wasn’t. There is no way I would have known our name for one another from thousands of years ago if I wasn’t.
“It’s alright,” he says, swallowing once. “I’m sorry, Lo…” He takes one breath, struggling over the word. For just a moment, his eyes fall away. And I understand. After all this time, I deny it of him. “I’m sorry, Logan.”
Tears fall from my eyes, and I can’t stop them. I shake my head as I take one step away. “It’s not alright,” I say as I continue shaking my head. “I am so tired, Cyrus. Over and over and over again this happens, and over and over we have played this moment. But still, no matter how happy we might be for a time, no matter how we try to change ourselves to reverse what you did, we know the fate coming for us. For me.”
I turn, bracing my hands on the dresser along the wall, letting my head fall between my shoulders.
I cry.
I cry as Logan. I cry as Sevan.
I cry as a broken woman.
I hear his footsteps as he slowly walks over the carpet. His hands warm my arms as he places them on me. One of his hands slides up, cupping around my shoulder as his other slithers around my waist and his body molds to mine from behind, cradling me against him.
“We will find a way to fix it this time,” he whispers against my ear. His voice is so full of tenderness. It bears the weight of a billion promises. “Times are changing. There are whisperings. We will end the curse this time. I swear it to you, my love. I will fix what I did.”
“How, Cyrus?” I demand as I yank away from the dresser, out of his grasp. “Over and over you say this, making me promises. And I always believe them. And over and over, I starve. I wither. Over and over, I die a slow death while watching you cry and make more promises. You have had all this time, Cyrus, and still I die. Do not make me promises you cannot keep. Even you are not stronger than the universe who saw fit to punish you.”
We stand across the room from one another, staring, breathing hard.
Shock and hurt are written all over his face.
Logan is satisfied, pleased that I’ve put this man in his place, told it to him as was true. But she also can’t stand the sadness that’s growing in his eyes. She wants to wrap her arms around him and tell him that it’s all right.
Sevan is just so tired. So cracked and time worn. As much as she wants to smile and wrap her arms around her husband, she’s just so tired.
“I…” Cyrus begins to say, but his hands fall to his side. He doesn’t have the words.
“You don’t know what it’s like, to have to Resurrect. The pain you experience in those four days of lying there, dead. The horror of making your first kill,” I extend my hand to the dead woman lying on the floor. “The confusion of having to adjust to a new state of being. Over and over and over again, Cyrus. I have died eight deaths. And had to go through the pain of opening my eyes again to a new life eight times.”
Cyrus’ brows furrow, his expression unsure. “Seven.”
My brows furrow, as well. “What?”
He takes one step forward. “Seven. You have died seven deaths. And now Resurrected seven times.”
I search, thinking back through the past. Looking through each life.
But even though I know they are there, I can’t see through all the fog in my brain.
I may have remembered who I was immediately, but the details of my past lives have not come into focus yet.
I shake my head as tears once more come to my eyes. “Eight,” I say again, feeling sure of it.
Cyrus walks forward and reaches out to take my hand. He raises it to his lips, pressing them to my knuckles. “I cannot change the past, and you’re right. I cannot make promises about the future. But, Sev…” He closes his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath. “Logan. I can only be a man in this moment. A man who is overjoyed, overcome with gratitude that after all this time, we are together again.”
I crack.
Splinter.
It’s all I wanted the past few weeks. To be held by Cyrus. To have him whisper in my ear. To have his hands on me. To know what it feels like to have his lips on mine.
But in this moment, I am consumed by pain.
I pull my hand out of his. I take another step back, away from him.
“I need to be alone,” I say quietly.
He looks at me, confusion and hurt in his eyes. “Logan…”
“Damn it, Cyrus!” I bellow. “I need a few moments to get it together!”
They were Logan’s words, and Sevan’s boldness.
Eyes wide, he takes one step back. He hesitates for four long seconds. But finally, he steps to the side. Never looking away from me, he steps around me, opens the door, and after another moment of hesitation, closes it behind him.
I stand there, breathing hard. The moment Cyrus is out of sight, the tears come. But they’re quiet tears. I don’t cry, don’t sob, just let them roll furiously down my face.
I look around the room. It’s the same room I’ve lived in for the past month. Those are my things on the desk. My shoes lined up behind the door. Those are my clothes hanging in the closet.
I walk to the bathroom and slowly step in front of the mirror.
Dark brown hair hangs most of the way down my back. A strong jawline and a balanced nose make my face appealing. Green-yellowish eyes mark them as unique.
My hands rise up to my face, touching it.
It’s the face I’ve had for my entire life, but a face that doesn’t even look familiar.
No more is my hair naturally curly. No more are my eyes dark. No more is there a scar on my left cheek. No longer am I as tall as the man who stands just on the other side of my bedroom door.
I’ve worn nine different faces over two millennia.
Which is the real one?
Who the hell am I?
Logan Pierce? Or Sevan?
Chapter 2
I Resurrected around six in the evening.
I take a shower at seven.
At eight I dare go to the blackout curtains that cover my bedroom window and peek outside. Only to slam them shut. It’s only twilight, the sun has long since sunk below the horizon. But even that minimal light is enough to make my eyes burn with incredible pain.
At nine, I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Thousands of thoughts are racing through my head. One event after another that has happened, is happening, or will need to happen in the very near future.
I died four days
ago because I leapt in front of a stake meant for Cyrus. A spy infiltrated this house, intent on killing Cyrus. Just days before that, they ransacked the house. They looked for evidence that the King was indeed here in Greendale, Colorado.
Cyrus has had thousands of enemies over the centuries. As I think back, I know there have been countless attempts on his life. None of them successful.
I look toward the door, to where the hall is. To where Cyrus killed the man who ended my life.
Maybe this individual acted alone. Maybe not. Maybe this isn’t over.
I look back up at the ceiling. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to jump back into this life, these deadly games.
So I turn to something more familiar.
Rath.
I search, trying to find that name in the past. To recall any previously forgotten knowledge about him, but there isn’t anything. Nothing at all.
But Logan knows exactly where he is. I know what needs to happen now. He was to remain in the House of Valdez’ custody until I died.
It’s time for his release.
I let my mind wander, trailing from one thought to the next.
The betrayal I felt as Rath told me the truth about why he came into my life. The coldness of his cell. The strength of Edmond Valdez and the words he spoke to me. The hints at my birth mother.
I think of the gladiator game Cyrus made them play as punishment.