by Keary Taylor
Because Ian and I have been circling one another in close orbit. We have gravitational pull on each other that can’t be explained by logic and reason. And I’ve always known, from the moment Ian decided not to kill me, that one day we would collide.
Sometimes fate deals you the horrible and the incredible. We can’t run from either.
I take a step away from him, but Ian holds onto my hand. I take another step, and millimeter by millimeter, our fingers slip apart. Then I’m gone, and Ian is still standing there in the middle of the ballroom, watching me run into the middle of a pack of wolves.
So I turn away, and I don’t look back. Because if I do, I’ll lose every ounce of determination I’ve built today.
The crowd dissipates with every step I take. People flood toward the doors, almost as if they can sense the danger they’ve been ignoring all night. Darkness has blanketed the town, and everyone knows not to go out after dark. Time to escape back into the safety of their homes.
But I don’t flee to safety. I’m too far past that.
I step forward, and stop right in front of Jasmine.
“I’m so pleased you could join us this evening,” Jasmine says with a smile from behind her mask. And I swear, her teeth look sharper than ever tonight. She is no longer the easygoing, soft woman who needed help with a twisted ankle. She’s a queen, a ruler, a manipulator. “Aren’t we pleased our honored guest has joined us?”
The other House members around her all stare me down and nod. They all return to their seats, except one. Four women, four men. My skin crawls, but I tell myself to not be afraid.
I want to turn and see if Ian is still standing there watching me. But I can’t. Because if he is, I will panic.
“I need to talk to you,” I say to Jasmine. At the moment, she doesn’t seem too threatening. No glowing red eyes, no face covered in terrifying veins. But there’s a reason for all the fear in this town, and she’s in charge. “I need to warn you about something that has happened.”
One of the women laughs. Really, she’s a girl. She doesn’t look much older than sixteen. Black, greasy-looking hair, a nose ring, she’s got all the attitude of every other human teenager. “Warn us. You do understand what we are, right? Why would we need warning about anything?”
“Have some respect, Trinity,” Jasmine says with both ice and warmth in her voice and I’m not sure how that’s possible. “This is the daughter of our regional leader. If she has something to say, we will hear it.”
“We should get home first,” the black man says. He leans toward Jasmine when he does, but never takes his eyes off of me.
“Agreed,” Jasmine says. “I suggest we retire to the House. We can talk there, and then we will have our driver take you home.”
One of the two brothers, the one who did not ask me to dance, gives something between a sneer and a smile, and it chills me to wonder what he’s thinking.
“Alright,” I say. I’m brave. I am.
People enter the ballroom now wearing work clothes. They’re here to clean up, and with the flash of yellow eyes, I realize they too are Bitten. The House members all stand and start filing toward the front doors.
I finally understand then. The Born have red eyes, the Bitten yellow.
“Where is Markov?” Jasmine asks with impatience.
“You know exactly where he is,” the woman with the fantastic dress says with annoyance in her voice.
With a sigh, Jasmine breaks off toward that back door. For an unknown, stupid reason, I follow her.
She opens the door.
Inside, the floor is covered in splatters and smears of red. A man stands, frozen and half limp while a man in a gray suit attacks his neck.
“Markov!” Jasmine snaps. “The evening is over. Let the man go before you turn him.”
The man in the suit snaps away from the bloodied neck. His face is covered in blood, but beneath that, I see black veins rising all over his face, his eyes dark. His glowing eyes snap to me and turn wild.
“No,” Jasmine says, her tone rising only slightly. “You don’t get to touch Miss Ryan. And look at this mess you’ve made.”
The man has absolutely no regrets on his bloody face. “He made for a delicious meal.” His accent is heavily British.
“Time to go.” Jasmine sounds increasingly annoyed. But without waiting for him, she turns and walks toward the doors. I hurry to keep up with her, not about to be left with this psychopath for even one second.
OUTSIDE, SEEMINGLY WAITING FOR US, are three limos. Two are already full, so I have no choice but to ride with Jasmine and Markov.
“I really am glad that you have joined us tonight,” Jasmine says with a smile once we’ve started driving. She takes her mask off. “I’m afraid that there’s been a lot of unneeded fear created, and I worry over what you’ve been told.”
“You said there were two sides to every story,” I say, folding my hands on my lap, even though what I’m really doing is resting my hands on the most easily accessible stake hidden in my dress. “I’m just making sure I get both sides.”
“You’re a smart woman, Alivia Conrath,” Markov says as he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and attempts to clean the blood from his face. His eyes no longer glow. Jasmine smiles and crosses her legs and stretches her arms across the back of her seat.
“It’s Ryan,” I correct Markov. “I’ve never been a Conrath.”
“Fair enough¸” Jasmine concedes.
“You may have never claimed the name,” Markov interjects. “But the blood runs through your veins, nonetheless.”
“It’s true,” I agree. “It seems that family and blood are everything here.”
“Here, families are not always born of blood, but earned through blood,” Markov says darkly.
“Now, now, Markov,” Jasmine chides. “Let’s not scare the poor woman.”
“How old are you?” Markov asks, ignoring Jasmine’s invitation to be quiet.
I hesitate in answering, not eager to give too many details away. I have to play this situation with my cards held close. “Twenty-two,” I respond because I can’t think of how it can hurt me.
“Time is ticking.”
And I’m afraid I know exactly what he’s saying.
We drive for ten minutes and pull onto a dirt driveway, much like Ian’s. The air smells murky and wet. We’re back in swamp territory. I look out the front window. The moon shines bright and full behind what looks to be another plantation style house.
Elijah Conrath’s home. Before he was killed.
“I thought this was once a plantation,” I say as I observe the standing water and the decrepit trees rising from the muck. “Now it’s a swamp. How did that happen?”
“Curses are one of those things not only found in fairytales and horror stories,” Markov says.
“You mean witches are real, too?” I ask. I’m calm on the outside, but internally, I’m freaking out. I’ve barely gotten my head around vampires—I think witches might send me over the edge.
“If they are, they’ve kept themselves entirely hidden for all of time,” Jasmine says. “Witches, the universe, karma. There is something out there and it has a wicked sense of justice.”
This is an entire story, huge and complicated, but we’re almost to the House, and my attention is focused to it.
As we pull closer, I see that this house is not like my own.
The white paint is peeling and falling from the walls and pillars. A tree looks like it has taken over the north side of the building. There are branches poking into several broken windows. The porch looks like it is sagging and half ready to collapse. Black streaks lick here and there, evidence of the fire that happened more than a century ago.
The House is shameful in more than one way.
The limos park in the front, the doors open, and the vampires file out.
Someone opens the grand but dirty front door. The entry was once majestic, but the marble floor is cracked in multiple places. The cha
ndelier is missing crystals. And the entire place is dark because the windows have been covered. Soft lamps glow here and there, and I’m sure they’re lit for my benefit.
Two attendants stand in the entryway and take masks and jackets as the House members hand them off. In this House, I’m sure they are not just human. Bitten, no doubt.
We file into a library, one similar to Henry’s, but with half the books and only half the shelves still in tact. The place looks like it survived a hurricane and was only partially cleaned up after the storm.
“Welcome to the House,” Jasmine says. Just like a queen, she settles into a grand, yet comfortable-looking chair. Her skirts billow around her, and Teddy wanders over to sit next to her. All she’s missing is a crown. I don’t doubt she has one somewhere. “It might not look like much, but it’s ours.”
“It’s…lovely,” I say. I sit on a chair and watch as all eight members stand or sit around the room.
“We all know your name, so it seems only fair that you know ours,” she continues. “This is Micah Washington,” she says, indicating the man who hovered so close to her all night. He stares at me with coldness in his eyes. “You spoke with Trinity Dalton.” The nose-ring girl. “And Markov, obviously.”
A smile forms on his wrinkly face and he winks at me. I’d never even considered that there would be old vampires, but you resurrect at whatever age you die. Markov has to be at least seventy and totally cruel and bloodthirsty.
“These are the Kask brothers, Christian and Samuel,” Jasmine continues. It was Samuel who had asked me to dance. He smiles at me and gives a total how you doin’? nod. He sits close to me, uncomfortably so. Christian has a coy smile on his face like he’d love nothing more than to drain me dry. “And Anna Burke.” The woman in the suit nods to me without a smile. She looks like she could rip anyone limb from limb without even breathing hard.
“This is Lillian Summers,” Jasmine introduces the beautiful woman with the short hair and the incredible dress. “And Cameron Miller.”
The stoner kid who told me how hungry he should be. Huh. He’s a surprise. More like a druggy than a vampire.
Nine Born vampires.
One me.
Trinity gives a strong sniff, and when I look at her, she’s staring hungrily at me with glowing eyes. “She’s got a scratch on her left ankle,” she says. “You smell damn delicious.”
“Trinity!” Lillian barks, a look of horror on her face. “Alivia is royalty, not a midnight snack.”
“She may be a princess, but right now she smells like a human blood bag.” A threatening smile curls on Trinity’s face. She may be a teenager, but she is also a blood-crazed vampire.
“Do you need to leave?” Jasmine asks, cold and calm. Trinity’s eyes jump to hers, and the glow dies from her eyes.
Trinity looks down at the ground and doesn’t say another word.
“We are sorry for all the secrecy that’s been going on,” Jasmine says. She’s annoyed at the behavior of one of her subjects, but she takes back control. “We’ve been eager to talk with you since we heard of the attack and Henry’s death. Our species can be a little overzealous at times.”
“And that’s why you sent two Bitten to my house to drag me here?” The words snap out of me before I can think about them.
There’s a collective intake of breath. But no one kills me instantly for speaking harsher than I should have.
Jasmine gives a slightly ticked off chuckle. “We don’t often just pick up the phone and invite people over for afternoon tea.”
“Well, give that a try next time.” I try to sound light, like I’m comfortable enough to make a joke. Lillian and Samuel offer a smile. Cameron snickers like it was the most hilarious thing ever.
“I will keep that in mind,” Jasmine says.
My heart is beating faster and faster, and I hate that they can all probably hear it racing. They can probably smell the sweat on my palms. See my chest rising and falling just a bit too fast. I can pretend I’m brave and unafraid all I like, but they know the truth.
“How much do you know about the King and how a Born House works?” she moves on. Teddy nudges her hand and she pets his head absentmindedly.
“I know the King had two loyal grandsons and he gave them everything,” I recount. “He gave them leadership of the world. Their direct descendants rule different areas.”
“Good,” Jasmine says. “Ian Ward didn’t fill your head entirely with half-truths. And you know that your father, Henry, was a Royal Born who abandoned us.”
I swallow hard. We’re getting to the meat of my fear. I nod.
“You don’t need to be so scared, love,” she says with a smile, but the glimmer in her eyes says she’s got me exactly where she wants me. “I promise you no harm will come to you while you are in my House.”
Her House.
Let her keep it.
“I don’t want to take anything from you,” I blurt out. “I’m not a vampire, and I don’t exactly feel like a princess, so I’d like to just keep living my life as normal.”
Markov chuckles and shakes his head at my ignorance. Micah stares death at me. He hates me, I can feel it; and he knows nothing about me. Nothing, yet he knows as much about me as I do, I suppose.
“That’s good to hear,” Jasmine says, her voice once again sweet. “Because I do love this House and don’t want to lose it. But we do need you.”
“You know what will happen if we claim her and take her public,” Micah hisses. “The King will come as soon as we do.”
“And why are you so afraid, Micah?” Jasmine cuts back. “Are you afraid you won’t survive his visit?”
“It is not me I worry over,” he says, his voice dropping as everyone looks at him. “But you know how the King loves his games.”
“He does, indeed,” Markov agrees in that low voice. Even his eyes are drawn inward and dark.
“I have ruled a shamed House for fifteen years,” Jasmine says. Her voice is calm and low. She is fire and ice. Calm and collected one moment, exploding with vengeance the next. There’s a reason she rules this House. “I have born the shame of abandonment long enough. I will take the risk of the King’s games to gain our respect.”
“What does it matter if you have a Royal?” I ask. Because truly, I don’t understand that part yet.
“Without you and your blood, we get none of the Royal inheritance,” Anna says. It’s the first time she’s spoken, and she sounds just as harsh as she looks. “The Royal family supports every House throughout the world. They’ve had thousands of years to earn money, and they use it to keep their influence throughout the world strong through the Houses. It also is a line to all the other Houses, creating allies, sometimes enemies. Without a Royal, we are cut off from all of that. We are in a form of exile, you could say.”
“Basically, we really need you or we’re just a bunch of outcasts,” Cameron sums up as he munches on a bag of chips. He’s always eating, yet he’s a beanpole.
“Where are all these other Houses located?” I ask. And it’s surprising that I haven’t thought to ask until now. But I remember Ian saying there were twenty-seven Houses.
Jasmine waves her hand to a map on the far wall. It’s a map of the world, an old, torn, and wrinkled one. There are large pins stuck in various places. One here in Mississippi. Others that look close to Las Vegas, New York, Seattle. Several in China, Russia. South America. They’re scattered across the globe. And all ruled by descendants of King Cyrus.
“Will the King just come and make sure I’m actually of the Royal bloodline once you claim me?” I ask. I’m trying to keep my head from spinning out of control with all the information.
“He will do far more than that, my love. He will want to check and see if you are his resurrected Queen,” Markov says with that coy, thin-lipped smile.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I look around to all the faces that surround me, expecting this to be some kind of joke that I don’t get. Becau
se I don’t. But no one is smiling.
“After the King turned himself into the genesis vampire,” Lillian says. There’s a darkness in her eyes that extends beyond this story. “He forced his concoction on his wife, as well, not knowing she was with child. He cursed himself then and her, too, in a way. He thought they could be together forever.
“They both craved blood and frequently fed,” she tells. “But after only eighty-nine years of immortality together, Sevan seemed to grow ill. She was constantly hungry. She drank and drank and it was never enough. She was withering before the King’s eyes. And after only a few weeks of this, she died.”
“But I thought the Born were supposed to be immortal,” I say, trying to keep everything straight.
“The King and his Queen were not Born, though,” Christian interjects. “They are the genesis of vampirism.”
“And as Lillian said, the King and Queen were cursed when he changed his wife against her will,” Markov picks up the story. “The Queen died. And the King mourned her for fifty-one years. But one day, one of the King’s great-great-granddaughters died and resurrected.”
“The longer she was awake after resurrecting, the more she started to remember from her previous life,” Jasmine takes over. “She was the Queen, resurrected in the literal sense of the word. New body, new face. But it was her. And the King had his Queen back.
“But every so often, after inconsistent amounts of time, the Queen would once again wither and starve and die. She would be gone for unpredictable stretches of time and then eventually be reborn somewhere in the Royal line.”
“That’s why the King keeps such close tabs on his posterity,” I conclude.
Jasmine nods.
“How long has the Queen been gone for this time?” I ask. It’s creepy and dark, but I can’t help but feel sorry for the King. To keep losing his love like that, to not even know her face. It really is a curse.
“Two hundred and seventy-one years,” Markov says.
“So the King…” I trail off, trying to put the pieces in all the right places. “Once the King hears about me, he’s going to come here and see if I’m this reborn Queen.”